Page 88 of Don't Take the Girl
Now, that comment has me slowing my pace. There's only one person I've yet to see tonight.
"You may have noticed Sydney isn't the only person missing from tonight's festivities. Wouldn't you know Warrick Fairfield has yet to make an appearance at his own party," he says, and even I can hear the dramatic flair in his tone.
That's a big claim to make, but if I've learned anything about my brother, it's that he does his research. I'm not thrilled, but Sydney is an adult. She can do adult things with whomever she wants. I can't tell her to stay away from someone when I can't even take my own advice. I'm on my knees, devouring the woman I told myself I could never have again, my reasons evaporating with every exquisite swipe of my tongue as her legs quiver around me.
"So if I tell you what London's plans are regarding the land lease?—"
My fingers push inside of her, joining my tongue, and her thighs tremble against my shoulders. I can feel her fighting to keep her voice steady, to maintain the facade that she's having a normal conversation while I'm worshiping her beneath the table.
"I won't out your best friend for sucking your other best friend's dad's cock."
"And if I don't?" I hear the sharp intake of breath she pulls through her mouth as I feel her orgasm start to take root. She's fighting it, trying to hold her composure as her pussy strangles my fingers.
"You will." Trigg shifts, his legs now facing her. "But I'm not ruthless…" Then, knocking on the table, he says, "I'll let the two of you work out the details together this time."
Fuck… I'm sure Laney is mortified right now. Her face is probably flushed with a mix of embarrassment and ecstasy, but my cock is weeping. I'm so turned on by the knowledge that my brother knows I'm under this table, taking my fill of MY woman.
Her hand returns under the tablecloth with a vengeance. I know she wants to come, but she doesn't like having an audience. Her fingers tug my hair hard, but it only makes me hold her tighter, keeping her in place. If she didn't want this, she shouldn't have taunted me earlier about my aftercare. She shouldn't have let me go this far. There's no going back.
"Oh yeah, you never answered my question earlier," Trigg adds fuel to the fire, staying put even though he knows she's on the brink of orgasm and his presence is the last thing she wants. "Do you like your seat clean-shaven, or do you prefer the added stimulation that a beard gives as it rubs against your soft, delicate skin, reddening it and leaving its mark hours after the feast is over?"
Those words shatter her completely, and I crush her against my mouth, desperate to devour every tremor, every violent quiver as she convulses around my tongue. The broken whimper that tears from her throat is mine, a raw confession I've ripped from her very core. She's unraveling beneath me, every sound a surrender she can no longer deny. With her defenses down, all that remains is pure, unfiltered truth. I still own her the same way she's always owned me.
"I'm not answering that," she finally manages to choke out, her voice strangled as I lick her through the aftershocks, not wasting a single drop and claiming every part of her surrender in this moment, despite the chaos above.
"You don't have to. Your face just did." Then, just to ensure there's no mistaking that he's well aware I'm under the table, he slaps it one more time and adds, "Have a good night, brother."
And then he's gone.
The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by her ragged breathing and the distant hum of the party. My heartpounds against my ribs as the reality of what just happened, what Trigg just acknowledged, settles between us.
Slowly, carefully, I pull her thong back into place, my fingers gentle now. I press a lingering kiss to each of her thighs, tasting salt and silk and the lingering evidence of what we've just shared. When I draw her dress down, smoothing the fabric with deliberate care, it feels like both an ending and a beginning. I emerge from beneath the tablecloth like I'm surfacing from deep water, and I know exactly what I look like: hair mussed beyond repair, lips glossy and swollen, eyes dark with satisfied hunger. The shit-eating grin spreading across my face is inevitable.
"How was that for aftercare?" I ask, my voice rough with the evidence of what I've been doing.
She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. Instead, her gaze travels over my disheveled appearance with an intensity that makes my skin burn. I watch her take in every detail. The way my hair falls across my forehead, the way my lips catch the light, the way my breathing is still uneven. When her teeth sink into her bottom lip, my mouth is instantly jealous.
"Heartbreaker," I murmur, leaning closer so only she can hear, "the crimson on your cheeks and the flush spreading down your throat says yes louder than words ever could." I nod toward the edge of the party. "Wanna get out of here?"
She nods, the movement sharp and desperate. "Unless you want to kiss me right here in front of everyone…yes."
My hand slides possessively around her waist as I rise, pulling her flush against me in one fluid motion. The heat of her body against mine sends electricity racing through my veins, and I have to fight the urge to lift her onto this table and finish what we started.
"Don't tempt me," I murmur, my voice a low growl against her ear. "I have no problem kissing you for the world to see."
To prove my point, my lips find hers in a kiss that's deliberately slow and unhurried, a stark contrast to the energy thrumming between us. I don't care who's watching, don't care about theconversations that might pause or the looks we might draw. Let them see. Let them know she's mine.
When I pull back, her lips are swollen, and her breathing is uneven. "But I think we both know I want more than just a kiss..." My pulse hammers against my throat as my mouth trails along her jaw, tasting the salt of her skin. "I want to kiss you while you're wrapped around me. Apparently, I need to remind you how you scream for me." I taunt her with the lies she dared to spew earlier about what really transpired between us in that barn. I let my teeth graze the shell of her ear, and she shudders against me. "What's it going to be, heartbreaker?"
Taking her hand, I guide it to the evidence of my desire, rock-hard and straining against my jeans. Her breath catching in her throat is music to my ears.
"If you keep biting that lip like that," I warn, watching as her teeth worry her bottom lip again, "I won't be able to wait until we're alone."
She nods breathlessly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I want you, London. I always want you."
Her confession knocks the wind out of me, stealing the air from my lungs. Something fundamental shifts between us, the playful teasing dissolving into something deeper, more raw and honest. Her eyes search mine with an intensity that leaves me feeling exposed, and I know she sees it all: the longing I can never quite hide, the way I ache for her even when she's right here in my arms, the truth I'm too terrified to say out loud.
My forehead drops to rest against hers, and for a suspended moment, we just breathe each other in. The party fades to background noise, the world narrowing to just this, her warmth, her scent, the way she fits perfectly against me.
