The Wedding Rescue, Book One(7)

“Don’t tell me what you aren’t. Don’t compare yourself to other women and think you’re not good enough. I know what I want. I want you. Are you saying I have bad taste?”

His question seemed absurd. Dylan Kane, have bad taste? The Delecta was known for its beautiful decor, its exquisite artwork. His casino, his office, his clothes, everything about him screamed good taste.

“No,” I whispered, my lips pressed to his finger.

“Then don’t insult yourself. Ever.”

I nodded, my lips rubbing his skin. A devil in the back of my mind told me to reach out the tip of my tongue and taste him. He was so close. Instead, he pulled back, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“I think this would be easier for you if you had a sample. It’s hard to decide when you don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“A sample?”

“A kiss,” he said.

A heartbeat later, his mouth was on mine--soft but insistent, stroking my closed lips gently before coaxing my mouth open. His hands came around my back, pulling me into his chest and pressing his body to mine. Heat and hard muscle had my head spinning. Dylan’s warm, spicy scent clouded my brain. He started slow, coaxing me with brushes of his tongue to mine, until I arched into him, eager for more.

One hand dropped to my hips, urging me to move. Before I knew it, I’d shifted to straddle his lap. The hand on my hips dragged up my skirt until my ass was bared. His fingers sunk in, pulling me closer. The hard, thick length of his cock was between us, putting the perfect pressure on my wet pussy. My soaked panties slid against my hot flesh as I moved against him, too aroused to be self-conscious.

He fed on my mouth, his kiss no longer gentle or slow. I didn’t want gentle anymore. I wanted his lips, his hands, and his cock. Arching my breasts into his chest, I moaned, lost in the sensation of his mouth on mine, his hand on my ass. The other hand was at the zipper at the back of my dress, then at the bodice, freeing one breast. He released my mouth, pulling back enough to see me. This time, it was Dylan who moaned.

“You’re perfect,” he said, just before his mouth took my nipple, licking the hard tip with teasing flicks of his tongue. Sparks of heat shot through me and I felt myself moving against him and heard my moans. Abandoning my breast, his mouth was on mine again. This time he had no need for coaxing. I was all his. I opened to him, my tongue reaching for his, rubbing and tangling with his as I panted against him. His fingers plucked my nipple, twisting it just to the point of pain before giving it a soothing rub and cupping my breast in his hand, doing it again and again until I was mindless with pleasure. Nothing I’d ever done with a man had felt this good, and we weren’t even naked. If this went on much longer, I was going to come just from making out. I had a hard enough time coming from sex, usually. Just kissing Dylan was miles better than my best fantasy of sex. There was no question what I would say to his proposition.

I gasped as the hand on my ass slipped inside my wet panties and stroked my pussy from behind. My entire body shuddered with need. I didn’t care about modesty, didn’t care about what he would think when he saw me naked. I wanted more of that. Just as my hand dropped between us, ready to unfasten his belt, I heard the jangle of bells that signaled my phone ringing. I ignored it, stroking my fingers over the bulge of his cock through the fine wool of his suit, shaking when the back of my hand grazed my clit. His fingertips still traced the outside of my pussy, spreading my liquid heat, driving me mindless with need.

The bells rang again. Whoever was calling wasn’t going to give up. With willpower I didn’t know I had, I pulled away and stumbled off Dylan’s lap, reaching for my purse on the end of the couch. I answered, realizing who it had to be.

“Hello?” I said, trying to catch my breath.

“Where are you?” A shrill voice sounded in my ear. My youngest sister. The bride. And an unholy bitch most of the time. “You were supposed to meet us at the bar by the restaurant. We’ve been waiting for five minutes.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I’ll be there soon.”

“What are you doing? You sound like you’re running. You’d better run. I can’t believe you’d be late to my wedding!”

“It’s not your wedding, Christie. It’s just dinner. And I’ll be there.” I was prepared to go on, but my phone was gone. I looked over in astonishment to see Dylan hang up on my sister and slip the phone in his suit pocket. Aside from the still visible length of his cock through his trousers, he showed no signs of what we’d been doing. I didn’t need a mirror to know my lips were swollen, my skin flushed red and my hair a mess.