Over my dead body. “I’m the boyfriend, remember? How’s it going to look if you run off with ol’ Trevor?”
“Trevor? I’m not going to ask him to unzip my dress. I was talking about one of the other bridesmaids.” Daphne turns around and taps my bare throat. “Speaking of help, do you need me to tie your tie for you?”
The yellow dress that Wendy chose for her bridesmaids is supposed to be ugly. The color is a muddy, green-ish yellow. There are giant puffy sleeves that look big enough to house a basketball on each shoulder. The skirt hangs down to Daphne’s calves and the neckline is cut high on the chest. Or would be if someone who wasn’t as blessed in the chest department as Daphne wore it. But Daphne’s tits are smushed together by that wretched, wonderful undergarment and two soft mounds of flesh are spilling over the top of the fabric.
I want to bend down and bury my tongue in that shadowy valley between her breast. My teeth are aching to bite the cherry nips she’s hiding underneath mustard-yellow satin and cream lace.
“Jack?”
“Yeah?” I croak.
“Your tie?”
I fumble in my pocket and pull out the black silk tie that Daphne had bought me when I got my detective badge. I’d need it for court days, she’d told me. She was right. I let it drop into her hands and then close my eyes so that I’m not staring straight into temptation. But the darkness heightens my other senses. The strawberry from the lotion she’s always applying to her hands fills my nostrils. The hairs on my arms stand up as her fingers brush the underside of my chin as she drapes the tie around my neck.
“Bend down,” she urges.
Her voice sounds husky and strained. I crouch down low enough that I can feel her breath skitter across my collarbone. We’re both so quiet that all I can hear is the whisk of fabric against fabric as she wraps and folds the silk. In the dark canvas of my head, I imagine using that silk to tie something else. I see myself jerking the tie off my neck and wrapping it around her wrists. I’d stretch her arms high above her head until she bows her back and pushes her sweet tits up like an offering for me to feast upon. Or maybe I’d turn her over and pull her arms tight behind so that her bound wrists rested right above her ass. I’d tell her to bite the pillow while I spanked her.
My own breathing becomes jagged. My blood thickens and heats. She’s a friend. A friend, buddy. F-R-I-E-N-D.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Daphne steps back. I sneak a glance to see if she’s noticed my raging hard-on, but her face is averted. I take the opportunity to escape, stomping out of the bedroom and heading straight for the kitchen to stick my head in the freezer. This wedding’s going to kill me.
Chapter 4
This wedding is going to kill me. Jack and I are supposed to be dating and that means holding hands and dancing and looking into his deadly green eyes, but I can barely stand in front of him and knot his stupid tie without self-combusting. Thank God his eyes were closed or he would’ve been able to see the naked lust in my eyes. I nearly licked his throat.
I should have never asked him to help me zip my dress up. It would’ve been better to walk around all day with my ass hanging out and my underwear exposed than stand in my bedroom while Jack had his hands on me. I shook my ass at him. I couldn’t stop myself. I was like a damn bird or something. He stood behind me, trying to do me a solid by zipping me up, and I actually twitched my ass.
I press my face in my hands. How mortifying. The only reason I can walk out of my bedroom without a bag over my head is because he apparently never noticed. He probably has so many women shaking their asses in his face that it didn’t even appear weird to him.
I hope that’s the case. Although…damn, if that doesn’t bother me a little, too. He’s so unaffected by me that he doesn’t even notice when I try—inadvertently—to rub my ass on his dick.
I slap myself lightly on the face. “Stop being a dumb bitch,” I order. “You and Jack are friends. He’s not supposed to notice your ass.”
I exhale a long stream of hot air, gather my fugly dyed satin shoes and tromp down the stairs.
Jack greets me at the bottom. “You need this.” He waves a white dishtowel in front of him, like a matador would flap a red cape.
“Why?” I look down the front of my spotless dress.