Page 161 of Hot Shot

“Didn’t think so.” He’s looking at me like he could devour me, and it does something wicked to my body. “How long do you think before we can sneak out of here?”

“There’s not going to be any sneaking out of anywhere. I’ve already tried to work it out. It’s impossible.”

My lip pops out in a pout.

He cocks his head, amused. “Isn’t it usually me trying to get you to leave?”

“Well, yeah, but then you went and called me Mrs. Davenport and I’m having urges.”

“Why didn’t you say so? I can take care of that for you,Mrs. Davenport.”

It takes so much effort to keep a straight face, I’m instantly exhausted. I cannot, however, stop a little moan low in my throat.

“I swear to God, Wilder, if you say that again?—”

He’s already leaned in, his lips against my ear. “Mrs. Davenport.”

My heart is banging so hard, the headboard is squeaking. “Well, now we’re in a pickle. Because it took three people to get me into this dress, and you’re going to have to figure out how to fuck me in it.”

The look on his face could melt pure steel. “Come on, wife—give me a real challenge.”

He spins me away as the song ends, and we bow and curtsy, respectively. When the next song plays, the dance floor fills up. I have no idea what song is playing, and I give no fucks if they know what we’re up to—all I want is a minute alone with my husband.

I doubt it’ll take longer than that.

We do our best to navigate through the crowd until, in an act of pure impatience, I declare I have to pee so they’ll part ways, excusing us. To the bridal suite I rush, pulling my husband behind me, the sound of the party falling away as we wind through the wooded path lit by electric candles. The little gilded building is just up ahead, and I’m salivating at the sight.

Wilder all but kicks in the door and sweeps me inside, our lips connecting hard and hot and needful. I can barely break away to eke out, “Door,” before we’re kissing again, and he’s fumbling blindly at the lock with my ass in his other hand. The second the bolt clicks, his hands are all over me as he backs us toward the satiny couch. But, as I warned him, there are not a lot of ways into this dress.

“Fuck this,” he growls, dropping to his knees to grab the hem with both hands and duck inside.

The groan he groans when he slides a hand up my leg to my pussy nearly drops me. My thong barely stands a chance when he gets his hands on it, the seam popping at one thigh. And then he grabs my ass with both hands and powerdives into my pussy, tongue first. I gasp so hard, my throat stings, my arms shooting out to grab his shoulders and my eyes looking somewhere into the back of my skull. I cannot breathe for the corset in my dress and the anticipation of him and the cruel heat of his mouth. He does not take his time. He savors not a goddamn thing, using his grip on my ass to keep his face buried in me, sucking and flicking and fucking me with his mouth and his tongue and?—

I come like an animal, noisy and trembling and holding onto him for dear fucking life because if I let him go, I’m either going to shoot into outer space or fall over and give myself a concussion.

The second the pulsing slows, he ducks out from beneath my dress, standing and connecting our lips in a single motion. I moan at the taste of sex on his lips as he kisses me with the same intensity he fucked me with, my fingers fumbling with his belt to get at his cock. The second I have the weight of him in my hand, he breaks the kiss, turning me around so fast, I pout stupidly at the mirrors where my makeup and hair were done earlier today.

“Bend over,” he rasps, and I do, gripping the wooden frame around the back of the couch, panting as I watch him work totug my dress over my hips. The loosely fitted bit above my knees pulls so tight over my curves, it tests the integrity of the seams. In that moment, I couldn’t care less. Rip it off. Shred it to bits. Who gives a fuck? Not me. But he eases it over my hips and drapes the skirts at my waist, somehow in possession of enough mind to be careful. And when he’s got my ass and legs bared other than my garter and heels, he looks at what he finds with the reverence of a fucking saint.

He palms my ass, nudging my aching pussy with the tip of his cock, and I moan, shifting my hips, seeking him. But he squeezes my flesh hard enough to sting, controlling where I go.

“Needy, greedy wife. Maybe I should make you wait.”

“I will fucking kill you,” I huff, wiggling in his direction again, but he won’t let me have any more than the very tip of him.

“Maybe I’ll take my chances.”

I throw him a look over my shoulder and say through my teeth, “Now is not the time to fuck with me—it’s the time to fuck me,husband.”

Ha—I knew that would get him. He thrusts, possibly not of his own volition, and now it’s his turn to check out the back of his skull. I watch him in the mirror with my jaw unhinged, feeling his heartbeat through his cock, his eyes closed and lips pinned between his teeth. When I feel hands on my hips tremble, I realize he wasn’t trying to fuck with me so much as he was trying to make this last more than a handful of thrusts. The sight is so fucking hot, I slide my hand between my legs to stroke my throbbing clit, pulling my body forward quickly enough that the rebound when I thrust back claps my ass against his skin.

He comes alive, pumping his hips, his eyes wild and locked on the seam of our bodies as he fucks me. He must not have realized I was stroking my clit until my fingers graze his shaft. The look on his face is almost angry, his right hand slapping the back of mine, apprehending it as his left takes over. And thenthere’s nothing else for me to do but watch the jostle of my breasts spilling from the sweetheart neckline, the long, red, very fancy braid hanging over my shoulder swinging and whipping with every slam.

And then I can’t see anything, temporarily blinded by a hard, long orgasm, extended by the sound of him coming, the swell of him inside my body, and the pulse of our flesh as he empties himself into me.

We’re panting like dogs when we separate, and he glances around the room. But I already saw something on the chair behind the couch that will work. I lean for it, eliciting a nasty moan from Wilder at the view. Smiling wickedly over my shoulder, I throw the white satin robe at him as I stand, dropping my skirts to the ground.

“Read the pocket.” The words are breathy, my heart still pounding as I stride in his direction on my way to the bathroom.

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