Page 88 of Our Broken Pieces
“We don’t have time for this, prince.”
“Just checking how short this skirt is. Planning for later.” I take note of how easy it would be to slide it up over her hips. I run my hand up the inside of her thigh.
“Princess.”
“Yes, Charming?”
“Did you forget your rule?”
“We’re going out and this skirt is short! I need underwear on!”
“One of us is going to take these off; you choose the method.” I remove my hands from her body and step back, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, waiting.
She begins to stand.
“Stay bent over while you take them off. Show me what I get to play with when we get home.”
She smiles before lifting her skirt and sliding her fingers into the band at the top of her thong, dragging it down over her ass and letting it fall around her heels.
“Give them to me.”
She reaches down, stepping out of the lace, and hands the thong to me. I put it in my pocket.
“I better get those back.”
“I make no promises.”
We’re standing at the bar, drinks in our hands, when Melonie declares she wants to make a toast to “the happy couple”.
“To Marcus and Gigi, may your marriage be easier to fake than an orgasm.” We all raise our glasses, well, everyone except for Linc, who is frozen in place with an offended expression.
“What do you know about faking an orgasm?”
“Don’t worry, Daddy, there’s no faking with you.” She kisses his cheek.
He relaxes a bit. “Damn right.” He takes a sip of his beer.
“That’s more than I needed to know this evening.”
Melonie laughs. “Sorry, Marcus.”
“It’s so fun to be out without lugging around a diaper bag,” Audrey says over the sugar-coated rim of her lemon drop.
“Right? It feels like visiting a past life.”
As the women chat, I position myself behind Gigi, facing the group. The thought of what she’s wearing—or not wearing—has had me on edge since we left the house. Subtly shifting closer to the bar, I let my fingertips brush the back of her thigh. She stiffens, her posture rigid as she stares straight ahead, but doesn’t move away.
Maintaining my focus on the conversation, I let my hand slide higher, testing her reaction. When I gently slip a finger inside her, she inhales sharply, masking the sound with a quick cough. She’s already wet, and I take my time, moving deliberately. Gigi slaps a hand against the bar to steady herself, her voice unwavering as she continues talking to our friends.
“You good, G?” Melonie asks.
Gigi slams a fist against her chest. “Just went down the wrong pipe.”
“Well, don’t choke on it. Slow down.”
I laugh, removing my finger. “Yeah, princess, don’t choke on it.” She whips her head around with eyes narrowed at me. I smile over the rim of my glass.
She redirects her attention back to the group. “Audrey, Melonie, finish your drinks. We’re dancing.”
