I never would have expected to be avoiding sex the week of our wedding. But I’d had plenty of time to think about it while folding what seemed like a million wedding programs, and decided that for the first time in our relationship I wanted to savor her: her laugh and her words and the mere reality of her company. I wanted to be able to watch her without thinking about the next time I’d have her naked and up against a wall. It seemed like a good idea at the time, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t also about wanting to piss her off a little and I knew her well enough to know that withholding sex would . . . I blinked over to the bathroom door. Where the fuck was she? As my lids grew heavier and Chloe took longer doing who-knows-what in the bathroom, I wasn’t sure I’d have the physical strength to fight her off if it came to that tonight.
Taking a seat in the living room, I picked up a magazine, feeling myself grow more and more tired with every minute. I looked up at the sound of a door opening and nearly fell over. Chloe leaned against the wall, hair loose and falling in wild waves along her shoulders and down the length of her back. Her lips were glossy and pink, and I could imagine that color smeared down my chest and along the skin of my cock. She wore what was easily the sexiest and most complicated lingerie I’d ever seen. The black demi-cups barely covered her breasts; the rest consisted of a series of black satin ribbons crossing strategically over her torso and down between her legs. It took me two attempts to finally speak.
“Was someone in there with you?” I slurred.
Her brows came together and she shook her head. “What?”
“Because . . . I have no idea how you got that thing on by yourself.” My voice sounded thick and slow. “Hell, I have no idea how I’d even get it off.” I held up my hands and they felt heavy and numb. I wouldn’t even be able to rip paper tonight.
“That sounds like a challenge,” she said with a pleased smile. My eyes moved over every inch of her body and I seemed unable to pull them away. She was fucking beautiful. Her legs were long—so long—and her feet were still strapped in the same blue shoes she’d been wearing at dinner.
She took a step toward me, and then another. “Do you remember the last time we were here?” she asked.
“I’m trying not to.”
She pressed a hand to my chest and easily pushed me farther into the back of the couch before straddling my lap. “You fucked me on the floor . . .” She leaned forward, kissed my jaw. “And the balcony”—she kissed my neck—“and the bed, and the floor and the bed and the floor.”
“And don’t forget the chair in the corner,” I mumbled, hissing in a breath as she scratched her nails over my stomach, reached for my tie, loose but still hanging from my neck.
“What if I said I wanted to re-create some of that?” she whispered into my ear. “What if I asked you to tie me up with this? Spank me? Fuck me in th—”
I yawned. Wide.
She jerked back and looked at me, taking in my slumped posture, the way I could barely keep my eyes open. Hers narrowed.
“What did you do?” she asked, suspicious.
I could only smile—a stupid, drowsy, lopsided grin. “Took out a little insurance policy,” I slurred. “You’re very pretty by the way, and I really do like this . . . thing you’re wearing and would like to request that you wear it for me again . . . someday.”
“What did you do, Ryan?” she repeated, louder, and stood up, hands on her hips as she frowned down at me.
“Just only took a tiny little sleeping pill,” I said, yawning as I pulled the small bottle from my pocket, holding it up to show her. “Teensy tiny.”
I had a prescription for these for international travel but had yet to use a single one before this. I was actually amazed how fast they worked, and slightly uneasy over the prospect of having no control over my state of arousal. Especially since Chloe looked like she might castrate me.