Page 40 of Best Man Speaking

He places it on the hanger with deft fingers before stepping back in, barely a breath between us.

His gaze eats me up as he stands behind me.

My breasts had been bare beneath the dress, and his eyes now lock on the small tattoo in the center of my chest. “This is new.”

He rests his palms on my shoulders, squeezing gently before trailing them down my arms, then back and up over my collarbones.

My body comes alive under his touch, lifting to meet him with every breath I take.

“Not that new.” I bring a finger up to stroke the small serpent tattoo resting between my now-aching breasts.

“Is it poisonous?” he asks, tracing a finger of his own over the swells of my breasts.

“Deadly.” My breath catches.

“I think it’s worth the risk.” His finger moves down, following the path of my own.

Goose bumps blossom along my arms, causing my already puckered nipples to tighten further.

It’s only the firmness of his touch on my chin, directing my lips to his, that breaks my focus on our reflection, my body twisting within his grasp to get closer.

Our last kiss had been quick, dirty, and spontaneous, a test to see if the spark between us had withstood time. This one is different, deeper, and darker, and it asks for more.

Long gone is the boy I’d once kissed. Now, holding me and touching me is the man he’d become, so much surer of himself than he’d been back then. Yet the biggest difference comes from within me. I’d grown, but I’m still the girl who takes what she wants, even if it’s taken me a little while to remember it.

Consequences be damned, at least for now.

Marcus draws the rough pads of his fingers along the sides of my ribs before coming to cup my breasts, fingertips lightly pinching my nipples.

“Harder,” I gasp.

He brushes his lips over my shoulder, his teeth sinking against the skin at the base of my neck even as he pinches harder. It’s firm enough to cause a spike of pleasure to run through me, pooling between my thighs. When he bites again, I pull his hand from my breast, dragging it down my body and beneath the fabric of my panties. He’s quick to switch our positions, placing his hand over mine, directing both of our fingers lower to where I’m slick and ready.

His larger fingers control mine, widening my index and middle fingers to gently separate my folds and then dipping one of his own lightly inside.

“Be a good girl and hold yourself open for me,” he growls softly, nipping along the delicate shell of my ear. “Just as wet as the first time you let me get to third base.”

I shiver at his words, even as sarcastic ones leave my mouth. “I’m waiting for evidence that your moves have improved.”

A single moan escapes me as Marcus traces my wetness back up and over my clit. I can’t help but press my hips back and into his in the most basic of instincts, feeling the hard outline of his cock against my ass.

“Shall we play, then, Hal? Even with people just at the front of the store?”

He grates the words against my cheek, pushing one of my own fingers down and inside of me alongside his own. I don’t have it in me to reply. Instead, I let my head fall back against his shoulder, pressing into him with each stroke.

On some level, I’m aware that if anyone came back into the fitting room area, it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what we were up to, curtains not exactly being known for their soundproofing qualities.

I just can’t make myself care.

Breathing spiked, heart racing, I find myself on the tips of my toes, lifting to meet and match Marcus as he adds another finger, stretching me just so.

And then all thoughts cease as he picks up speed.

My eyes are drawn back to the mirror, witnessing both our hands inside of my now-ruined panties. I use my thumb to rub and press against my clit, urging myself on, as Marcus finds the spot inside that weakens my knees. The pleasure is unrelenting as I continue to take in the erotic picture of us together, me nearly nude and him still fully clothed. I grasp for something to hold on to, and it’s his dress-shirt-clad bicep I clutch while I come apart in his arms.

My breathing slows, and still he holds me, supporting my trembling body.

Closing my eyes, just for a moment, it’s easy to pretend we’re alone, that he’s someone else, that perhaps it’s all just a dream.

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