The Wedding Rescue, Book Three(6)

“Excuse me,” I said under my breath to the man beside me. Fortunately, he didn’t spare me more than a quick glance.

Twisting in my seat so that I faced Dylan, I lifted my left hip off the chair and reached beneath my skirt. The high-low hem was my friend as there wasn’t much skirt to get out of the way. Tagging the edge of my panties, I hooked my index finger in the fabric and gave a sharp pull, dragging them down below my ass. A good start, but that was the easy side.

Pretending I hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary, I took a spoonful of soup. I went to put the spoon down beside the plate and dropped it on the floor instead. It was too obvious, but I couldn’t think of anything else. Nudging my seat back a few inches, I murmured,

“Excuse me. Sorry.” I eased my seat back a little more and leaned forward as if reaching for the floor. The second my head was below the table, I lifted my rear-end off the seat and reached beneath my skirt for the other side of my panties, using my napkin to cover the sight of my hand going up my own skirt. From beside me, I heard Dylan clear his throat. My head popped up, and to my horror, I saw the servers coming to clear the soup course, starting at the ends of the tables.

In a panic, I gave the panties one more tug before sitting back up and scooting my chair into place. I made it just in time to sit back and let a uniformed server remove my bowl.

“Did you find your spoon, sweetheart?” Dylan asked, a devilish twinkle in his eyes.

I scowled back at him. I wasn’t actually all that annoyed. The potential disaster of getting caught taking off my underwear in public was turning me on. I’d wanted my orgasm before, but now I really wanted it. That pleasure was mine, Dylan was going to give it to me, and all I had to do was take off my underwear without leaving the table. I wasn’t going to get caught. I was going to do what Dylan told me to and then I was going to come.

I was so close. My panties were still on, but I’d managed to get them around my thighs. I knew without asking that it wasn’t enough. If Dylan said he wanted them off, they were going to come off. This time, I waited until the servers were finished clearing the soup before I made my last move. Smoothing my napkin across my lap, I twisted the skirt beneath over to the side so I could reach my left hand beneath the hem.

The man on my right never noticed as I lifted my thighs an inch and pulled the panties to my knees. From there it was only a wiggle to get the scrap of fabric to fall to the floor. I’d have to remember to pick them up before we left. I’d chosen the almost transparent black lace from among the pieces Dylan had bought that afternoon. All of them were La Perla and all gorgeous. I wasn’t abandoning this pair under the table.

With a self-satisfied smirk at Dylan, I reclined in the seat and let my knees fall apart. My napkin was still spread across my lap, shielding Dylan’s hand from view as it slid beneath my hem, then up between my parted thighs. I bit my lip in anticipation and fixed my face in a polite smile, pretending I was listening to Christie’s best friend from high school rhapsodizing about cheer squad as if she hadn’t given the same speech at Christie’s first wedding just a few years before.

Dylan didn’t make me wait. Instead of teasing me with endless, light strokes, he went straight for the good stuff. A breath after he touched my thigh, his fingertips grazed my clit. I fought back a shudder, all my effort going into hiding my response to his touch. He pressed the swollen bead of flesh, watching for my reaction before he pinched it between two fingers and squeezed. I think I jumped. I know I made a tiny squeaking sound, startling the man beside me. He looked at my face for a moment before turning his eyes back to the bridesmaid’s speech.

My attention was completely divided between the need for silence and my rising arousal. I’d already been hot from Dylan touching my leg. Taking off my panties without being seen by the rest of the guests had only made me hotter. Now Dylan’s fingers played between my legs, toying with my clit and spreading my slick heat in circles around my entrance. I wanted to come, wanted to scream with orgasm right there in the packed dining room. I’d have to keep my mouth shut and my body still or risk total humiliation.

I sank my teeth into my bottom lip and breathed through my nose, deep, even breaths like I’d take in yoga class. Quiet and calm. At complete odds with the building need in my pussy.

Silent and frozen, my entire consciousness narrowed to the splinters of sharp, bright pleasure between my legs. The strength and heat of Dylan’s hand. His fingers pressing, rotating, dipping inside. I rocked my hips in a tiny, experimental motion. The flare of pleasure was dizzying, but the slide of my chair told me I couldn’t do it again. I’d have to remain passive, trusting Dylan to give me what I wanted.