The Wedding Rescue, Book Three(5)
4
Leigha
Dylan and I checked the seating chart on an easel by the door and found we were seated in the far end of the room, furthest from the wedding party. I knew Christie had stuck us there to make a point. As her sister, I should have been sitting close to her, Cathie, and my mother. For the first time, I was thrilled she was a spiteful bitch. I’d rather be alone in a corner with Dylan than sitting near the wedding party any day.
Dylan pulled my chair out for me and helped me sit before taking his own seat. No one sat to his left. On my left was an older couple I didn’t recognize. After stilted introductions, during which Dylan neglected to mention his last name, the couple turned to face the rest of the table and ignored us. Perfect. If we drowned out the sound of one of the groomsmen getting ready to give a speech, we could almost pretend we were alone.
We both stayed quiet and ate our salad while the groomsmen droned on and on about his long friendship with Peter. About anyone else, it might have been sweet. But since I knew he was talking about Peter, it was mostly annoying. I zoned out a little, trying to enjoy the meal and wondering how long it would take, when I felt the weight of Dylan’s hand on my leg.
Trying not to be obvious, I looked up at him. Dylan’s eyes were on the speaking groomsman, his expression bland and vaguely interested. For all that anyone else could see, he was the picture of innocence. Beneath the table, his fingers slipped beneath my skirt and trailed along the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.
“Dylan,” I hissed. His eyes flicked to me and he winked, then went back to pretending to pay attention to the speech. That was my only effort at protest. Why bother? By now I knew Dylan would do what he wanted to. Whatever he wanted to do was guaranteed to be more fun for me than sitting here and acting like I cared about the rehearsal dinner.
Adjusting my napkin so that it more fully hid the movement of Dylan’s hand between my legs, I dropped my eyes to my plate and shut out all the other diners. He teased me, trailing his fingertips in figure eights up and down my leg, the side of his hand brushing innocuously against my delicate lace panties. I tried to act like he wasn’t driving me crazy, like I couldn’t feel the heat build between my legs with every pass of his fingers.
I just wasn’t that cool. When he brushed against my panties one more time, I barely caught myself before I moaned. The man beside me shifted, as if he was going to look at me, then my silence convinced him it wasn’t worth the effort. I sank my teeth into my lower lip and slid down a little in the high backed chair, opening my left leg toward Dylan.
No change. Only more of those teasing, light touches. I could feel myself getting wet. If I thought he would let me get away with it, I would have jumped out of my chair and dragged Dylan to the nearest coat closet. Somehow, I didn’t think I could pull that off. This was Dylan’s game, and if I didn’t play by his rules, I’d lose. Since winning with Dylan meant an unbelievable orgasm, I didn’t want to lose. But maybe I could get a little creative.
Curious to see what he’d do, I slipped my hand into his lap. Beneath the dark wool of his suit, he was hard. I closed my hand around his length and squeezed. He gave a slight jerk in his chair before calmly putting down his soup spoon and removing my hand from his lap. Tilting his head in my direction, he said, under his breath,
“No.”
“If you can, why can’t I?” A long, intent look, dripping with meaning. Okay, I knew why. But still…
“You’re making me insane,” I murmured. “Are you going to do this all through dinner?”
The thought was both enticing and horrifying. We were only on the soup course, and groomsmen number two was rambling on and on about some team he and Peter were on in college. Barring a natural disaster or foreign invasion, we could be here for hours. While Christie might not care if we snuck out, my mother would.
“That depends,” he asked. “Do you really want me to stop?”
“No. I want you to keep going.” At the aggravation in my voice, he grinned.
“Take off your panties, and I’ll give you what you want.” His voice was so low I barely heard him.
“Here?”
“Right here.”
I didn’t answer. How was I going to get my underwear off in the middle of the dining room? We were at the far end of the room. The light was dim. But, I had a man sitting just to my right. Dylan was crazy. He wouldn’t make me come unless I figured out how to get my undies off while I was still sitting here, with barely the edge of the tablecloth to cover what I was doing. My pride wanted me to turn down his challenge. My body wanted the orgasm he would give me if I obeyed his ridiculous challenge.