Arranged(34)

I gripped his silky hair in both hands and rocked my hips, swiveling my aching cunt into his face.

I cried out a protest as his tongue withdrew, but it turned to encouragement as it stroked its way to my clit. He lapped there gently for one lick, two, three.

It was so excessive and yet lacking, it was too much and somehow I needed more, everything, now.

“Please,” I begged him, not caring if he heard, not caring who heard. I needed more. I needed to ignite again.

He shoved his fingers into me and started punching them in and out hard. I felt my own juices dripping down my leg. It almost hurt, but even that felt good.

He pinched his lips oh so softly around my clit and drew on it until I felt my flesh teasing between his flat straight teeth. It was a tender draw at first, but suddenly and without warning, he sucked hard.

The nerve endings in my loins shredded. I screamed into the chaos.

Yes. There it was. That ignition inside of me. He’d done it before, but this time was more, deeper, hotter, hungrier. I came with my whole self, with shivers that ran the length of my body in a rush of heady ecstasy that spread down to my toes.

It took me a long time to recover. I was pretty much useless while he righted my clothes.

I couldn’t look at him.

He refastened my bra, caressing my sensitive breasts as he did so, kneading at my flesh and pinching my erect, sensitive nipples like he couldn’t help himself. He sucked on them while he tugged my skirt down and straightened it, smoothing the material down my thighs. He pulled back and positioned me so I was sitting up on the seat. I wanted to lie down. I wanted to spread my legs and beg him to do it all again.

He righted my bra and put my top back in place.

“My panties,” I reminded him, my voice drowned out by all the noise.

He heard. “Just keep your legs together and try to be modest, if you even know what that means.”

I flushed. How could his mouth be both the nicest and meanest thing I’d ever encountered?

He opened the curtains and I shut my eyes against the bright strobing lights. Darkness was better, especially after that.

I still couldn’t look at him. I was sitting somewhere between mortified, disgusted, and completely smitten.

There was really no hope for me.

He sat back down beside me and threw an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into him. My face was hot. I felt his breath against my skin a beat before his soft lips kissed my temple. It was almost sweet.

What was that? What were we doing here?

“Well, you’re better at taking oral than you are at giving it,” he murmured. “At least you’re good for something.”

Ah, there it was. The venom hadn’t gone away, not for one second.

I didn’t even realize we’d been joined by a few of his friends until he leaned away from me and started casually chatting with one of them.

I stared in a daze at absolutely nothing. I was drunk on more things than the champagne.

After a short while, we went back into the smaller, private room. Our groups’ booth was empty. Everyone else was out dancing now. Calder didn’t seem to care.

We sat in silence for a time. I sipped sparingly at the virgin OJ he’d autocratically ordered for me while he tried to drown himself in bourbon.

Something was bothering me, and I knew it was a bad idea even as I felt the question leaving my mouth. “So why didn’t you marry one of the debutantes?”

He paused mid-drink, then resumed, finishing the glass, and giving me a thorough, less than friendly once over.

Personal questions were not welcomed in our marriage, and I’d had the gall to ask one anyway.

I’d displayed very bad fake wife manners.

I cared less and less about that.

Finally, surprisingly, he answered, “First and foremost, I didn’t want to. Second, I had no desire to marry someone that I and at least half of my close friends have plowed.”

I winced at his vulgarity, his misogyny, and his snobbery. “Isn’t that a double standard? Have you been a saint?”

“No, I haven’t and yes, it is, but that doesn’t change anything. I don’t know what to tell you. I was never going to marry one of them. That was never on the table. If one of them implied otherwise, they didn’t get the idea from me.”

“Because you wanted a virgin.”

“I told you. That wasn’t my stipulation. But now that it’s all said and done, I’m not sorry about it. It all worked out for the best.”

Well, I’ll be damned. Almost a compliment.

“Not the marriage,” he corrected hastily. “I still fucking hate being married to you. But I don’t entirely hate that your body’s my exclusive territory.”

And there it was.

His hand slid shamelessly between my closed thighs. They parted for him in spite of my shame, and he fingered me. “No one else has been here,” he whispered and promptly withdrew.

He proceeded to ignore me in favor of his phone.

I withstood it for a solid thirty minutes before I broke. My mind snagged on something, fixating on it to the point that I found myself stewing until I finally just addressed it out loud. “So am I getting this wrong, or did you imply that you’ve slept with most or all of my bridal party?” I asked him.

His face stiffened. He turned his head and eyed me with spectacular detachment. “My, my, aren’t you full of questions you don’t have any right to ask?”