Page 60 of Not My Little Drummer Boy
I retaliate, plucking a dented wreath from the box, crowning his copper curls.
“Very Lord of the Autumn Court.”
“I don’t know what that means, but I hope it’s good.”
“Very good.” He kisses me before I’ve finished laughing.
His hands bracket my hips, and in one effortless lift, I’m seated on a low shelf, dress hitched high. His fingers rove up the split in the satin, burrowing between my thighs, then pause, finding only bare skin.
“No knickers, bridesmaid?”
“Satin hates panty-lines,” I say, smug.
“Christ. You’re trouble with a capital T.”
My giggle dies in my throat as his fingers begin to move, circling, pausing, circling, pausing in a slow teasing rhythm. He holds me close, lips dropped to my collarbone, dusting kisses across my shoulders, mouth melting into my neck, with tiny nips and licks. I let my head drop back, resting against the wall. He’s learned to play me, every beat of his hands precise, measured, perfect. He coaxes the notes from my throat as I arch upwards to him, chasing that sweet, aching crescendo. The climax steals my voice, and I collapse onto his chest, body sagging, bones dissolved in the heat.
“I need you,” I say, meaning the erection that strains against my palm beneath the dark fabric of his suit trousers—but also more than that. I need him. Teddy. In my life. I just need to figure out how to keep him in it without destroying my fragile self-esteem.
“Are you sure, Rache?”
“Yes. But…condom.”
He slips a foil packet from his waistcoat like a conjurer producing a coin. “Prepared groomsman.”
“What kind of man brings that to a wedding?”
“The kind praying the most beautiful woman in the room will follow him into a broom cupboard,” he says.
I make quick work of his zipper; he rolls the condom on, then gathers my dress and eases forward, one arm cradling my back, the other cushioning my head against the timber. “Watch me, Rache,” he whispers, and we move together, eyes locked, breaths dovetailing until the final tremor leaves us trembling, forehead to forehead.
After, we dab at ourselves with a packet of Christmas serviettes, picking stray glitter out of our hair and clothes. Teddy sets me gently on my feet, his hands light at my waist.
“All good?” I smooth down my hair, wild from his fingers. “We can’t let the others know we’ve been shagging under the stairs, right? They’d only make a big deal of it. We don’t need Ollie taking the piss on a loop.”
I reach for the latch; he catches my wrist, heartbeat still thudding against my palm. “I can handle Ollie. What I can’t handle is pretending this is nothing. You know you’re more to me than a quick shag in a cupboard, right? Once this wedding’s over, I don’t want to hide us. I want to see you.”
“See me. What does that mean, Teddy? If it’s a couple of dates and then time to move on…” My voice lowers, aiming for gentleness and the honesty we both deserve. “I can’t do that. I invested too much of my life in someone who cast me off when some bright, shiny new thing came along. I don’t expect a signed-and-stamped forever, but…”
He cups my jaw, the calloused hand firm against my skin. “I’m done with two-week romances. I want something that sticks. I can’t promise the ending, but I’m not looking for a way out, Rache. Not with you. Is that enough?”
The earnestness in those brown eyes makes me want to match him truth for truth. I press a palm over the knot of doubt and hand him the answer I want to believe. “It’s enough.”
“Okay, ready to face the world?” He puts an ear to the door.
I nod, and he eases it open, checks left and right, then offers his hand. As we round the corner, Sam comes out of the loos. She pauses a moment, slides a pointed glance at our joined hands, gives a knowing smile, and heads for the ballroom.
Teddy squeezes my hand once, a quiet reassurance, then leads me back to the music and the bright, bewildering lights of whatever comes next.
Chapter 21
Theheavymorningrainbattering against Teddy’s bedroom window tells us there’ll be no final ride. We’ve decided after breakfast we’ll still wander over and give each horse some carrots to say our goodbyes. I’m going to miss the view between Solly’s pointy ears, his velvet muzzle, and that sweet grassy scent that is pure oxygen to a horse lover.
While Teddy showers, I nestle under the covers, breathing in him—clean linen, a hint of spice from his cologne, and the softer scent that’s become us. From the ensuite, he’s singing over the twin percussion of water on tiles and rain on glass.
Ping. A phone buzzes by my head. Instinctively, I reach for it. Realising it’s not mine, I start to set it down—then don’t.
Briar:Need you love. Can you come?
