Intoxicated (Billionaire Bachelors Club #3.5)(13)

Slowly I turn in my chair to find Matt standing there, an unsure smile on his face as he watches me. “What are you doing here?” I whisper, earning a shove from Marina, undoubtedly for yet another stupid question.

“Go to him,” she whispers, and I do. I stand and walk toward him as if I’m in a trance, everything fading away until it feels like it’s just him and me in the room and not another three hundred or so people.

“I’m so sorry, Matt,” I say, shocked when he takes my hands in his and holds them between us. “I shouldn’t have run away.”

“I shouldn’t have asked you that question yet,” he says, his voice serious, his gaze searching. “You’re not ready. I should’ve realized that.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s mine. Going so fast . . . it sometimes scares me. We’ve moved at an accelerated pace you know,” I tell him, entwining my fingers with his. “Like Marina, I feel like I’ve been on edge with this whole wedding thing. Then you dropped that question on me, and I panicked.”

“I know.” He sighs harshly and shakes his head. “I’m the type of guy who goes after what he wants. And I know what I want, Bryn.” He steps closer and dips his head so our foreheads press together. “You.”

“I want you too,” I whisper. “I love you. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.” He kisses me. Soft and warm and so lovingly I want to weep all over again but not because I’m sad.

But because I’m so incredibly happy that my man didn’t let me walk away from him without a fight.

“I’ll ask you again,” he whispers against my ear once we end our kiss. “Later. When you’re not so scared anymore. But I’m warning you now; I’m determined to make you mine in the most official way possible.”

A deep sigh moves through me, and I close my eyes, pressing my face in the crook of his neck where he’s warm and smells so good. “That sounds perfect,” I murmur against his skin.

Marina

I FEEL GOOD leaving Bryn with Matt because if anyone can work this out, it’s those two. They’re so in love with each other it’s sort of disgusting.

But I feel that way about Archer and Ivy too. Even me and Gage.

Put all six of us together and we’re all like . . . super disgusting.

Laughing quietly to myself, I leave the reception and sneak down the hall to the room where Gage told me to meet him via text not five minutes ago. Anticipation curls through me when I slowly open the door to find the room dark and seemingly empty.

I know it’s not though. I can smell him. Sharp and clean and so deliciously Gage. Closing the door behind me, I lean against it, my sight adjusting to the darkness until I finally make out his silhouette. He’s coming toward me, his strides animal-like, his gaze penetrating as it settles over me. “You made it,” he says, the timbre of his deep voice seemingly vibrating through me. “I missed you.”

“I was gone maybe ten minutes?” He slips his arms around my waist as I stepped in close, eagerly going into his arms. “I had to help Bryn.”

“I know,” he murmurs against my forehead, his lips tickling my skin. “Is everything okay?”

“Nothing that can’t be fixed.” I had faith it would be too. Matt understands Bryn, maybe even better than she understands herself. She needs to put more trust in him and their relationship.

“You’re a good friend.” Gage’s hands are wandering. Along my arms, to my waist, slipping down to my hips. The gown I’m wearing has a fitted bodice, but the skirt is huge. Like fairy princess, layers of tulle and silk and lace, Cinderella-at-the-ball giant. I fell in love with it the moment I saw it.

My husband—God, just thinking that word gives me a serious thrill—probably hates it.

“Where’s my wife?” I glance up to find him grinning down at me, his hands getting lost in the voluminous skirt. “I can’t find her underneath all the fabric.”

“I don’t know if he ever will,” I say with a dramatic sigh, hoping it will spur him on. “Especially when he only has five minutes to find her.”

That comment kicks him into action. He’s down on his knees in front of me, lifting the layers of my skirt until he’s buried beneath them. His hands go to my thighs and I giggle, his touch tickling me.

“Nice garters,” he murmurs, his voice muffled as he traces them. His fingers skim the exposed skin of my thighs and I’m thankful he somehow positioned us so I’m close to the wall. I lean against it, a soft sigh escaping me when his fingers explore upward, along my thighs, tracing the seam of my very lacy, very white panties.

I may not be a virgin, but I can certainly pretend to be one on my wedding day.

“Sexy.” His voice deepens right when his fingers slip beneath the lace, touching my bare, heated skin. I close my eyes and spread my legs a little, already lost in his touch when I feel him trace my soaked folds. “Baby, you’re wet.”

“I want my husband,” I say, wanting to both laugh and moan because, oh my God, what a picture we must make: me braced against the wall, my husband underneath my wedding gown, hurriedly trying to get me off with a few strokes of his fingers.

“Well, you’re getting him. Any way you can have him,” he says just as he circles my clit with his finger. I’m already primed and eager, ready for him to push me right over the edge and send me straight into an orgasm. Hopefully it will ease the incessant neediness that’s been raging within me for the last few days. Weeks.