One Funeral (No Weddings #2)(50)

The only sounds in the room were our labored breaths. Warmth surrounded me, even though cool air feathered over my exposed skin. I wound my arms around his neck, lost in the moment, never wanting to let go.

As my breathing slowed, my pounding heart calmed. The ache between my legs lessened, marginally. His cock, however, still pressed hard into a very sensitized area. When he shifted his hips, that rigid length brushed along charged nerves. I groaned as raw pleasure spiked through me again.

“You want to hold it now, don’t you?”

I burst out laughing.

“I knew it. But I don’t think you’re ready yet.”

I snorted. “No? Didn’t we round second base? And you’re taunting me with third. Is there a level before home that I’m missing?”

He chuckled. “Maybe I’m not ready yet. If you touch me, hold me, I won’t be able to stop. And I refuse to f*ck you in a closet.”

“No screaming blow job?” I teased.

He barked out a laugh. “No. You’re worth more to me than that.”

I smiled. “I like knowing that.”

His face moved, his cheek rubbing against mine. “You’re worth more to me than anyone or anything in this world. More than anyone else ever has. I know we needed this now—a taste to let off some of the pressure, distract our minds from all the crazy, pull us closer—but we’re still taking it slow. I’ve never wanted to do anything more right in my life.”

“Me too.”

That he cared enough about us—about me and my well-being—meant the world to me.

“Let’s not move. Ever.” I turned my head, running my lips over his cheek to press a gentle kiss to his temple.

He made a sound resembling a purr. “Tempting. But I plan on rounding the bases soon and sliding into home. We’ll get through every long, agonizing minute until then if we keep that thought in mind.”

“That and your ‘massive’ cock.”

We both burst out laughing.

And topless against the wall in the darkness of some supply closet in the back of a church, I didn’t give a damn about the rest of world. In the private space we’d claimed for our own, in the middle of an event where I’d had to defeat flashbacks from my past, all worries were banished.

No ugly bridesmaid dresses were allowed.

And absolutely… no weddings.





After righting our clothing and making sure the coast was clear, we snuck into the women’s bathroom. We straightened our tousled hair, fixed my smeared makeup, and righted his crooked tie before walking back to the party hand-in-hand.

Of course, we engaged in passionate kissing against various hard surfaces before we ever made it out of the bathroom, therefore requiring more straightening. We also found every dark alcove and empty room on the way back. It became a game—how much covert touching could we sneak in before we returned?

We emerged into the mixed company of the party more or less in the same condition on the outside as when we’d left. But something inside me had shifted in a visceral way. And with the intense looks Cade kept sending me, alternating between lust and adoration, I knew he felt it too.

Indefinable, yet wholly irreplaceable, the sensation felt like being loved. Maybe we hadn’t fallen “in love” yet, but if neither of us were there, we teetered right on the edge.

Because that’s what the warm, reckless, right emotion I felt seemed to be. I was no longer thinking about the outside world, but instead, feeling connected to another, drawn in a way where reasons no longer mattered. All my thoughts gravitated toward him, and everything I did stemmed from a desire to put a smile on his face.

Our stolen glances continued through the night whenever Cade’s attention was pulled to one guest or another, but he never left my side. Not even when his sisters needed him to fix a sound-system glitch.

Not even when Candie, who’d had way too much to drink and had abandoned her escort, monopolized Cade for almost thirty minutes. Her dress bound tight above her knees, and maybe her Jimmy Choo stilettos had finally gotten the better of her as she draped over Cade’s other shoulder. But I gave her the benefit of the doubt with how badly she slurred her words.

His patience ran thin fast, though, and he finally put a stop to her nonsense. Which was fine with me. Like the gentleman Cade was, however, and ever the politically correct businessman, he looped an arm through hers and offered me his other before leading us both over to the bar, where Candie’s date nursed a drink.

With our approach, her date perked up, and she seemed interested in him once again. “Trent, where’ve you been? Mama needs some love. S’not every day I’m goin’ to die, you know. Plan on only doin’ this once.”

I laughed as her slur worsened while her wit sharpened. “Cheating real death, Candie?”

She leaned in front of Cade, putting her hand on mine. “Don’t ever really die, Hannah. Sooo last year.”

I huffed out a laugh. “How many drinks have you had?”

“Not enough. Bartender, make me a kamikaze an’ keep ’em comin’. If I’m dead, I oughta look it.”

The moment Candie became preoccupied with her man, and bartender Ben had taken our guest of honor safely under his wing, Cade steered me toward an empty spot in the corner of the room. Right as he bent down, our lips about to touch, the Michaelson Three descended upon us.