Page 12 of The Fake Wedding Date

Mark's mouth pinched. “Well, you’re going to have to give me something because I’m thinking the worst.”

I closed my eyes, resigned.

“That was Charles Rost. I have known him since high school.”

“Is that the way he’s always treated you?” He folded his arms across his chest, his stance wide.

I chewed on my lip, considering my next words.

“Not at first,” I said. “He asked me out and I said no, something he had never heard before. So I guess he didn’t like that. His family was rich; his dad was the mayor, and he thought they owned the town. He and his friends started doing pranks and such. Minor things at first. Leaving things in my locker, spreading rumors, that type of thing.” I hesitated. “They started to become crueler as the years went on.”

“Go on.”

“Things that are in the past.”

His jaw grinded. “Didn’t look that way to me.”

I nodded, looking away.

“Quinn, I need you to tell me what he’s done before I lose my shit and go find the fucker and ask him with my fist.”

“He didn’t hurt me, not like that,” I assured him, rubbing my hand down his arm, trying to calm him. “The rumors escalated. More embarrassing, hurtful things were said. A picture of me getting out of the shower after gym circulated. That type of thing.”

“He never touched you?”

I twisted my fingers. “He tried, but someone walked in, giving me a chance to escape.”

Mark's jaw ground harder, and there was a storm in his eyes as he pushed past me, charging for the ballroom. I ran to grab his arm.

“Please don’t do anything,” I begged. “I appreciate you wanting to more than you know, but this is Emory’s wedding. And I don’t want to ruin it. She also knows nothing about it, and I don’t want her to. She’d feel terrible for having him here and guilty for not noticing that things were so bad back then.” He stared ahead, his body coiled tight with anger. “Please. I want to have fun and dance and not let him take anything else from me.”

He finally looked at me, searching my face for a moment, but he ultimately nodded. His anger didn't deflate, but his hand went to my lower back, leading me back to the reception, and stayed there as he guided me through the crowd onto the dance floor.

CHAPTER7

Mark’s anger hadn’t faded quickly, or much at all, but he seemed to have channeled that into something else, something primal. He held me tighter and pulled me closer than before. His hands roamed more as we danced, running over my hips and sides and anywhere else they could reach with an intensity that was making my head light and my body heavy.

Both of us were sweaty, hot messes as we moved together on the crowded dance floor, the loud music taking us over. My skin glistened in the lantern light and the hair on the sides of Mark’s head was damp and curling at the ends, ruining his typical style. He’d removed his suit jacket at one point, rolling up his sleeves, and I was enjoying this unpolished version of Mark.

Turning, I danced with my back to him, wanting to be closer than I could manage face-to-face. It had been too long since I’d been with a man, and heat raced through me at the feel of him hard against my ass. I pressed harder against him.

Mark did nothing to pull away, his arms banding around me. I rolled my hips as the beat picked up and his chest swelled.

Mark’s grip tightened when Charles walked past, and he lowered his mouth to my ear.

“Quinn, I’m respecting your request.” The stubble on his jaw scraped against my neck as he spoke. “I won’t touch the fucker, but if that man comes near you again…”

His protectiveness stoked the fire in me that had been burning all evening and I moaned out my acceptance, not caring that he saw how much his words had affected me. His voice had been dark and rough, vibrating deep within his chest, and it only made my lust burn hotter.

Mark had always been protective of me. Hell, it was why he was at the wedding in the first place, but never like this. I’d never had anyone act like this on my behalf, and fuck, if it wasn’t one of the sexiest things that had ever happened to me.

I threw my head back against his shoulder, eliminating any space between us and his grip tightened, holding me close, pushing back against me. I squirmed, swearing I’d never wanted anyone the way I wanted Mark at that moment.

As we danced, the rest of the guests fell away, and it was just us, moving against each other—consumed with each other. The ballroom had darkened with the setting of the sun, changing the atmosphere, and it was easy to imagine how we’d be if truly alone in a dark room, giving into the tension that had been building between us. Exploring each other’s bodies and lost in the sensations.

My clit was pulsing with the pounding of my heart. My core felt so wet and empty, making me pant as I ground back against his erection, needing friction.

He was just as lost. His sweat-dampened face was buried in my neck, warming my flushed skin further with his panted breaths. I tilted my head, giving him better access, and I felt his lips on my overly sensitive skin. Combined with the scrape of his shirt buttons against my bare back, it drove me halfway insane.

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