The Mistletoe Wedding

by Izabella Brooks

  That’s pretty much always been Breona right there. Everything wrapped up all in one. She’s complicated. She’s headstrong. She’s frustrating as hell. She’s also the smartest, most compassionate, kindest, most loyal person I know.

  Once she puts her heart into something, she pours her everything into it. Which she did into hating me for the past decade. I’m really glad that it appears she’s mostly over that.

  I just don’t know exactly how to pick up the pieces of the wreckage and start to assemble them past the pain and the fear into the first awkward steps of something new and beautiful.

  She stares at me with wild eyes, like she can’t believe I just wrecked what was left of her updo.

  “It looks better like this,” I say huskily. “Trust me.”

  She doesn’t look like she does, but she also doesn’t have time to argue. Her hand dips into her tote and produces the rest of her makeup. She scatters it all over the counter and sighs hopelessly.

  “This isn’t going to fix all the puffiness and redness. I look terrible,” she moans.

  “No, you don’t.” I set my hand at the small of her back and she vibrates against my touch. Her hands curl against the granite lip of the countertop. “You couldn’t if you tried. You don’t need all that junk anyway.”

  “This is a wedding we’re talking about. As in everyone is going to be looking at me.”

  “No, they won’t.” I press my palm flat against her back. My eyes shutter and I do my best not to groan at the heat of her skin just below the gossamer fabric. “They’ll be looking at Jake and Arla.” I pull out my phone and glance at it. “We probably have half an hour yet before they’re even done with their pictures. Take twenty minutes and let the swelling settle down. I have something else we could do until then.”

  “The bathroom door is locked.”

  “Yeah. It is. Until someone comes knocking, I’m not going to open it. If the staff find out that we’re back here, I’ll give them some hefty bribe to stand guard outside with a stupid cleaning sign. I don’t care what it takes. I’m not letting anyone in.”

  Her eyes narrow in the mirror. She watches me like a rabbit keeping watch on the eagle circling the skies above.

  “So that means you’re not letting me out either.”

  “Oh, I’d let you out. If you want me to.” I lean in behind her. She stares at me warily in the huge mirror. I let my breath fog out against her neck and she shudders, giving herself away. “Go ahead and ask me to.”

  “To what?” Her hands tighten on the granite.

  “To let you out.”

  I know she just had an epic meltdown and I shouldn’t be pressing my luck, but I have to. I can’t stay trapped in this no-zone, friend zone for the rest of my life, waiting for her to come around. It might be hard and it might be uncomfortable. It might even hurt, but I’m not going to let up until she shoves me away or tells me to go to hell.

  “We…this is public. We can’t…”

  Yeah. That’s what I thought. She’s scared of the future. Scared of the what ifs and the what does this make us now and the where do we go from here questions. I am too, but if I don’t take this chance, I might not get another.

  I scoop her up easily by the waist. I turn her around before she can even so much as protest, and slam her up on that counter. One hand steadies her at her waist while the other moves to her shoulder. I drop my face to hers and kiss her so hard that if I didn’t bruise her lips before, I’m probably going to now. They’ll look extra swollen when she walks down that aisle at my side and I just hope that I don’t look too smug as I walk beside her, carrying the weight of all of our secrets between us.

  Her hands scrape over my tux until she finds the bare skin of my neck and her nails dig in. I imagine the little crescent moon marks they’re making there and my cock goes to town, trying to wreck my pants again.

  Breona kisses me back, battling it out with me every step of the way. I nip her, she nips back. I suck her lower lip into my mouth and when I release it, her tongue thrusts into mine so hard that I groan. She swallows it up.

  I take a chance, and when I drop my hand from her waist to her thigh, her skin is so hot it just about scalds my fingertips. I groan again, this time feral and brutal, but she eats that too. I part her legs and she doesn’t slam them back together. Not when I spread them apart on the counter. Not when I trail my fingers up, shoving the fabric of her dress up. She arches into my hand when I keep going, finding the edge of her panties. I swear, it nearly kills me. I see stars and it’s all I can do to stay upright when I brush my fingers over her panties, lace panties, and find her as hot as an inferno and as wet as a tropical storm.

  “Fuck, Breona,” I curse, tearing my lips from hers. I have to look at her. I have to see her. To see how wet she is. To take it all in.

  Looking down is a mistake because that lightheaded sensation comes back big time when I glance down at her spread legs and those red lace panties. Fuck. Of course they’re red. And of course she’s entirely smooth below the little they’re hiding from view.

  “With a dress this fucking short, you should be wearing underwear that look like men’s boxers,” I groan. “This…” I run my finger over her panties, just above her slit, and she moans, rocking violently into my hands and throwing her head back. “This isn’t for anyone else to see. This is for me.”

  “No,” she pants. “Not for you. It’s not for anyone. It’s mine. It belongs to me just like the rest of my body does.”

  “You’re right. You don’t belong to anyone. You’re wild and independent. You’re strong and courageous. You fucking made it, all on your own out there. I know what I said earlier, but that takes guts and it takes strength, even if it shouldn’t have happened that way. Even if we all miss you.”

  “We don’t even live in the same city,” she protests, but her eyes aren’t even open.

  Her lips part as I sweep my fingers over her slit and up to her clit, and she lets out a low moan that would probably turn on even the most devout nun.

  “That doesn’t have to be a problem.”

  “I’m not yours. This doesn’t make me yours. It doesn’t make us an us. Just because I don’t hate you doesn’t mean you own me. We don’t even know each other anymore.”

  I drop to my knees in front of her and she lets out a feral sounding groan that I match in intensity as I inhale in her sweet, dusky scent.

  “Allow me to get reacquainted, then. I’m Karsyn, by the way. And I’ve been waiting half my life to do this.”

  I take one of her gorgeous, smooth, dark legs and prop it up on my shoulder, opening her deliciously. She moans out something incoherent and doesn’t even attempt to shrug me off.

  I also know that someone might come knocking on that bathroom door at any second, so I don’t waste time. The last thing I need is for this to turn into the tragedy of the century with me getting so close and then getting denied.

  I bring my face close and inhale sharply, letting her know that I fucking love the scent of her. I push her panties aside, and by push, I mean I tug them so hard they nearly rip in half. Then again, the lace is pretty flimsy and way too sexy to be all that’s on under that dress.

  I taste her in a hot pass, from her slit to her clit. She’s soaked and most of the hose juices end up bathing my chin and coating my tongue. I swallow hard, savoring every single drop. She’s earthy and deep, all woman, with hints of honey and burnt sugar, and the rest of me loves it as much as my mouth does. My cock is so hard it could karate chop twenty stacked up two-by-fours in half, while my balls feel like they’ve just got hit by a gravel truck, and I mean that in the nicest sort of way.

  I’m not wasting time and I mean business, so I lick her again. I get messy, eating her thoroughly, thrusting my tongue against her folds, dipping into her entrance, and licking every single drop of her delicious arousal.

  Breona goes wild, bucking and thrusting into my face. Her hands tangle in my hair and her nails bite into my scalp as she
drags my face into her desperately.

  “Please, god, yes…” she moans, and I hope to hell there isn’t a line on the other side of the door or we’re finished.

  No knocks or pounding from the door mean it’s all good. For another few minutes at least, and that’s all the time I need.

  I eat her like she’s an oasis and I’m the starved, pitiful, lost desert traveller. She bucks and thrashes against me while her thighs vibrate and tremble on either side of my face. I nip at her, grind my teeth into her, and use my tongue as everything short of an actual weapon. I drive her wild, creating so much friction that her thighs begin to quake.

  I can tell she’s ready to burst and I want her to come. I want her to come all over my face like I used to lie in bed thinking about.

  Okay, maybe I thought about it last night and all the nights up until then too. The used to in that sentence isn’t accurate.

  “Oh-oh my…Karsyn,” she pants. “I’m going to…” Her nails brutalize my scalp like she’s afraid I’m going to jump up, scream, April Fools, and run out of that bathroom before I let her finish. Yeah. Not happening.

  “Come?” I swipe my tongue over her clit. Hard. I flick the straining bud even harder, then make sure I scrape my teeth over it lightly. She nearly lights off like a rocket.

  Breona’s hips are pretty much off the counter. There’s a wet puddle underneath of her and thank fucking god they put actual towels in this place. I go for another pass, because I know she’s close and I want her to shatter. I am not getting denied this.

  I attack her clit with hot passes of my tongue before I suck the nub into my mouth. Harder than I’ve touched her yet.

  She explodes.

  I have enough foresight to throw my hand up over her mouth and she sinks her teeth into the side of my hand, not gently either. She rocks and spasms against me as she breathes crazily and noisily around my hand. She makes the sexiest fucking noises, and I almost want to rip my hand away and let her turn up the volume.

  I might have waited a long time for this and I might have played it out in a few fantasies over the years, and usually the real thing isn’t nearly as good, but this is not a letdown in any sense.

  Breona finally releases my hand. I don’t check for teeth marks—I know they’re there. My palm is throbbing where she nearly pierced the skin, but I love it. The rest of me is throbbing too, just as hard and just as painfully, but I can’t do anything about that at the moment, even though I love that a hell of a lot less.

  I stand slowly, savoring the way Breona’s eyes, with their blown pupils and heavy lids, trace my every movement. Her face is suffused with a combination of lust and sated pleasure. Her eyes light up when she watches me swipe a hand over my dripping chin. I bring it to my mouth and run my tongue over the wet patch, just so she can see me do it. I close my eyes and groan in contentment as her spicy musk blooms all over my tongue again.

  “God,” she breathes. “If I had any idea… Karsyn, I’ve never…”

  “Don’t tell me that was a first for you.” Yes. Please tell me that. Please tell me that so I can die right here on the spot.

  “No. Of course not. We’ll be thirty in a few years,” she laughs nervously. “I just…it’s never been…I’ve never felt… It was really good. You’re not my first. I’m not yours either. But that was the best. I’ve never come like that before. Did I…?” She shifts, suddenly self-conscious about the moisture below her.

  “Did you what? Come so hard you nearly bit my hand off while strangling me with your thighs? Yeah. And it was hot. Hot as hell. So don’t get weird on me now.”

  Breona, of course, because she’s Breona and the moment has passed, jumps off the sink. She nearly falls on her face since her legs are still wobbly, and has to throw a hand out to catch herself. She starts freaking out about her dress having a weird stain on it, about cleaning up the sink, and about her makeup.

  “Don’t worry,” I chuckle darkly. “All the puffiness is gone. Turns out all you needed was a good orgasm to put everything right.”

  Breona lets out a growl and shoves at my shoulder. “Go stand over there. I can’t think with you hovering so close.”

  I can tell she’s serious and I really am a distraction at the moment, so I wander off, watching her the whole time, out of the corner of my eye.

  She starts fussing with her makeup, putting it on like an old pro. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her not to bother again, that she’ll still be the most beautiful woman there, but I know she won’t listen. I want to tell her that she doesn’t need to worry about looking good for anyone else, but I choke that back too.

  She said she doesn’t belong to anyone but herself and she’s right about that. It’s not my job to possess her or break her or make her mine. It is my job to make her realize that we were made for each other. That we could be good together. That this could work if we both give it a shot.

  She’s not convinced yet.

  Which is okay, because the day is so far from being over.

  Chapter 11

  Breona

  Somehow we make it out of the restaurant. The hostess gave us a look that was half bewildered, half dirty until Karsyn plunked down a couple of hundreds on the ornate counter she was standing behind. I wanted to protest that he could have used it for something better, but he shot me a look that said there was no better purpose, and I had to agree, so I shut it and followed him out, right to the limo in the parking lot.

  I let out a sigh of relief when I spot Jake and Arla in the distance.

  “Get in ahead of me,” I hiss under my breath. “I don’t want anyone asking questions about any of this.”

  Karsyn winks at me, hot as sin and devastating as the devil himself. I feel like I’ve just made some kind of deal with him and there isn’t any going back now, which causes all sorts of panic to stampede through me.

  “Don’t worry, a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

  “You’re no gentleman,” I remind him in scathing tones.

  He flashes me a faux wounded look before he turns and strolls off to the limo just far enough ahead that no one inside will think to ask any questions. At least, I hope so.

  Jake and Arla, his arm looped around her waist, round the bend right as I reach the limo. Karsyn slips inside ahead of me. I can only assume everyone else is already in there.

  “Bree?”

  I have to turn around and face Arla. I can already hear the question in her voice.

  “Yes?” I whirl, pasting on a super sweet smile. “Were the photos okay?” I want to ask if the Firebreather behaved, but Jake is standing right there—not that he doesn’t know what we all call his mom—and I’ll only go so far to deflect attention from myself.

  “What happened to your hair?”

  “Oh.” I swallow hard and paste on my most dazzling smile. “Sorry. The wind wrecked it and the pins started falling out all over and it was half hanging on and I thought it wasn’t going to make it, so I took them out. I hope it’s okay. I mean, I know my hair is unruly—”

  “No! No, your hair is perfect. It’s fine.” Arla only studies me for a second longer before she glances back, all love struck, at Jake, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

  She didn’t even notice my makeup. I guess I did a pretty passable job in the ten minutes I had in the bathroom, which is pretty much a miracle, since Karsyn watched me from the other side of the room like he wanted to eat me all over again. I’m ashamed to say that I wanted to say fuck it to the makeup and take him up on his offer.

  I liked what we did. I liked it a lot. And I want it to happen again. I feel like I’m back in high school again, except this time, instead of standing on the edge of that precipice between friends and something else, we just obliterated the boundary and I’m left wondering what the heck to do about it.

  We live in different cities. We aren’t even really friends anymore. I just spent a decade hating him and doing everything I could to avoid him and anywhere that held any memories of us.
I don’t know how to readjust my brain to what happened back there.

  Luckily, Arla steps on the hem of her dress and I have to spring into maid of honor mode. I rush at her, picking up her dress and helping her into the limo, while Jake pulls her in from the other direction.

  I climb in last, and thankfully the only seat open isn’t next to Karsyn. I think I’d implode if I had to sit beside him.

  Jake taps the roof and the car starts off right after I get my tote settled and the door closed. It only takes two minutes for Karsyn to start complaining about there being sand in his tux and egging the other guys on, all while looking pointedly at me, running his tongue over his bottom lip. The car explodes into peals of laughter. Thank god. No one is fighting, so that’s a good sign at least. It would be better if Karsyn would quit looking at me.