Page 69 of Bull Rush

“Ramsey, it’s beautiful…” I hold the sapphire up to let it catch the light again.

“It’s a lot of dress,” he comments absently, studying the ornate detail on the bodice and following the line down to the long train. “Fancy as fuck compared to what you married me in.” I can hear his mood shift with his tone.

“Well, the wedding is in March, not the summer like ours was…” I don’t know why I’m explaining this. I should be getting out of the dress because I don’t think trying it on was wise, given the effect it’s having on him. “Could you unzip it now? I want to put the jersey back on.” I offer him a small smile.

“It’s gonna be hard to fuck you with all those skirts.” He grabs the train and pulls it back around, lifting it and letting it catch the air to fall to the floor again.

“Ramsey…” I try to use my most placating tone, but it fails.

“I think we should try. Give it a test run to make sure it’ll work on the big day. What do you think?” He paces in my direction, his knuckles brushing over the back of my cheek when he reaches me.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I try to bargain with him, and he’s clearly disappointed, his eyes darkening as he looks over me.

“No? Why not? We already went through all the lingerie. The cake. The invitations. Seems likes we should do this one too. That’s what I’m good at, right? Giving you a chance to try it all out first.” His hand wraps around one side of my throat, and he kisses his way up the other. “You know I’ll make sure you get it exactly the way you want.”

The heavy breath that escapes when he nips my neck is the only confirmation he needs that I’m still on the verge of no return for him.

“That’s my girl. One more thing we can check off your wedding planning list.”

He walks me to the edge of the bed and gently presses up my spine until I’m bent over it, face down, ass in the air as he starts to pull up my skirts. There’s a mound of them, and it’s not light work, but he’s dedicated to the task. His fingers slip between my thighs when he’s finished, and he tests me through the cotton, groaning when he finds me still ready for him.

“Am I making you wet, sugar? You want me to fuck you in his dress?” His fingers gently massage me through the fabric, just enough to give his taunt a physical presence too. I grind down on the edge of the bed, desperate for more friction, and not even a little bit embarrassed, even though I should be. “This way, when you say your vows to him, I can be right there with you. My collar around your neck, the smell of me on your skin. That’s how you like it, isn’t it?”

I bury the sound I make when his fingers slip undermy panties, and it only serves to make him angrier. He tears them off, wrenching them down my hips and ripping the lace on one side in the process. He tosses what’s left next to me on the bed.

“Look how soaked you are, just from letting me come all over that pretty little face. I doubt you get that wet from sucking his cock. Do you?” he demands.

“No,” I answer quietly.

There’s a grim chuckle from him, and then he’s on his knees, his face buried in my pussy as he starts to lick and kiss and suck in earnest. He gives me just enough to tease and torment but not nearly enough to sate how much I need him. My fingers twist in the quilt as he lightly flicks his tongue over me for the hundredth time, and I let out a muted scream into the quilt I’ve bunched under my head.

“Ramsey, please,” I beg. “Please.”

“No, Haze, darlin’.” He chuckles as he pulls away. “We’re going to make sure you come hard tonight. As long as it takes. I want to make sure the memory sticks for you.”

I can feel how wet I am from how the air cools my skin in his absence, and I shift on my feet, grinding against the spot where my dress is bunched up on the edge of the bed. I want to put myself out of my misery and keep him from being able to torture me more than he already has. But I can’t seem to chase it, not like I need, and there’s too much fabric for it to do any real good.

His shadow falls over me before I hear him, and his hand comes down hard on my ass, my exposed cheek stinging with the crack of his palm. I gasp and turn back to glare at him. He answers me with an intimidating glower.

“Don’t take what’s mine to give.” He growls, and I feel the weight of several toys drop onto the bed at my hips.

“Then fuck me. Now.” My patience is wearing thin.

“I will. In good time,” he promises, and I hear the sheetsrustle underneath the toys as he chooses one. “But first, I want to see what it’s gonna be like when he fucks you on your wedding day, listen to you make all those little mewling fake cries you make for him.”

I feel the press of Curtis’s toy as he slips it inside. I know which one it is by the feel of it, that sensation of being full but not full enough. The taunting awareness that I’ve had better, but without any of the man to make up for what’s lacking in the toy. Not that either compared to the man in the room with me. The one who owns my body, whether he’s there with me or not.

“Fuck, Ramsey. Don’t… I’ll lose it.” I’ll cry if he doesn’t let me come tonight after all this.

“Don’t worry. I won’t let that happen. I’ve got other things to keep you sated, or at least on the edge.” I don’t like the soft devilish laugh that he has, and the dull buzz confirms my fear. It’s one of my clit vibrators, turned down to the lowest setting. The same style Ramsey always liked to torment me with. “Raise your hips.”

Stupidly, I comply because, for some reason, I crave this man tormenting me over everything else.

“Fuck,” I curse as I lower back down, his fingers coasting over my hip and the curve of my ass as he watches me rock forward against it.

“It shouldn’t be too high, but if it gets to be too much, tell me,” he whispers, sweeping some hair out of my face as he does it. He grins at my suffering and kisses my temple. I want to scowl at him, but I’m easily distracted. He’s peeled off the shirt he had on earlier, and I can barely stand to look at him. The man has an unfair advantage at almost every turn.

He uses Curtis’s toy on me again, teasing me with the tip and then taking it deeper. He changes his rhythm and depth until he finally has the perfect combination—the responsehe wants from my body and the soft curses of me not getting enough of what I need.

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