Wedding Favors

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  “Thomas, I really don’t want to talk about Keith Girard.”

  “Fine by me, cher. Let’s grab a table.”

  “There aren’t any. It’s too crowded.”

  Thomas took her elbow and guided her away from the bar. Just as he knew it would, a corner table emptied as he walked toward it—it was strange how humans responded to his dominant and predatory stare.

  A cocktail waitress who looked run off her feet but still smiled cheerfully gave the table a quick wipe-down, and Thomas assisted Madison onto the tall chair. “I need to talk to you, Maddie.”

  Madison took a sip of her martini and set down the glass. “Not about my house.”

  “All right.” But if she didn’t want to talk about Keith or the house, he didn’t have an opening. “So what do you want to talk about?”

  “You.” Madison moved the cocktail stick around the glass, her brown eyes fixed on him. “Tell me about this business you started with your brother.”

  Thomas shrugged, but he picked his words carefully. “Not much to tell. It’s a courier business. We deliver things.”

  “By slow ship? You’re gone for weeks at a time.”

  The fact that she’d noticed made his heart go thumpetythump. “We do deliveries around the world.” Thomas gave her the cautious line he gave to the curious. He and Marc did do deliveries, domestic and foreign, but they were documents or packages that needed to be guarded at all costs. Sometimes they delivered human beings—escorted wanted men back to the States for trial or helped hostages escape to safety. They did their good deeds and got paid, but they couldn’t step into the limelight for it. That had always been fine with Thomas.

  “Interesting,” Madison said. “I’ve always wanted to travel.”

  “So why don’t you?”

  “I’m broke, that’s why. Plus I have the fall and spring seasons to design for every year, and the charity dinners grandmother always gave that all of New Orleans expects me to continue. You know, real life.”

  She was prickly tonight, but it only increased Thomas’s libido. He wanted to lift her into his arms, carry her off to some exotic island, make love to her in the moonlight. He didn’t want simple, romantic sex either. He wanted sexual play that would set his body on fire, and hers. He wanted to give this woman pleasure. He craved to do so.

  Thomas moved his hand to where hers rested on the wooden tabletop. He touched the backs of her fingers, finding them too cold. He wanted to envelop her small hand in his, warm it.

  Her gaze went to their joined hands, and her chest rose against the satin décolletage.

  “I want to apologize,” Thomas said to her.

  “For what? The reception? You just did.”

  “No, for our date nine years ago.”

  As he’d hoped, she gave him a sudden Madison smile. She’d broken his heart with that smile. The one night he’d tried to impress her he’d succeeded in making a complete idiot of himself, but Thomas had grown up a since that night. He wanted to show her how much.

  “You mean the cramped front seat of your pickup?” Madison asked, wrinkling her nose. “The gearshift in my ear that nearly knocked me out?”

  “That’s the one. I was clueless, and you deserved so much better.”

  “For my first time?” Her smile could light a room. “I was sixteen and also clueless.”

  “You were pretty pissed at me, I remember.”

  “I was embarrassed. And pissed at myself.”

  She didn’t move her hand from under his touch. She lifted her fingers slightly and twined them through his.

  Waves of heat ripped through his body, and Thomas’s hard-on gave a throb. “We should get out of here,” he said. He could smell the scent of orange blossom again, even more so. He wondered if she’d taste of oranges if he lifted her hand to his lips.

  “We could go to my house.”

  Thomas looked at her in surprise. “Your house?”

  “You want to talk about it so bad, we might as well go there.”

  “I thought you were staying at the hotel, like everyone else.”

  “I’ll call my roomies and leave a message not to worry about me.” She withdrew her hand and took another long drink of her martini. “Besides, I want to get out of this damned dress.”

  Thomas’s heartbeat felt thick as he imagined her unzipping the bodice, sliding the dress from her shoulders while he watched. Yep, leaving was a good idea before anyone else saw his cock rise up out of his pants.

  Thomas held his arm out for her as he had when they walked down the aisle in the church. As before, she slipped her hand through the crook of it, leaning a little on him. He liked the feel of her pressed all along his side as they made their way through the crowd.

  Near the door, they passed a dark-haired man he recognized from the wedding. A friend of Demitri’s, he remembered. A man of dark good looks who’d kept to the background, a little mysterious. He wore a tux but had loosened the tie. Alexi, Thomas remembered his name was.

  The man was giving Madison the once-over. Dark eyes traveled down her body to her legs that were lusciously sexy in her high heels. It was a longing look, a covetous look.

  Sorry, son. The lady is mine.

  Thomas tightened his hold on Madison’s arm and led her from the bar.

  Behind them, Alexi watched them go, his body tight with need. After they exited, he rose to his feet, poured the last of his drink down his throat, and followed.

  Chapter 3

  Madison’s house was in the Garden District, a stand-alone that hadn’t been turned into high-priced condos or a bed-and-breakfast. The façade was pink stucco with black wrought-iron railings on the front porch and second-floor balcony. Shutters lined the tall windows. Despite the fact that the house needed much work, Madison tried to keep it nice-looking on the outside, sacrificing her weekends to painting and keeping the yard trimmed.

  She said nothing as Thomas helped her out of the taxi and paid the driver himself. She felt so cheap letting him pay that plus the eleven-dollar martini she’d ordered on stupid impulse, but she hadn’t lied when she said she was broke. She barely had enough left over for toothpaste.

  She walked up onto the porch that had been the scene of so many childhood play days, Thomas’s tread heavy on the stairs behind her. Madison fished in her little purse for her key, her hands clumsy. Thomas took the purse, plucked out the key, and unlocked and opened the door.

  The double scent of beeswax and sandalwood met them. Madison kept the inside of the old place as clean and sweet-smelling as she could. Thomas looked around in appreciation at the soaring hall, the twisting staircase with its wrought-iron railing, the big open double doors leading to the parlor on the left, the dining room and kitchen behind it.

  “You could bowl in here,” Thomas said, looking down the length of the hall. The house ran a long way back into the property, like a shotgun house, with rooms on one side of the main corridor.

  “My grandmother would have a conniption,” Madison said, dropping her purse on a table. She winced as she pried the pumps from her feet. “Don’t think I didn’t try it.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “It’s old and falling down. Do you want a tour? Or to try to talk me into selling? You can tell me how stupid I am to try to keep it from being sucked up by developers, and then offer me a lowball figure that you think I’ll be desperate enough to take.”

  Thomas folded his arms and leaned against the open doorframe to the parlor. “People are really shitting on you, aren’t they?”

  “They say Felice Lefevre was a crazy old woman. She sat on this gem until it was too run-down to be worth anything.” She sighed. “Maybe she was. My grandmother was always saying that the house would take care of me, but I don’t know what she meant. And now I’m following in her eccentric footsteps.”

  “I don’t want to buy your house, Madison.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.” Her sarcasm bled through. “Then why are you so interested?”
/>   “I want to know why Girard wants to buy it.”

  Madison shrugged. “Hell if I know. I think he wants to be a man-about-town, lord of the manor, married to the Lefevre heir, that kind of thing. My grandmother always regarded the Girards as white trash that got above themselves.”

  “Your grandmother was right. But I’m white trash from the swamps, so I can’t really talk too much.”

  Madison shook her head. “Grandma always said the Duprees had a bit of class. Good people, she said.”

  A smile touched Thomas’s mouth. Damn, didn’t he look good leaning there in his tux, with his tie loose? Like a male escort getting ready to make sure he fulfilled all his required duties.

  “You know, cher,” he said slowly, “there’s another reason I brought up our date nine years ago.”

  Madison’s heart tripped at his sexy tone. “Our only date. We were still using pimple cream. It hardly matters now.”

  “I made you unhappy that night. I didn’t fulfill you, and that’s what I’ve wanted to do from the beginning.”

  Warmth snaked through her. “I still liked kissing you,” she said, voice soft.

  “Your unhappiness made me want to remedy my skills.” Thomas switched his hands to his pockets, his rumpled suit and his dark eyes making him look like a sex god. “So I did remedy them. Marc and me, we joined a club.”

  Madison tried a grin. “A club for survivors of disastrous virginity taking?”

  “I’ve learned a lot about pleasure over the years, Maddie. About discovering what a lady wants, even when she doesn’t understand herself. And then giving it to her. Pure pleasure. A lady puts herself into my hands, and I give her what she most desires.”

  A dark feeling spread from her heart. “Is that what you want me to do? Put myself into your hands?”

  “I do. If you wish it.”

  “To make up for one bad date nine years ago?”

  Thomas shrugged, a nonchalant gesture that rippled muscles under his suit. “Why not?”

  “I’m not really into casual sex.” To be honest, she rarely had the chance for it, hence the wish at the fountain.

  Thomas lifted himself from the doorframe. “Let me give you this pleasure as a gift.”

  She held up her hands. “When you say ‘club’ ... I’m not really into S&M kink, either.”

  For answer, Thomas gave her a slow smile. “Neither am I. It’s not what you think, Maddie. It’s trust and pleasure. I want to give that to you.”

  “Why?”

  “So many reasons.”

  Madison went silent, feeling the cool floorboards through her stocking feet. She wasn’t sure she truly knew this Thomas Dupree. The Cajun kid Thomas, yes. The sexy businessman with the orgasm-inducing smile, not so much. She didn’t know much about bondage except what she heard in jokes, and she never watched porn. Why spend time watching people getting what she couldn’t have?

  Her imagination put a riding crop into Thomas’s hands as he stood there in her hall, looking so good. He’d tap it against his palm, smooth the shaft between his fingers. Ask her, Madison, have you been naughty?

  “I’m not sure,” she heard herself say.

  “That’s all right. It’s trust, not force.”

  Thomas’s throat was dry, and it was all he could do to stand quietly and wait for her answer. She still had her hands raised defensively, her eyes challenging him. In his usual encounters, the lady would have already been begging for him to do what he liked. He’d gotten cocky with his sexual prowess, used to every woman wanting a chance to be with him. Madison was another story.

  “I do want to give you this gift,” he said. “Maybe I should ask what you would like. Anything you desire, and I’ll give it to you.”

  Madison wet her lips, making him remember her red tongue curling around the olive at the bar. “Anything?”

  “Anything. I’m yours tonight, cher.”

  She tilted her head to one side, and Thomas held his breath. He’d never offered this to a lady before—always he was in control, telling her what they would do, when they would begin, when they would finish. But he didn’t want to rush Madison, the woman he cared for. She was like a precious gem in his hand, to be treasured, not tossed around like a worthless pebble.

  “What I’d like,” Madison announced in a slow, sensual voice, “is to see your cock.”

  Thomas hid his jump of surprise. He’d expected her to want to be stroked, to be brought to orgasm, to be put to bed relaxed and warm. She wanted to see him? If he dropped his pants now, she’d see a cock that was swollen so hard it was almost painful, a cock that was dying for her.

  “You did say whatever I wanted,” Madison said as he hesitated. “Are you going to run out now and proclaim to the world that Madison Rainey is a slut?”

  Sweet gods, what kind of asshole men did she know? “What is between me and my lady is always private, never food for gossip. And you aren’t a slut.”

  “I didn’t think I was. But I’ve heard about locker-room talk.”

  “In the locker room, cher, I only remind my brother how I kicked his ass at racquetball. Or basketball or whatever it was we just finished playing.”

  Madison folded her arms, pushing her breasts against her bodice. “Does Marc ever kick your ass?”

  “He does. And he reminds me about it.”

  She tapped her finely formed foot in its sheer stocking. “It’s getting late. Are you going to show me? Or are you too shy?”

  For answer, Thomas shed his jacket and draped it over the nearest chair. His tie followed, then the restraining cummerbund. He clicked off his cuff links and rolled up his sleeves, and finally popped open the catch on his pants. He let the slacks fall and pool around his ankles, and he followed those with his black satin boxers.

  No fear that she wouldn’t be able to see his cock. It jutted out, thick and long, visible in the brilliant light of the overhead chandelier. Madison’s gaze went to it, her tongue playing on her lips again.

  Thomas’s balls were so tight they ached. He wanted to shove the pretty tulle skirt out of the way, part her thighs, and take her in a good, hard fuck. He wanted to turn her over and work on her sweet, petite little ass until it opened for him, and then he wanted to fuck her there. He wanted her to scream in pleasure until she couldn’t scream anymore, and then he wanted her to smile at him in gratitude for giving her the pleasure.

  After that he wanted to kiss her lips, curl up with her in bed, and protect her from any other man who wanted to do the same.

  She put one hand on her hip, rocking her heel as she touched fingertips to her lips. “It’s not bad,” she said.

  Not bad? “Glad you like it.”

  “What I really want to do is suck it.”

  Look at her, all challenging, thinking she wants to dominate. Thomas never let his subs touch him until they understood that the play was all about their pleasure, that he got his pleasure from mastering and fulfilling their desires.

  Now he was getting his rocks off watching Madison trace her lips with one fingertip and gaze longingly at his cock.

  He swallowed. “Come here, then.”

  Madison crossed the hall slowly, her skirt rustling like leaves in the wind. She stopped when she stood face-to-face with him, only the length of his cock keeping them apart. The tulle touched his tip, the scratchy fabric incredibly erotic.

  Thomas had never seen her beautiful face this close. On their best-forgotten date, it had been pitch-black out when they’d started kissing and groping in the front seat of his pickup. He’d never looked at Madison from inches away, allowing himself to gaze into her soul-dark eyes.

  “How do you like to do it?” he asked her.

  Madison blinked. “The usual way, I guess.”

  Thomas’s breath caught. She was still an innocent. Any man she’d gone down on had probably only wanted cock in mouth, quick come, finished.

  “I’ll teach you a new way,” Thomas said. “You’ll have to keep my cock sated, or I’ll just w
ant to fuck your mouth and come fast. You need to lick it, touch it, get to know it. Then you suck it, slow and sweet.”

  Madison listened, her eyes darkening. She gave him a nod.

  Thomas caught her before she could descend to her knees. He cupped the back of her neck, pulled her up to him, and kissed her.

  He tasted the bite of cocktail she’d drunk at the bar, the sweet taste of Madison behind it. Her lips were soft, pliant, warm on his. She melted closer to him, his cock lost in the froth of her skirt. His mouth took hers, tongue moving gently, not mastering.

  He needed this kiss. He needed to taste her, to feel her tongue in his mouth. She arched up to him, her hands curling around his back, pressing her lips harder and harder against his. She wanted to be kissed as much as he wanted to kiss her.

  Thomas wound his arm around her, feeling the curve of her waist through warm satin. He rarely kissed and held a woman—he pleasured them and he let them go, never completing the emotional connection. But he wanted to kiss Madison. To kiss her and hold her and sleep with her and wake up with her in the morning. He didn’t do that with women either. Thomas never wanted to be vulnerable.

  Madison eased back from him and touched his face, tracing the line of his cheek. More things not allowed. And Thomas stood there and took it.

  “Are you ready?” she asked him.

  Was he ready? His cock was trying to poke its way through her skirts to find the warm nest of her pussy, ready to press his way home. He tried not to laugh. He was so hard he was pounding, and he thought he’d burst or die before she started. Imagining his come all over her face didn’t help.

  He dragged in a raw breath. “You go for it, sweetheart,” he said.

  Chapter 4

  Madison held his hands to steady herself as she sank to the floor. She pooled the skirt under her to cushion her knees, then she put her hands on his hips and observed the penis in front of her.

  Her heart raced behind her boned bodice, her blood so hot she thought she’d scald from the inside out. Thomas’s cock jutted out to her from a dark thatch of hair, the staff long and dark. It moved a little with his pulse, as though anticipating her mouth. Thomas’s hands were on his hips, fingers tight on his skin, the knuckles whitening as he waited.