Instead I whispered, “Just really quick? Can’t we take a little break?”
He leaned forward, inhaling between my breasts before moving to the side and kissing a path to my left nipple. “Once I start, I don’t relish stopping.”
“You don’t like interruptions, I don’t like delayed gratification. Which of us do you think will get her way?”
Bennett ran his tongue over my nipple, and then sucked it deeply into his mouth as his hands circled my waist, slid to my hips, and then worked together to pull my panties off with a satisfying rip.
Amusement lit up his eyes as he looked up at me from where he sucked at my other breast, and his fingers teased at the juncture of my hip and thigh. “I suspect, my impossible wife-to-be, that you’re going to get your way and then I’ll finish folding these later while you sleep.”
Sliding my hands back into his hair, I whispered, “Don’t forget about tying the ribbons on the candy bags.”
He chuckled a little. “I won’t, baby.”
And it hit me all over again, like a warm gust of wind: I loved him, madly. I loved every inch of him, every emotion that passed through his eyes, and every thought I knew he had right now but wasn’t voicing:
One, that I’d been the one to insist we do as much of this ourselves as we could.
Two, that I was the one to assure him it was fine that every distant relative of ours on the planet had somehow squeezed their way into this wedding event.
Three, that I would never, ever back out of the opportunity to wear my wedding dress on the Coronado coastline.
But instead of pointing out the obvious—that he was the one being a good sport here, not me, and that despite all of my bitching I would never be satisfied with a quick Vegas wedding—he stood, turning to walk to our bedroom. “Okay, then. But this is the last night I’m fucking you before we’re married.”
I was so buzzed by the “fucking” part that it wasn’t until he’d disappeared down the hallway to our bedroom that the rest of his words fully sank in.
Bennett was already undressing when I joined him in the bedroom, and I watched as he slipped the buttons free on the fly of his jeans and pushed them and his boxers down his legs. He reached for the hem of his shirt, eyebrows raised in silent question—want it on or off this time?—before I nodded and he tugged it up and over his head. He walked over to our bed, lay down on his back, and gazed at me.
“Come here,” he said in a quiet growl.
I stepped closer to the bed but remained out of his reach. “When you say ‘the last night you’re fucking me before we’re married,’ do you mean that we are only going to have sex during daylight hours this week?”
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “No. I mean that after tonight, I want to abstain until you’re my wife.”
An unfamiliar panic rose in my chest, and I wasn’t sure how seriously to take him. I climbed onto the bed and crawled over, bending to kiss my way down his chest. “I thought I knew what abstain meant, but in this context it sounds like you’re telling me on a Tuesday that we’ll be together all week but not having sex until Saturday.”
“That’s what I’m saying.” Strong fingers tangled into my hair and urged my head lower, to where his cock arched, rigid and slick with his own excitement.
I stopped the path of my lips just at his hips, which rose from the mattress in an effort to meet my mouth halfway. “Why on earth would you want to abstain?”
“Christ, Chlo, stop teasing and put my dick in your mouth.”