Page 36 of The Wrong Husband (The Davenports #6)

Connor

"Traditionally it’s seen as bad luck for the bridegroom to see the bride in her wedding dress before the wedding, but we believe this stems from the days of arranged marriages when the bridegroom may have backed out if he didn’t like his first glimpse of the bride, which normally happened at the time of the wedding.

And you guys, clearly, don’t have that problem.

" The manager of the atelier beams at us.

Apparently, she must be used to having customers drop in at all times of the day or night.

We’re in the private fitting lounge of the boutique. There’s a rolling rack of wedding dresses waiting to be tried on. Soft jazz plays through hidden speakers.

"I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking straight." I scan Phe’s features. "I understand if you want me to wait outside?"

If that’s what makes her comfortable, then of course, I’ll do so.

She smiles slightly. "I very much want your input in choosing my wedding dress.” She presses her fingers together and lowers her chin. “I like it when you watch me.”

Her stance is that of a woman who likes to obey orders. It’s one which pleases me greatly. The slight hesitation in the angles of her body adds to her innocence. I doubt she’s aware of how submissive she appears.

The confusion from her earlier actions fades. They seem inconsequential in light of this connection between us.

The air between us heats. My cock twitches. My groin tightens. Unable to resist, I take a step in her direction.

The manager clears her throat. “I’ll be in my office. Once you’ve made your selections, please call me and I’ll help you try them on.” With a discreet smile, she eases the door closed behind her.

I hold Phe’s gaze. She closes the distance between us and comes to a stop in front of me.

"You like it when I watch you, hmm?"

She nods shyly.

"What else do you like, Fever?"

She swallows audibly. The fact that she’s so affected by me triggers a tsunami somewhere deep within me. Those tectonic plates shift again. Something huge, something mind-blowing, a deluge of feelings too big to be contained inside of me, overpowers me.

I place my big hand on her head and apply gentle pressure. Instantly, she folds to the ground on her knees.

She looks up at me from under her eyelashes. Pupils blown. Color high. The moment between us sizzles, sparks, like a fuse lit from my eyes to hers, burning up the distance between us.

She licks her lips, lowers her chin, and fuck—the blood drains to my groin.

"I like bending to you.” She swallows. “Is that…strange?”

“You’re following your instinct. How can that be strange?”

“I want to ask you to use me for your pleasure. To give up my body to you to do with as you please. I want to trust you." A shudder spirals up her body. "I can trust you, can’t I?"

“I’ll do anything for you.” The band around my chest tightens. I’m so overcome by emotion; a trembling grips me. I squeeze my fingers into fists and try to regain control. “If I had to burn the world down to protect you, I would.”

“Oh.” Her chin trembles.

She locks her fingers together in front of her.

Seeing her submissive stance sends a surge of heat through my veins.

My balls tighten. My cock lengthens. The need to be inside of her, to own her, possess her, mark her—so everyone will know who she belongs to—inundates me.

I want to fuck her right here, but I resist. Instead, I force myself to unfurl my fingers.

Then slide my hand into my pocket and deliberately keep my stance casual.

"And you, Fever, can I trust you?"

I know I can, but I want to hear it from her.

She nods. "Of course." Eyes clear, gaze steady, voice firm. She means it. Confusion boils in my throat. Her body language tells me I can trust her. The softness in her eyes shows she wants me. The compliant angles of her body scream that she’s ready to be bent into any shape I want, that she’ll give me anything I want, do as I command.

She won’t betray me. I’m confident of that. So, what the hell was going on earlier?

Unable to stop myself from touching her, I slide my palm around her neck. My fingers meet in the front of her throat. And when I squeeze, her eyes widen. Her pupils dilate. A mixture of fear and lust flares in her eyes.

"Good. You want me right now, don’t you? You’d part your thighs and show me your pink cunt, wet and glistening and ready to be fucked by me. You’d have me in any orifice I ask you to bare to me, if I asked, wouldn’t you?"

"Yesss," she hisses. Then seems to get herself together with difficulty. Her breath comes in little gasps that light a thousand tiny fires in my bloodstream.

"Can I?"

"Can I?" I arch an eyebrow.

She frowns. "Can I… Sir?"

I allow myself a small smile.

"Please. Sir?" she asks with more confidence.

"Have you earned it, though?" I angle my head. "I don’t think so."

Disappointment flickers across her face.

I help her to her feet, but I don’t release her right away. My hand stays wrapped around her wrist, anchoring her.

“Soon, Fever.” I allow myself a small smile at the frustration etched into her features.

“Soon, you’ll know what it feels like to take your husband’s cock inside that sweet, aching pussy.

But first—” I lean in, breathing her in.

“I want to give you the wedding dress you dreamed of. The one you couldn’t stop staring at.

The one you thought no one saw you fall in love with. ”

I finally let her go and stride to the rack of gowns. My fingers close around the one she paused at, her gaze lingering on it through the display window, when I followed her that morning. Before she even knew my name.

I turn and hold it up.

Her breath catches. Her pupils dilate.

“How did you—” Her gaze flicks from the dress to my face. Realization dawns. “You saw me… When I looked at it in the display, didn’t you?”

I nod once. “I did more than see you. I watched you fall in love with this dress. You didn’t even touch it, but it was written all over your face.”

Emotion flickers in her eyes, soft and luminous.

I step closer, lower my voice. “I’m not sorry I followed you that day, Fever. And I won’t apologize for giving you what you want. Because seeing you in this dress? That’s the moment I’ve been waiting for.”

I call the manager, and she comes back to help Phe in the fitting room.

I hear whispering and giggling then, I hear the manager exclaim, “This is unbelievable, the fit is perfect. No alterations needed. That’s happened, maybe once, in my twenty-year career. This dress was made for you.”

She exits the dressing room, still shaking her head, before retreating from the lounge and closing the door behind her.

Phe steps out and poses with one hand on her hip. "Is it too much?"

I can’t look away. She looks like sin wrapped in silk.

The dress hugs her like it was designed with only her in mind—no, like it was waiting for her.

The ivory satin sculpts her waist so perfectly, it looks poured on.

The neckline dips low, a subtle challenge, drawing my eyes to the shadow between her breasts.

Thin straps frame her shoulders like ribbons on a forbidden gift.

And then—Christ—the flare. Just below her knees, the gown explodes into a fan of layered tulle and lace, a cloud of decadence that swirls around her ankles with every movement. A mermaid silhouette, seductive and unapologetic. The train follows her like she’s royalty.

My pulse rate kicks up. My breathing roughens.

I try to open my mouth to tell her what a vision she is, but no words leave me.

When I stay silent, a wrinkle creases her brow.

She walks— no, glides—further into the room.

As she inches closer, embers spark beneath my skin.

They burn through my veins, and seem to incinerate my cells, until I’m but a husk of myself.

The overwhelming need to claim her surges through me and turns my cock to stone.

I manage to get control of myself and growl, "Stop."

She pauses. The surprise on her face deepens.

She stands, uncertain, self-conscious, while her curvy body wrapped in that dress screams that she’s a temptress.

She looks like desire and truth, stitched together in satin.

Like she could burn a man down and rebuild him in the same breath.

And she’s mine— except, she isn’t. Not yet.

But she will be. I made the right decision in asking her to marry me. And I can’t wait.

"Connor?" A visible tremor skates along her neck before she swallows. "What is it?"

I shake my head to clear it. "You’re the most beautiful woman in the entire universe. I’m the luckiest man alive that you agreed to marry me. I’m consumed with jealousy for any other man who’ll catch sight of you in that glorious dress."

I take a step in her direction, and another, until I’m suddenly in front of her.

"In fact"—I wrap my fingers about the column of her throat, and her pulse rate speeds up—"I can’t wait any longer to make you mine."

A surprised look enters her eyes. Then she looks up at me from under her eyelashes. "I assume, you like the dress?"

"I fucking love it." I squeeze down gently on her throat, and her breathing grows choppy.

"I can’t wait to bend you over and tear it off your sweet fleshy arse. Can’t wait to hold you down while I take you from behind."

Her lips part.

"Would you like that, sweet Fever?"

She nods.

"I think we should get married, right now."

"What?" Her jaw drops. "You’re kidding, right?"

"I never kid, especially when it concerns you.”

Her expression melts. She slips her slim fingers around my wrist. "I can’t wait to be yours, Connor." She shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

I’m so tuned into her; I notice the slight hesitation in her words. "But?" I lower my chin. "I’m sensing a but here."

She flushes a little. "I have a condition."