Page 91 of Wallflower
I can’t believe it either. I feel so beautiful, so sexy, so powerful, even though my hair is destroyed, my makeup must be all over my face, and my breasts are heaving over the top of my bodice. It’s all so heady. The dress and the diamonds and the champagne and theI love you…
Chord Davenport on his knees between my thighs.
I gasp as he roughly tugs at my panties, dragging them down my legs and stuffing them into his pocket. A rumble sounds deep in his chest at the first glimpse of my bare pussy, and he sets one leg over his shoulder before wrapping his hand all the way around my other ankle.
“I’ve been dying to taste you,” he says as he sets my foot up on the limo’s long back seat and spreads me as wide as I can go. “I’ve been dreaming about your pussy on my lips, and I knew you’d be the sweetest thing I ever tasted, but I never could have imagined a moment like this. I’m about to tongue-fuck a fairy princess, and I’m so fucking into it.”
My whimpering laugh turns into a strangled cry as Chord dives between my thighs, burying his face in my swollen and sensitive center so fast and so hungrily that I cry out as the pleasure edges into pain. His tongue laps at me with excruciating languor. When I twist my fingers into his hair andtug with frustration, he stares up at me, not letting me look away as he applies his mouth to my clit and sucks hard.
Oh God, it feels so freaking good.
“Damn, Wallflower,” Chord says between licks and flicks and pulls. “If I knew you tasted this freaking sweet, I never would have waited so long to eat your perfect pussy.”
I come again before we get to my apartment.
We’re at least respectable when the limo pulls to a stop, and though I should be embarrassed when the driver calls to ask if we’re ready for him to open our door, I’m not. I’m too aroused and too satisfied to care, which is an intoxicating mix. My muscles are soft and limp enough that Chord wraps a hard arm around my waist to help me walk, but my thighs are sticky with my own wetness, and I’m throbbing with the need to be filled.
The limo pulls away as we enter my apartment building, and I move toward the staircase, then squeal as he sweeps me up into his arms without warning.
I loop my arms around his neck. “What are you doing?”
“This is a walk-up,” Chord says like I don’t know it.
“Yes, but we’re only on the second floor.”
His arms tighten, and his smile turns smug. “I made you come so hard you can barely stand. What makes you think you’ll make it?”
He carries me up the two flights and straight down the narrow hallway, stopping at the door with a silver “1” and “B” still attached, the “4” in the middle just a faded imprint where the chrome number used to be.
A flush of embarrassment creeps up my neck as it only just occurs to me that Chord already saw where I lived when he drove out to get my father, and my small, plain home is nothing like what he’s used to at his house on the ranch.
Chord scans my face, tracing the crease in my forehead and my down-turned mouth, my eyes stinging with insecurity. Butbefore I can apologize for where I live, he stops me with a hard, hot kiss like he knows what I was about to say.
“This moment is already perfect,” he says, his stare burning into mine, “but the only way it’s going to get better is if you open this door.”
He sets me down so I can retrieve my phone—and the key—from my purse, and I open the door. Like I haven’t been gone for nearly two months, I drop the key in the ceramic bowl on the hall table, put my phone down next to it, and move inside.
The apartment feels so small and dark compared to Chord’s open, light-filled house, and standing here now, in this dress I designed and with a man I love, it feels like I don’t belong here anymore. These walls are a time capsule for a life I haven’t thought about in weeks, and I’m a different person than the Violet James who walked out of here with a suitcase and a sketchbook and a stomach full of butterflies.
Chord moves closer behind me, kissing the side of my neck as he tickles my arms with light, warm touches. I shiver as he brushes his fingertips across my shoulders and down my spine, finds the zipper on the corset of the dress, and pulls it down with painful slowness.
I bite my lip as his cock digs into my hip, then inhale sharply as my dress comes loose and drops in a pool of teal silk organza at my feet.
“Where’s your room?” he asks in a low, husky voice.
I step out of my dress and walk toward my bedroom in nothing but my heels and a quarter of a million dollars-worth of diamonds. “It’s over here.”
I glance over my shoulder, and Chord chokes back a strangled moan as he watches me walk away. I stop at the door to my bedroom, turning to stare and whimper at the sudden appearance of his hard, muscled body as he stalks toward me, peeling off his shirt and dropping it on the floor.
Chord scoops me up again and crosses to the bed in three long strides, depositing me in the middle of the mattress and pushing my knees apart with firm, gentle hands.
He switches on the bedside light, and my room bursts with light. My felt boards and sketches are now clearly visible on the walls—Mom’s dress and my faceless groom repeated on every surface. The fabric samples and photographs of other people’s dresses on red carpets and runways. The dressmaker’s dummy in the corner, next to my sewing machine and measuring tape, scissors, needles and pins, spools of thread and scraps of discarded lace. The shelves of sketchbooks filled with failed designs. This is the boneyard of my dreams.
Chord doesn’t seem to notice any of it, but I see it all, and I instinctively try to close my legs and hide the most vulnerable part of me.
“Oh, no, Wallflower.” Chord kneels on the edge of the mattress and covers each of my knees with a large hand, spreading me open and then pushing my heeled feet back to my ass so I’m on full display. His eyes drop to my pussy, wet and pulsing, and they widen with hunger. “This pussy is too pretty to hide.”
I inhale sharply as Chord unbuckles his belt and jerks it free of the loops with one hard, firm tug that cracks through the air like a whip. He shoves off his pants and underwear with a frantic speed that has me hoping he’ll give me his cock in one hard, feral thrust, but he puts his mouth on me instead, pushing hard on my knees to open me wide, licking me greedily and sucking so rabidly on my clit that I come again in just a few seconds.
