Page 65 of Sex, Lies, and Margarita Mixes

Releasing me, he walks back to the bed. Sitting, he crooks his finger at me. I walk toward him, hips swinging, shoes clicking against the hardwood floor. He watches me like I’m dessert. Like he’s starving.

“God, Roxy,” he murmurs. “You’re unreal.”

I stand between his knees. “Show me.”

His hands manage to get under the massive skirt, and he grips my hips. Fisting the dress, he bunches it and tries to kiss the tops of my thighs, the skirt is too full. Growling, he holds the dress with his entire arm while his other hand trails over the slight curve of my belly before reaching the underside of my breasts. The bodice lifts them sky-high. His hands roam over the sequins cupping me, tracing the embroidery.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs against my skin.

“Always,” I whisper back.

Lifting the skirt higher, he ducks under it, disappearing beneath the layers and layers of tulle. I laugh.

I look like a Barbie dress birthday cake.

“Babe, you cannot?—”

He grabs my knee, lifts my leg, and sets my foot on the bed. Then, somehow, his tongue finds me.

“Oh my—Chase…”

A muffled groan comes from under the dress. My knees buckle.

He pulls my thighs tighter around his face, his hands anchoring me as his tongue strokes and circles, relentlessly. My hands scrabble at the skirt, fisting tulle, pulling it up to try to see his dark head buried between my thighs.

He glances up, eyes dark and wicked and hair stuck to his forehead and neck with sweat. His lips glisten with my juices.

“We cannot get cum on this dress,” I gasp as I ride his face.

He stops licking me to smirk and growl, “No promises.” Then, he dives back in.

I rock against him. My thighs are trembling. My breath is catching. I moan, “Ohhhh, Chase… Oh, shit… Fuck me… Ohhhhhhh…” I see stars. I see the damn invoice flashing in my brain as his tongue curls inside me and his thumb presses just right. I scream, “Chase…. Fucking, Chase….”

I break apart, my fingers are clinging to the bedpost for balance as my entire body convulses.

He emerges from the tulle a minute later, face shining with victory… and so much sweat.

“Still believe in love, babe?” he teases. “It’s like a sauna down there.”

I pant. “Shut up and get inside me.”

He stands, lifts me onto the bed, flips me onto my hands and knees, and shoves the dress over my head. My bare ass is in the air.

“Wedding night redo,” he rasps as he slides inside of my pussy. Deep. Slow. Delicious.

He ruins the dress exactly the way I knew he would.

Worth it.

So. Fucking. Worth. It.

Best. Business. Expense. Ever.

When we finally collapse, sweaty and tangled in acres of tulle, he kisses the shell of my ear and whispers, “You’re gonna be okay, Roxy. You’re unstoppable.”

I smile, exhausted, sated, and utterly wrecked in the best way possible.

“Yeah,” I murmur.

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