by Alina Jacobs
Definitely really good.
Evan’s tongue circled my clit. He focused on it until I was hot and ready for his cock. But he didn’t give it to me. Instead, there was only lick after maddening lick. Evan set such a powerful rhythm that my legs were aching, the pressure inside me building up and only getting more and more intense.
His tongue did most of the heavy lifting, but his hands were hardly idle. He was fingerfucking me in perfect unison to his licks on my clit. The heat inside me was growing hotter, stronger. I tried to stay standing, but even as my legs grew weak, he was there to hold me up.
I grabbed for his hair, riding his face as he brought me closer to the edge. Even as the heights of the orgasm crept over me and were about to wonderfully ravage my body, I couldn’t help but imagine more. I wanted him naked; I wanted to see his thick, perfect cock; I wanted him on top of me, claiming me, filling me.
I bit my lip, wanting to draw this out a little longer. I was also determined to avoid screaming for him. I didn’t want to give Evan the satisfaction. The moans were inevitable though. The orgasm was coming at me like a train, and I was standing there cluelessly as it was going to run me over.
All of it hit me at once. Every bit of heat pulsed through my body. My legs were completely jelly, and if I hadn’t been supported by Evan’s hands, I’d have collapsed on the floor. My back was bent, my arms tense, and my head tipped back, my bare tits heaving in the air.
Evan was there, holding me, still licking, wringing as much pleasure as he could manage out of the act. Mercifully—or perhaps not—he stopped. He stood up and left me lying half-limp out on the table, my tits out, my panties askew, and everything a bit overly sweaty.
I breathed hard as Evan regarded me. He was cool and calm.
“I hope you enjoyed your preview. Next time, you will scream my name.”
30
Ivy
“You did what?” Brea shrieked when I told her.
“Shhh!” I hissed at her as I helped her carry the surprisingly heavy lace wedding gown into the dressing room at the boutique bridal shop. That was another one-day-but-probably-won’t-ever-happen dream—to have our own Weddings in the City bridal boutique. Currently, we were partnered with a company in Manhattan.
“You have to tell me all the deets!” Brea said excitedly. “Spill! Now! Was he good? Was it huge? Was it the best sex of your life?”
“Amazing,” I said, blushing when I thought about it. “Though I don’t know how big he is exactly.”
Brea blinked then gave me a knowing look.
“Ah. He didn’t have any comments about how you smell, did he?” Brea asked in concern.
“I smell?” I said in horror.
“No, no!” Brea said. “Or at least I hope you don’t. Have you checked things down there lately?”
Had I?
“No?”
“Hmm. You haven’t eaten any garlic, have you?”
“I’ve been eating a lot of Italian food lately. Shoot, is that bad?” I chewed on my lip.
“Hopefully, he didn’t notice. Though maybe that’s why he didn’t go all the way,” Brea said.
I wanted to check and make sure that I didn’t smell, but Imogen and her family had arrived. With the way Evan was looking at me, my pussy had decided it wanted another round, but I was freaked out by Brea’s comment.
Was that why he didn’t bend me over and fuck me like he kept promising? Do I smell? Can people smell me?
I tried to cool off by uncorking one of the complimentary bottles of champagne. It was sitting in a sterling silver ice bucket, but the cold did little to quell the lust the sight of Evan stirred in me.
You need to cut him off, I scolded myself as I peeled off the foil on the bottle top.
“Need any help?” Evan murmured in my ear. I jumped, and one of his large hands on my hip steadied me.
“I—”
He took the bottle from me, his warm fingers brushing against my cold ones. He deftly untwisted the wire, the cork popped, and he twisted the bottle, motioning for me to hold up one of the glass flutes.
“You don’t have to help,” I said as he poured the champagne out.
He set the bottle down and picked up the tray. “Hey, I’m not totally an asshole.” There was that smile again, promising things I did not have the bandwidth to think about.
“I can’t wait to see my little girl all dressed up!” Evan’s father declared, taking the offered glass of champagne. Evan shot him a dirty look.
“I thought the father of the bride wasn’t supposed to be at the dress fitting.”
“Just not the fiancé,” his stepmother said. Imogen accepted a glass from Evan and took a small sip.
“First thing she’s had to eat all day,” Mika whispered to me. She had a paint swatch color chart and a bag full of lights with her.
“Are we doing a photoshoot?” I asked.
Mika sighed and downed her glass of champagne.
“Imogen is worried about the dress color. Someone strangle me with a satin bow, please.”
Brea also looked nervous as Imogen followed us back to the dressing room.
“I’ve done some natural sun bleaching methods to whiten the lace a bit more,” she chattered as we helped Imogen into the dress.
Brea had really outdone herself. The dress was an ethereal lacy ball gown, with layers and layers of sheer lace accented by handmade lace applique flowers and tiny crystals on the gauzy skirts. The bodice had off-the-shoulder sleeves and small, delicate flowers and crystals sewn on it that cascaded down the bodice to the waist of the dress. It was a true fairy princess dress, and part of me was slightly envious as Imogen fed her arms through the sleeves.
“You look stunning,” I told Imogen as I laced up the back of the bodice. The dress fit her like a glove.
“You look like a supermodel,” Brea agreed, fluffing out the bottom of the dress. I pinned the bride’s hair up on top of her head.
“We’ll put the veil on once you’ve fully seen the dress,” Brea continued anxiously.
Imogen hadn’t said a word, hadn’t smiled, hadn’t even inclined her head. “I need to see it in the daylight,” she finally remarked.
Brea held her breath as we walked Imogen out to the display area with the three-sided mirror and her family all seated on a curved pink couch. Mika and her stepmother applauded and whistled as Imogen stepped up on the podium and Brea spread out the train. Imogen frowned as she studied herself in the mirror; Brea nervously twisted her hands.
“Don’t make that face,” Imogen’s mother admonished her daughter. “You don’t want wrinkles.”
“What color is this dress?”
“You chose a delicate off-white,” Brea reminded her.
“Yes,” I added, “you didn’t want a full white dress because it would look cheap.”
“Yes, we wouldn’t want people to think that,” Evan said dryly.
Forget my earlier sexual feelings for him—if he derailed this wedding appointment, I was going to lose it.
“Mika!” Imogen snapped her fingers, and her half sister hurried up with the paint chips. Imogen looked down as Mika held up the swatch of whites against the skirt of the dress.
“This is the color I wanted,” Imogen said, tapping a cream white.
“Yes, that’s the color of the dress,” Brea said.
“No, it isn’t.” Imogen turned on Brea.
Brea hurried to a white box on a nearby table and came back with fabric swatches. “These are the ones you requested and signed off on, and these are all the emails where you confirmed that you actually wanted it a shade lighter.”
“Well, now this dress is too light.”
Brea’s hands clenched. I sympathized; I, too, wanted to pull out my hair.
“Against the red and yellow tartan,” Evan said, “it’s going to look positively blinding.”
Imogen’s nostrils flared.
Her father sighed and poured himself more champagne from the bottle that sat next
to him on a side table. “This dress needs to be perfect for my little girl,” he slurred. How much had he had to drink while we were helping Imogen dress?
“He’s right,” Imogen stated. “Make it darker. All the sun bleaching was too much.”
“It’s only a hair’s breath lighter,” I told her, holding up a fabric swatch and mentally cataloguing all the ways I was going to kill Evan.
“Should we try it with the veil?” I suggested, hoping to salvage the appointment.
“No. You have to redo it.”
“You ruined the dress,” Evan’s father added, “with your bleaching it. You need to make this right.” He slammed the empty champagne bottle on the side table for emphasis.
Brea looked like she was going to cry.
I didn’t like to play the you-asked-us-to-and-you-signed-off-on-it card, because I did not like to have a contentious relationship with my brides. However, Imogen and her father were being nasty to Brea, and I stood up for my friends no matter what. I was trying to formulate the most tactful way to say that we were not redoing the dress when Evan stood up, buttoning his suit jacket.
“Imogen, I’m paying for this wedding, and I’m paying for your dresses—this dress, and a reception dress, and, god help me, an after-party dress. What I am not paying for is a second ceremony dress. You have two options: Wear the reception dress for the ceremony, or wear this one. Brea will not be redoing this dress; it’s perfectly fine.”
“It’s not!” Imogen shrieked at her brother and stamped her feet. “You just don’t want me to have a happy wedding because you didn’t! You’re trying to ruin my big day out of spite.”
“Ivy, it appears that Imogen doesn’t want this dress,” Evan said to me. “Please box it up, and I will donate it to someone less fortunate. Let’s move on to the reception dress. Some of us actually have work to do today.”
Imogen started crying. “That’s not nice, Evan!”
“She’s just hungry,” Mika said as Imogen sank down on the podium to sob and bang her fists like a toddler. Mika pulled a pressed juice smoothie out of her bag, stuck a straw in it, and told Imogen, “Sip this. You’ll feel better.”
Imogen took two swallows as her mother dabbed her eyes.
“The dress looks stunning on you, Immie,” Mika exclaimed as Imogen stood back up. The bridezilla sniffed.
“Shall we try the accessories?” Brea offered, hurrying over with the long custom lace veil. I placed the diamond-studded tiara on the back of Imogen’s head, then we draped the veil over her shoulders.
“Look at my daughter!” her father boasted. “You look like a bride!”
“I do,” Imogen declared as she studied herself. “I’m going to be the best bride ever!”
Evan hung around after Imogen had signed off on the ceremony dress, reception dress, and short after-party dress and Brea had taken her alterations notes and measurements.
“I thought you had to work,” I commented to him.
“I’m waiting for my thank you for saving the day,” Evan said. I glared at him. He grinned, and I rolled my eyes.
“Thanks for doing that. Brides get stressed—”
“Stop making excuses for her. Imogen acted like a child; it was embarrassing,” he argued, following me to the back as I took some of the accessories we had been using to the safe. It was a weekday morning, and the store wasn’t too busy yet.
“If you can make the corgi problem go away, then I’d really be thankful,” I told him as we passed the racks of dresses.
“She has her heart set on them,” Evan said in exasperation. “Mika has been calling around, trying to order puppies.”
“Please tell her not to. I’m hoping that we can just tell her we are very sorry, but we couldn’t find enough.”
“You and Mika both need to learn the word no,” Evan said. Then he looked around and pushed me back against the dresses and kissed me.
“No! Someone will see!” I hissed against his mouth.
“I didn’t mean right now,” he said, standing back. “You sure you don’t want to turn that no into a yes?”
Yes.
“Maybe?” I squeaked. Evan responded by kissing me harder.
“You don’t know how much I wanted to fuck that perfect, tight little pussy last night,” he whispered hoarsely in my ear. “This, though. This isn’t the place. But it doesn't mean we can’t have a little fun.”
What was he going to do? I was wearing black slacks this time, so he didn’t exactly have easy access to my goods. I was never going to doubt Evan’s abilities to detect openings, though.
Up against a wall, his kisses were more intense. I loved the way he made me feel, but I hated that he was so clearly reading my mind about all this. His hands were going down my body, his knee between my legs. Even through the fabric, I could feel his touch, his rubbing. Evan undid the button on the pants, and I hissed furiously at him.
“You can’t be stripping me right here. The boutique is still open. Someone might walk in! Weddings in the City could be banned from here if I’m caught… carrying on with you.”
“I don’t plan on fucking you here, Ivy,” Evan said in my ear. “I just want to give you another taste.”
He kissed me hard then pushed up my shirt, exposing my tits. He sucked on them while his sneaky hand moved into my pants, to the thin lacy panties, and again I was feeling his skillful touch. I bucked against him as he teased me, rubbing me through that fabric, knowing that that alone wasn’t enough to meet his goal but that it would make me ache for more.
My pussy was wet, and I moaned against his mouth as he kissed me while he stroked me. I let his tongue guide mine, enjoying the adrenaline rush that came from making out with an actual factual Hot GuyTM. Those were words I had never thought would describe someone who found me sexy and desirable and, dare I say, fuckable. The best I had ever had in my fantasies was a bartender with two part-time jobs. Evan was in a whole league of his own.
Finally, his finger slid past my panties.
“Do I even need to touch you like this, Ivy? Or are you just wet and ready to come at the simple sight of me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“For now, I’ll accept that maybe I have to actually try to turn you on. I don’t seem to have to try very hard, mind you, but I have to try.”
I gasped as his finger caressed my clit, flesh to flesh. All the teasing had been leading up to this. He was rubbing me steadily, powerfully. The intensity of his touch grew more and more hectic. I would have let out a loud moan for him, but his kiss was right there to stifle any noises I would make. The pressure of bliss was building inside me again, ready to erupt.
“Fuck,” I whimpered.
“I do want to fuck you,” he whispered against my mouth. “Think about it, Ivy—my thick cock in that tight, hot pussy, thrusting into you as you moan, my hands digging into your ass.”
I writhed against his hand, steady in its rhythm on my clit. I was so wet for him.
“I need your cock.”
“Mmh, I like it when you beg,” he said, dipping his head to suck on my tits. My imagination was making the situation worse, filled with thoughts of what he could do if we were both naked, free of restraints, all of our time and energy so completely dedicated to pleasing one another.
I shuddered as the climax hit me. I would have collapsed right there if Evan hadn’t been there to hold me tight in those huge, muscular arms of his. I rode out the orgasm, leaning into him. He pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth.
He stood back and watched me rearrange my clothes with a smug smile.
“You have the best tits.”
“This is the last you’re seeing of them,” I said crossly. “This was such a terrible idea! I don’t know what’s wrong with me. You’re a horrible influence. If someone had seen us, my business would have been ruined!”
Evan smirked. “And yet part of you wishes I’d actually fucked you.”
Yup.
I swallowed. I need
ed to get ahold of myself.
You need Evan to get ahold of you.
“I don’t,” I croaked, turning to hurry back out into the showroom.
As I was collecting my bag, Evan grabbed my hips, and a noticeable bulge dug against my ass. He growled in my ear, “You will be mine. Completely. And that’ll happen sooner than you think, Ivy. I’ll have you on your hands and knees, begging for my cock to fill you.”
I turned to him, mad that he had my heart racing again. “I mean it, Evan. This is not happening again.”
31
Evan
I had no intention of keeping it professional with Ivy, and I needed to find a way to convince her that a no-strings-attached hookup situation would benefit both of us.
“Did you look at the info for the retreat I sent you?” Sebastian asked me when he slid onto the barstool next to me.
“I’m not going to a monastery in Wyoming to wander around in isolation and not talk to people,” I scoffed.
“You need to redefine yourself,” Sebastian insisted. “You’ve had a shock. I’m afraid you’re going to be seduced by a sociopathic woman who smells blood on you. You’re lonely, hurt, and she’s going to come in and tell you none of it is your fault, that you’re perfect, and soothe your ruffled feathers then soothe something else.”
“Or tell you you’re an idiot, that you need to grow up, and that she doesn’t even like you but she still does a little bit.”
Sebastian blinked at me.
“So I’m talking about hypotheticals, and you’re talking about…”
“Ivy.”
“The wedding planner?” Sebastian asked. “You’re dating her?”
“It’s not dating. I’m not stupid, and she’s not either. We’re comrades in arms in the fight against Imogen’s wedding. We’re also only half sleeping together,” I admitted.
“Don’t lose yourself to her,” Sebastian warned me. “You’re not in a good place. You’re quick to anger, and you’re still hurt. You need to take some time to decompress and refocus.”
