Page 156 of That Moment
“More than fun. This is perfect.”
He presses a kiss against my temple. “Good. Because I’m about five minutes from getting you out of here so I can finally enjoy my wife the way I’ve been dying to all damn day.” He doesn’t let go, doesn’t break eye contact, his voice rougher now. “Say goodbye, sweetheart. We’ve got a wedding night to get to.”
The crowd is still laughing, drinking, dancing, but for me, the room narrows down to just him. My husband. My forever. And I can’t wait another second either.
The suite door clicks shut,and the world goes quiet.
No music. No clinking glasses. Just the steady thump of my own heartbeat as Scotty backs me further into the room. The veil is long gone, my heels dangling from my fingers. His jacket is gone, bowtie hanging undone, shirt unbuttoned at the throat. His eyes drag over me like he’s been starving all day and finally gets to eat.
“My wife,” he says, voice low and rough. He palms my hip, and the silk catches, whispering as it moves. “Say it.”
A shiver runs through me. “Your wife.”
He smiles that slow, devilish grin he always flashed me secretly over the years. “Yeah. Mine.” He bends, mouths my throat, slow and reverent. “I’m going to worship you tonight. Start to finish. Every square inch of you. You hear me, Mrs. Bescher?”
Heat floods everywhere.Yes. God, yes.I manage a nod that turns into a gasp when he skims up my ribs, cupping my breast through the bodice.
“Words, sweetheart.”
“Yes,” I breathe. “Please.”
He smiles against my collarbone. “Good girl.”
He turns me, presses me to the window. The moon hangs low over the dark line of pines, the Rockies a black cutout against silver sky. His hands find the tiny row of buttons down my spine and work, slow torture, each pop of silk another exhale from me, another quiet curse from him.
“You looked so fucking beautiful at that altar,” he murmurs, kissing the shell of my ear. “Almost dropped to my knees right there. Would’ve embarrassed the hell out of the family. Worth it.”
I laugh, breathless, as the last button gives. The gown loosens and he eases it down, careful, patient, like unwrapping something sacred. The dress pools at my feet. I’m left in lace and stockings and the thin sparkle of the garter Brooklyn insisted I wear.
Scotty goes still.
“Turn around.”
I do, heart pounding. His eyes are hungry, but there’s a softness there that wrecks me. He traces the line of the garter with one finger.
“Mine,” he says again, voice deeper. “My wife. I’m going to take care of every inch of you.”
He drops to his knees, my back against the glass picture window.
The sound that leaves me is something helpless. He kisses my thigh, open-mouthed and hot, then the inside of my knee, then higher, tongue teasing at lace. He hooks a finger under the garter and drags it down with aching care, then my thong, lips following, peppering kisses all the way down. The stockings roll off next, his hands firm, the scrape of his stubble a wickedcounterpoint to the tenderness. He looks up from the floor like a sinner at an altar, palms on my hips.
“Leg up, baby.”
I brace on his shoulder and lift. He settles my calf over his back and kisses the soft place high on my inner thigh that makes my knees wobble. Then his mouth is on me, kissing me slowly, not stopping until I’m shaking for him.
“Oh, God,” I whisper, fingers tangling in his hair.
This man is going to kill me with his tongue.
He hums, satisfied. “Not God. Your husband.”
A laugh shatters into a moan when he licks again, only deeper. He worships me like he promised, soft at first, then firmer when my hips start to roll. He pins me to the window with his forearm, keeping me right where he wants me, and eats me like he’s tattooing his name on me with his tongue.
“Scotty.” I’m already climbing, the day colliding with the desire, the vows, and the mountain air, and his hands on me. “Please.”
He pulls back just enough to speak, breath hot. “You taste like honey, baby. Come for me, Mrs. Bescher.”
I break. It hits like a wave, long and pulsing, my back bowing, breath catching on a cry that probably echoes down the hall. He holds me through every tremor, mouth gentle now, kisses soft and filthy all at once until I’m shaking and laughing and dragging him up by his shirt.
