Page 78 of Wicked Sinner
Honestly, I can’t imagine anyone really liking her.
"Running away?"
I don't turn around, even though Caesar's voice sends a familiar shiver down my spine. "Just getting some air."
He steps up beside me, his hands braced on the balcony railing. "Isabella can be… difficult. Ignore her. She means nothing."
"She’s a bitch.” I swallow hard, looking out over the gardens. “I guess I knew it would be like this, though.”
"She's jealous."
I finally look at him, surprised by the certainty in his voice. "Jealous? Of what?"
"Of this." He gestures between us. "Of the fact that I married you. That you have me.”
I snort, shaking my head and turning away. “I don’t have you. If she knew how fake this marriage is, that it’s going to be over as soon as everything is sorted out, she wouldn’t be jealous.”
“I’m not so sure that’s true.”
The soft timbre of his voice startles me, and I look at him again. “What is that supposed to mean?”
He shifts toward me, and suddenly the air crackles with tension. He’s closer to me than he should be, and I'm suddenly very aware of how alone we are out here. How good he looks in that suit, the jacket tugging at the swell of his muscled arms. How the moonlight catches the sharp angles of his face.
“Bridget.” He murmurs my name, and that shiver runs down my spine again.
I should move away. I should go back downstairs and face the rest of the party. I shouldnotstand here on this balcony with my husband, a man who is becoming harder and harder to resist by the moment.
“Caesar—”
“Shh.” His hand captures my face, thumb pressing against my chin as he draws me in. “Just don’t think for a second.”
He leans in before I can gather my thoughts, and his mouth presses against mine. It’s soft and full and warm, his other hand on the small of my back as he draws me against him, and for a moment Ican’tthink. My senses are full of him—of the caress of his mouth, the scent of his cologne, the taste of wine on his lips. His body, hard and muscled under the suit, the length of his hardening cock pressed against my thigh as he turns me so that my back is against the balcony.
“We won’t go further,” he murmurs against my lips, his hand sliding to my hip as he rocks into me with a groan. “Just let me kiss you, Bridget. Let me?—”
His mouth presses against mine again, and I reach up to push him away, but my fingers curl into the front of his jacket instead, my body arching against his. He’s the best kisser I’ve ever known, his mouth working magic against mine, his tongue sliding against the seam of my lips until it feels as if I have no choice but to let him in.
And the feeling of him against me—hard and thick and so overwhelmingly masculine… I can feel my knees go weak, feel myself giving in to what I know I should be resisting. For a moment, I forget where we are. I forget about Isabella and her cutting remarks, about the expectations and the scrutiny. There's only Caesar and the way he makes me feel—desired, protected,needed.
A burst of laughter from the party below breaks the spell, and I pull back, breathing hard. Caesar's eyes are dark with desire, his hair slightly mussed, curling from the humidity outside. “Bridget.” My name on his lips is hoarse with need, and heat blooms through me. I can feel my resistance slipping further, feel the temptation to touch him growing with every passing second.
"We should go back," I whisper, though I make no move to step away from him.
"Should we?" His voice is rough, and his hand is still on my hip, his thumb tracing small circles that make it hard to think.
“We’re missing the party.”
“Do you care?” His gaze holds mine, and if I say no, he’s going to know it’s a lie.
“You brought me here to show me off, not hide on a balcony.”
“They’ve seen you already.” His fingers gather up my skirt, and I know his promise not to go further is faltering, too.
If I don’t stop this now, we’re going to go too far. I’m aching for him, my thin silk thong clinging to my skin from how wet I am, and I’m going to let him do something I’ll regret. I can picture it already—Caesar on his knees with my leg over his shoulder and his mouth between my thighs, my hands clenching the railing as he bends me over it, his thick, pierced cock sliding inside of me the way I so desperately want it to right now.
“We should go back down,” I repeat, pushing past him. I don’t want to go back to the party, but I also don’t want to stay up here any longer, not with Caesar so close and the tension so thick between us. Not when I’m so close to begging for what I told him I’d never let him have.
“Alright, then.” Caesar’s voice is rough with disappointment, but he takes my arm, walking with me back down the hallway. We make our way back downstairs, and I can feel eyes on us as we enter the ballroom. The meal is over, the string quartet has picked up again, and Caesar leads me onto the dance floor. I'm grateful my father taught me to dance a little when I was younger, spinning around the living room to classical records while I balanced with my feet atop his. At least I won't embarrass myself completely, although this is an entirely different beast.
