Page 65 of I Still Love You

She nods, and we waddle toward it. Does she have to smell so fucking good? It’s like she’s lathered in honey and something else sweet. Some kind of fruit, maybe? I don’t know, but it makes my cock harden just as much as her nipple against my palm does.

The third door we come across is a conference room, and it creaks open when I turn the handle.

We stumble into the space. I toss the door back, my hand reaching for a lock, except there isn’t one. I grab a chair a few feet away and push the neck up under the knob in place of a lock. Then, ever so slowly, I drag my hand away from her, reveling in the way her stiff nipple touches me.

I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to say, but I know it’s partly my fault that she was exposed to a bunch of strangers. My foot caused the resistance that snapped the thread. I stare at her back, at her exposed skin and the way the fabric bunches. She tries to right herself, figuring out how she can rig the strap.

“Lay…shit, I’m sorry, okay? I wasn’t trying to reach for your phone that last time. I was trying to move us out of the way,” I explain.

“You tore my dress, Luke,” she snips back, irritated. “Half the ballroom saw my boob.”

“Half of the ballroom did not see your boob.”

“Well, it sure as hell felt like it.”

“It was a fuck-up on my part, okay? I should’ve told you to move instead of pushing it.” I rub my hand along my jaw and clear my throat, heat traveling through my body from how close we just were, from the way it felt to touch her again. “And I shouldn’t have grabbed you, but I didn’t want them seeing you.”

My better choice would’ve been to yank the fabric back up over her. Or move to stand in front of her. But no. My hand decided it was best to just grab her. And after what happened with Andrew…

I shove my hands into my pockets. They’re better off there. Better off not careening their way through the air toward her. What the hell was I thinking? Maybe she should have left. Watching her get into an Uber is sure as hell better than the tension currently brimming to the surface currently. Better than the desire blossoming in my groin. Better than wanting to rip that dress off so I can see every inch of her.

She raises her face to the ceiling and forces out an exasperated breath, muttering, “Why is this happening?”

Because I’m a fucking idiot, that’s why.

“Lay.”

“Stop,” she snaps. “Stop calling me that.”

I’m ready to question her outburst, but without trying, I’ve reverted to her nickname. I notice the way she swipes her palm over her cheek, and I deflate even more. Don’t fucking cry. My shoulders sag, my hands leaving my pockets when I step closer. I’m careful when I move in behind her, leaving a small gap between us. I cup my palm to her waist and whisper, “How can I fix this?”

“Unless you can turn back time…” She pauses for a beat, and I draw closer, my chest an inch from her back. I chance a glance over her shoulder and see her hand holding the satin in place over herself, the strap dangling carelessly and stretching toward the ground in rebellion. “This is mortifying on all levels.”

“Why?” Stupid question. I know why. I just need her to talk, to distract me from shredding her gown.

“I just pulled a Janet Jackson, Luke. If roles were reversed, you’d be mortified, too.”

She has nothing to be ashamed of. It wasn’t her fault, for one. Second, her tits are a goldmine, even if they are on the smaller side. They always were the perfect fit for my hand. The same rings true for her nipples. They always tasted like the salty air along the coastline after a fuck or two.

“Your tits are…” I rasp, trying to find the appropriate words. “You have nothing to be embarrassed by. Those guys…they liked what they saw. Why do you think that guy said what he did? Fuck, I bet they’re still thinking about you, and I can’t say I blame them. I’d still be thinking about you, too.”

“I don’t want them thinking about me like that.”

I brush a finger along her neck. “I don’t either.”

Her breathing hitches as she leans back into me. My cock, not having softened since having my hand on her, twitches below my zipper, and my head fills with thoughts of having my mouth on her. I’m beginning to wonder if this was a blessing in disguise. If she was meant to buy a flawed dress.

Her aroma curls around me and it takes everything I have to keep my hands from grazing her bare skin. If there’s one thing that I’ve learned about myself recently, it’s that I’m not perfect. I make mistakes, and whether this is one of those or not isn’t a concern. Not right now. Not when she’s so goddamn close.

My hand squeezes her hip before settling on the small of her back. Every time she’s had her back to me tonight, my eyes have lingered on the bunched-up, droopy fabric above her ass. And all night, I’ve wanted to pull it away from her body, curious to see if she’s wearing panties. My guess is no, considering the dress is form-fitting and clings to her skin, with no signs of panty lines in sight.

I hesitate for a beat, remembering that I told her I needed time to work on myself. Understanding what my limits are and knowing what pushes me beyond them is part of that, right?

I scrape the pad of my finger from the middle of her back, dragging it lower until it hooks onto the bunched fabric. With my warm breath fanning her neck, I pull it far enough for me to get a peek. It’s too dark to make out her legs under her round ass, but there’s no sight of underwear underneath. My cock twitches at the notion of her being bare. Of her pussy free and open to whatever might sneak up her dress. “You’re not wearing panties.”

“I’m not.”

My heart kicks into overdrive, blood pumping through my veins ravenously. The arousal in my head is like a GPS, rerouting the bit of blood left in my heart south. I’m seconds from losing myself. From unbuttoning my suit pants and stroking the need pulsing through my cock. Placing my hand back on her waist, I glide my other up the side of her body slowly. “Were you planning on showing someone that pretty pussy of yours tonight?”

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