Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Hartford follows behind her. “Let’s get everything set up and ready to go.”
We all fall into position, and for the next hour we practice how the whole wedding will go down. I have to say it almost makes me emotional at the thought by this time tomorrow my friend will be getting married.
“Hey,” Lake says, stepping closer. “How’s everything going?”
“Fine.” I wish he’d go away. I’m not even sure why he’s bugging me right now.
“Where’s Brock?” he asks, raising a thick brow.
“Right here,” Brock says, moving closer, wrapping an arm around me. “We’re all heading to the restaurant now.”
I nod. “Let’s go.”
Together we walk away from Lake, and I seriously wonder what I ever saw in him. Brock is so much better in all the ways.
We arrive at the restaurant, and we’re seated next to each other. Brock’s got his arm along the back of my chair, and he pulls me in close.
“You hungry?” he asks me.
I nod. “Yeah. I’m thinking about ordering the filet,” I tell him.
He gives me one of those smiles. A pity smile. As if to say, ‘oh honey’, and laughs lightly against my ear. “I didn’t ask if you were hungry for food.”
I turn slightly to face him. “You fed me pretty well, earlier,” I say back, reminding him of the blow job.
He nips his lips at my ear. “I know. You swallowed everything I had to give. Now it’s time for me to return the favor.”
“Here?” I ask him, looking around.
Everyone’s here. And I do mean, everyone. Out of town guests have arrived. Even Hartford’s Aunt Nora is here along with her date, Mr. Charleston, Hartford’s boss.
Hartford’s mother. Brock’s parents. All of our friends. Even August, a baby. What is Brock even thinking about?
“Yes, here. Nobody’s paying attention to us way back here.” His hand runs along the outside of my thigh, inching closer to the hem of my dress.
He’s sort of right. The room is dark, with dim, ambient lighting casting a warm glow over the space. Many round tables, draped in elegant white linen cloths and adorned with flickering candles and fresh flower centerpieces, are clustered around the large area. The air hums with the low murmur of conversations and the occasional burst of laughter. Waitstaff in crisp black uniforms weave gracefully between tables, balancing trays of delicate hors d'oeuvres and sparkling drinks.
At the back of the room, away from the lively clusters of guests, Brock and I sit at a table all alone. Our table, though equally well-dressed with linens and flowers, feels isolated as if it exists in a different realm from the bustling banquet. The soft clinking of glasses and the gentle rustling of elegant attire seem distant, almost muted from our secluded vantage point. Brock traces circles along my heated skin, and then inches higher up my thigh.
“Brock,” I whisper, a silent plea. I’m not sure if I want him to stop or keep going. I lean into him, bringing my hand up to trace his face. “Don’t stop,” I say, making my final decision.
The air shifts as Brock gazes into my eyes. “Willow, I never expected you.” He pushes his hand past the hem of my dress and it races up my thigh.
I spread my legs. “I never expected you either.” And I didn’t. This man. With all his naughty words, and gentle kisses. I can’t get enough of it.
I feel like I’m starting to crave him. I close my eyes, letting my head fall into the crook of his neck as he pushes my panties to the side.
“I want to hear you moan out my name,” he whispers.
“What if somebody hears me?” My body tenses slightly at the thought.
I can feel his face shift like he’s smiling at the thought. “Then let them hear.” He runs his fingers through my wetness, shifting in his chair slightly to get a better angle. He presses the heel of his hand against my clit, pushing two fingers deep inside me. “I love how tight you are.”
I moan, thrusting my hips slightly under the table.
“What are you two doing over here?” Tripp asks as he plops into a chair across from us.
I stiffen, trying to close my legs. “Nothing,” I say at a high-pitched tone.
Brock doesn’t stop. He keeps playing with me, pushing his fingers deeper inside me, crooking one finger to reach a spot nobody ever has before. “Leave,” Brock nearly growls out.
I bite my lip, and I’m pretty sure it might bleed with the pressure I’m applying, but it’s the only thing I can do to keep from calling out.
“What?” Tripp asks with a wary laugh. “Did I interrupt…”
Before he can finish his sentence, Brock says low and demanding, “I will kick your ass if you don’t get up and walk away from this table right now.”
It’s like a light bulb goes off in Tripp’s brain, and he slides out of his chair. “Oh, right. Sorry.” He rushes away and I’m mortified.