Page 10

SYMPHONY

I don’t know exactly what I’m doing, but I’m doing it.

I grab Diesel’s hand and lead him into the building to the side hall with the bridal suite. “There’s a dressing room. We’re done with it. No one should come in.”

We duck inside, and he pulls on our joined hands until I’m up against him. The door clicks behind us.

“So, here we are,” he says, his voice low.

The lights are out, so it’s shadowy in the large room, only the last golden rays of sunset streaming through.

I swallow. “Here we are. I owe you a kiss. You earned it. You showed remarkable restraint when Bailey walked up.”

“I did.” He presses my back against the door, like earlier, when he caught me watching the family photos. He must like that position.

I might, too.

His thumb moves to my chin, his fingers sliding along my jaw. “Decide on a location for that kiss yet?” He takes the champagne bottle away from me and sets it on a table by the door.

I haven’t been in a predicament like this in … gosh … two years?

I’ve been working. Studying. And trying Tinder and not getting anywhere. And, oh, God, his nose is buried in my neck.

“I’ve had to watch you for hours,” Diesel says. “I thought about a lot of things I could do to you.”

“You did?” My breath comes faster. “Like what?”

Oh, why did I ask that?

I feel his face shift as he smiles against my neck. “Can I show you?”

Oh, God. My voice is shaky again. “Yes.”

He tugs on the tulle wrap around my shoulders, pink to match the puffy skirt. “I wanted to take this off.”

The netting falls to the floor.

Will he undress the rest of me? What are we about to do? And why am I so excited at the prospect? My whole body is lit brighter than a neon sign.

“I wanted to kiss you right here,” he says, moving his mouth to the space above my collarbone. His lips are warm.

“That—that’s a good spot.”

“Mmm-hmmm.” He works his way along my chest. “Then into this delicious valley.” He moves down my cleavage.

My heart pounds. Is this real? I feel like I’m living in one of Marietta’s romance novels.

His finger lifts the tiny strap of the dress and shifts it over my shoulder. “This all right?”

“Y-yes.” My hands are trembling, so I grasp my skirt to keep them still. Every one of my breaths makes my chest press into his face. Heaving bosom. I get it now. I have one.

“Delicious.” He slips the other strap over my shoulder.

The dress sags slightly, but these double Ds don’t land in their current location without some serious brassiere action. It might take three people and a pair of pliers to get this one loose.

Except … suddenly I can breathe.

He covertly unhooked this boulder holder without even unzipping my dress.

It’s strapless, of course, given the open shoulders. I hear a thud and realize my bra has landed on the floor.

He’s pulled it out!

I’m free inside the dress, which drops perilously now that all the structure is gone.

“Gorgeous,” Diesel murmurs. His hands flirt with the outer edge of a breast. “I want these in my hands. May I?”

My only answer is a stuttering sigh, which he takes as a yes. His thumbs tease the nipples.

The satin of the dress is fluid in his palms. The bodice slips again, and the top edge barely hangs on.

“Do I get to see if they are as beautiful as I imagine?” Diesel asks.

I’m not the least bit under my own control. I’ll do anything he says. I roll my shoulders, and the bodice falls to pool at my waist.

“Fucking perfect,” he says, lifting both breasts in his hands, then bringing his mouth to one.

I suck in sharply. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know who this man really is.

But I also don’t give a damn.

This is too good. Nothing that’s ever happened to me with a man compares to what I’m feeling.

Diesel is menacing and sexy in all black, his hair dark against my pale skin. I watch him working me, my body on fire. I feel high, like I imagine heroin would be. His sex is a drug.

And I am absolutely going to take a hit.

Will I ever see him again? Probably not.

Am I going to remember this until the grave? Hell yes.

Diesel takes the other nipple in his mouth and reaches behind me. There’s no more asking. He knows, as every rogue probably knows, when he’s landed his prey.

The zipper slides down, and in an instant, the tulle dress has puddled at my feet.

All that’s left are pink panties and my silver shoes.

Diesel pulls away to take me in. “And here I was hoping to slice you out of something.”

“I still have panties,” I say, going lightheaded. Who is this person talking to him like that?

“Takes too long.” He grasps the edge of the lace trim and yanks.

The panties rip easily.

Holy shit.

Forget bodice ripper.

He’s a panty ripper.

Diesel tosses them. “Now I’m going to look at you.” He takes a step back.

Shyness flashes through me. I know what I am. A little doughy in the middle. Dimply in the thigh.

But Diesel groans as he looks. “I’ve decided the location of your kiss.” He kneels down, throwing my thigh over his shoulder.

“I thought you wanted me to—” My words disappear as I suck in my breath. His tongue is between my legs.

I clasp his head. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, my God. I don’t even know how to handle this.

My head thuds against the door. He’s in there, like way in there, and then he adds a finger.

I’m jetting up the orgasm elevator at an unprecedented speed. Not even my zzzttt toy gets me here faster.

His free hand squeezes a breast. I can barely breathe. I’m so caught in the moment. I huff in and out, my whole body zinging.

Slow down, Symphony. Don’t blow your load like a teenage boy.

But Diesel is good, really good.

His finger crooks inside me. I’ve heard of this miracle G-spot, but I’ve never found it myself, and certainly no predecessor to my girl parts has found it. Not that I haven’t orgasmed. I have.

But Diesel is finding something nobody’s accessed before.

My body hums, actually vibrating, like it’s fully alive.

His fingers stroke, then his mouth tightens. And he’s sucking parts of me into his mouth.

Yes, the right part. Exactly the part I want him to.

I can’t keep track of everything I’m feeling. The pressure inside me. The suction on the edges. The room swims, and I have to close my eyes and hang onto his hair.

Then I’m there. Oh, God. I’m coming from his tongue and his talented hand. My hips press into his face. I can’t care if I’m suffocating him because I’m the one gasping for air, barely able to stay in place against the door.

I shudder and shudder and tighten and tighten like everything inside me has been coiled up for decades and finally allowed to break free.

My voice tries to rise, so I clasp a hand over my mouth.

It goes on and on, rolling through me. Diesel doesn’t stop, doesn’t give in.

Oh, God. I’m naked in my bridesmaid shoes in the middle of my best friend’s wedding reception.

And it’s the most intense climax of my life.