Page 54 of Groomsman to Groom

She spreads her legs wider, making space for me between them. “God, yes,” she says, the words somewhere between a plea and a command.

I position myself, then push forward inch by inch, watching her face as I fill her completely. The sensation is overwhelming—tight, hot, perfect—and I have to close my eyes to maintaincontrol. When I open them again, she’s watching me with an expression that makes something in my chest cracks open.

I start to move slowly, teasing us both with the unhurried rhythm. Her good arm wraps around my neck, pulling me down for a kiss that’s as deep and thorough. We find a cadence that works despite the confined space, despite her injury, despite everything working against us.

“You feel so damn amazing,” I murmur against her neck, tasting the salt of her skin. “God, better than I imagined.” Her breath hitches as I shift angles slightly. “Which I did more times than I should admit.” I pick up the pace as her body responds to mine.

Her laugh turns into a moan as I slip a hand between us, finding that sensitive spot again.

I’m more frantic than I intend to be, more animal and untethered than I’ve allowed myself to become in years. But something about Brielle brings out this rawness that I can’t control. Her reactions—the way she gasps my name, how her eyes widen when I hit the right spot—only fuel the fire.

She adjusts herself beneath me, careful of her injured arm but making up for it by wrapping her legs tighter around my waist. The change in angle draws a groan from deep in my chest. I can feel her getting close, the tightening of her inner muscles, the flush spreading across her chest.

“Hayes,” she pants, her good hand clutching at my back. “I’m going to—”

I increase the pressure where my fingers circle her. “Come for me, baby.”

Her release washes over her in waves I can feel around me—pulsing, tightening, her entire body trembling with the force of it. The sight of her coming apart beneath me, because of me, pushes me right to the edge.

Her crying out my name, raw, breaks the last of my restraint. I pound into her, skin slapping against skin, our moans tangling in the confined space. When I finally shatter, it’s with her name on my lips, my body curving over hers as the intensity hits.

For several heartbeats, we remain frozen—connected, breathless, unwilling to break the spell. Then reality begins to seep back in—the cramped space, the cooling sweat on our skin, the distant sound of voices somewhere in the park that reminds us we’re not actually alone in the universe.

I carefully withdraw, tie up, and dispose of the condom in a tissue from my pocket before gathering Brielle against my chest. She nestles into me, her head finding the perfect spot beneath my chin as if designed to fit there. I stroke her hair, marveling at how something so monumental can also feel so natural.

She laughs softly. “I don’t even have words, and I’m a writer.”

“I know,” I say, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “That was incredible.”

But as the seconds pass, the reminder of our situation—the show, the other women—casts a shadow. I sigh, my fingers still tracing patterns on her shoulder. “This is impossibly hard. Between what I feel for you—and what I’ve committed to with the show.”

“I know.” She tilts her face up to look at me. “Two more weeks, right?”

“Two more weeks,” I echo.

The spell isn’t broken, but it’s muted by the practicalities we can no longer ignore. I steel myself as I say, “But until then, I have to keep an open mind and explore all connections.” Dammit—Ihatetelling her that, but I have to. And I mean it. I’d hate for me to go all in on someone, only to find out it’s not what I thought it was. Everything is accelerated on this show, the conditions not remotely realistic. Plus, things with Brielle areperfect,tooperfect, and honestly, I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I understand.” She nods slowly, hesitating. “It’s hard, so hard, but actually, Iwantyou to see what happens with others, then still choose me. I want to be your first pick, not your rushed-decision consolation prize.”

I let out a breath of air. “That’s very logical, mature, and smart.” I smile. “But of course it is—it’s you.”

She smiles, a sparkle in her eye as she plants a kiss on my forehead.

We dress slowly, helping each other navigate the confined space, stealing kisses and touches that we won’t be able to have again. At least, not for a while. By the time we’re fully clothed again, a glance at my watch confirms we need to head back. We have to do it quietly because it’s so late. With reluctance, I slide into the driver’s seat, Brielle beside me. The ride back is quiet, her hand in mine, the only acknowledgment of what’s transpired between us.

As we approach the villa, I slow the SUV, looking for a discreet place to park that won’t immediately announce our return. Finding a spot partially concealed by trees, I cut the engine and turn to Brielle.

“We should go in separately,” I say, despising the necessity of it. “I’ll go first.”

She nods, understanding without needing explanation. “I’ll wait five minutes, then follow.”

I lean over to kiss her once more, slow and deep, trying to communicate everything I can’t say aloud. When we part, her eyes are bright with emotion.

“Hayes,” she starts, then stops, seemingly at a loss for words.

“I know,” I tell her. “Me too.”

As I exit the vehicle, movement in the rear-view mirror catches my attention—a slender silhouette near the gardenentrance, illuminated by the security lighting. I freeze, my hand on the door handle, as recognition dawns. Gabby’s unmistakable figure, pressed against the glass of a nearby window, watching our return.

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