The Wedding Rescue, Book Three(7)

In theory, that wasn’t a problem. In reality, I wanted my orgasm now, not when Dylan decided I could have it. I turned my head to face him, meeting his intense green eyes. Fixed on my face, they were hot, demanding, and in control.

“Please,” I whispered. “I’ll do anything. Don’t make me wait anymore.” His eyes flared.

“Anything?” he asked. I don’t know why I’d said that. With Dylan, it really could be ‘anything’. I had no idea where his limits were, but it was a guarantee that they went much further than my own. Who was I kidding? I’d done everything he’d demanded so far. My offer of ‘anything’ was a joke. I’d do what he wanted anyway, even if that included waiting for my orgasm, or not coming at all. So far, doing what he asked had brought me more pleasure than I’d ever imagined.

“Anything,” I said under my breath.

Dylan’s eyes went the deep green of a forest at twilight as he drove two fingers into my pussy. It took everything I had to stop my gasp at the sensation of finally being full after so much teasing. I would have preferred his cock to his fingers, but even overcome with need I wasn’t crazy enough to consider fucking him in the dining room.

As turned on as I was, it wouldn’t take much more before the rising orgasm swept me under. His arm in the perfect position, Dylan moved his fingers in short, pulsing thrusts as he pressed the heel of his hand into my clit. Pure, exalted bliss exploded in my brain and washed through my body, locking my muscles in place. I didn’t move, but I heard myself give a tiny whimper. I don’t know if anyone heard, and I didn’t care.

When the last wave of pleasure faded, I came back to myself, noticing that Dylan’s hand was back in his own lap and my skirt was pulled neatly down beneath my napkin. Reveling in sated relaxation, I turned to look at Dylan. His grin said he was pretty satisfied with himself. The bulge in his suit pants said he might have been emotionally satisfied, but his body still wanted more. A feeling of dread pushed out my calm. I’d said anything. What was he going to ask me to do?





5





Leigha




I had two choices. I could pretend I didn’t know I owed him one and eat my dinner. Or I could bite the bullet and find out what the payback would be. I was shy, but I wasn’t a wimp. At least, I didn’t want to be. I didn’t want to return Dylan’s generosity by being afraid of him. He’d said I could trust him.

“So,” I said, trying for casual, “What’s my anything?”

He didn’t answer right away, just looked at me, reading my eyes. He probably saw everything. My vulnerability, my nerves, my need to please him. I could only hope he’d take it easy on me. When he continued to stare in silence, I fought the urge to look away. I wanted Dylan. Wanted to be worthy of the powerful, vibrant man he was. He wanted me to submit to him, but I sensed he wanted a woman who could hold her own against his strong personality. I needed to find a way to do both.

Finally, he smiled a gentle, unexpectedly sweet smile. Dipping his head into mine, he laid a soft kiss on my mouth. Leaning in a little closer, he said,

“Your anything is for later. I’m saving it. For now, just enjoy the rest of dinner.”

“You’re sure?” I asked, not quite able to believe he was letting me off this easy. I’d had visions of under the table blow jobs or sneaking off to find an unoccupied closet. Neither of which I really wanted to do.

“Eat,” he said, gesturing with his fork to my untouched dinner plate. Remembering my post-orgasmic inattention when the servers had delivered it, I flushed. Oh, well. If they’d seen anything amiss, there was nothing I could do about it now. Christie had ordered filet mignon, asparagus and some kind of potato dish with a creamy sauce. Yum. Taking Dylan’s suggestion, I dug in.

The rest of the meal passed in a blur of more boring speeches made tolerable by the delicious food, excellent wine, and Dylan beside me. We were silent, but I was acutely aware of his presence beside me. At one point, between the removal of our dinner plates and dessert, Dylan reached out and took my hand in his. I expected him to drop it in his lap, or start a conversation, but he did neither. He just held my hand, playing with my fingertips. When I caught his eye, he winked.

He had my head spinning. Just when I thought this was all about sex, he did something so sweet I was tempted to hope it was more. I’d held hands with men before and felt nothing from it, but this was different—maybe because it was Dylan. He wasn’t teasing me or trying to turn me on. He was keeping me close. It was dangerous. Not for him, for me.