He catches me at the bottom of the stairs and slides a hand around my throat. Adept fingers quickly loosen the tie at my neck and lower the front of the dress to my waist. He follows the fall of satin with scorching wet kisses. With my chest and back bare, he doesn’t waste time stripping my lower body.
My gown and panties pool around my feet, and a draft from a nearby vent blows a shiver across my skin.
In the span of a languid blink, the space between us melts away. His hands stab through my hair, plucking out pins until the curls fall around my shoulders. His lips capture mine, and his tongue dips in, licking the inside of my mouth with wicked deep thrusts.
I circle my arms around his waist and palm his ass through the slacks, molding my fingers against the hard muscles that tighten with the rock of his hips. His swollen length jabs against my stomach, and my tight nipples drag across the material of his tux, heightening the pleasure. A rapture of sensation swamps my insides, stirring a need that only this man can quench.
“Take me out.” His voice is broken glass, smooth and hard with cutting edges.
With him fully dressed in his sexy tuxedo, I remove his cock and suck it until his thighs shake, his head falls back, and his come shoots down my throat. He returns the favor by spreading me out on the stairs and burying his face between my legs.
We fuck against the wall, on the couch, and on the landing upstairs. When we finally make it to the bedroom, we lie naked on the bed, chest to chest, absorbed in our bubble and kissing without urgency. Our mouths are exploratory and giving and vibrating with passion. When he fucks me again, it doesn’t feel like fucking. It feels like love.
We remain entwined for hours, our bodies joined in the most intimate way, savoring every second as if it’s our last in this world.
As it turns out, it’s our last reprieve for a long time.
CHAPTER 23
DECKER
It’s all unraveling. We are unraveling.
I pace through the kitchen, one hand squeezing my phone, the other pulling angrily at my uncombed hair.
“Rein it in, man.” Reese sits at the island and pulls a long draw from his beer. “This is just a bump in the road.”
“You call this a bump?” I whirl on him and stab a finger toward the ceiling. “She hasn’t left the bedroom in a week!”
The charity dinner brought in a fraction of the donations it yielded in prior years. Tweeters are calling her reveal a wardrobe malfunction, and public attention has propagated the hatred. The barrage of comments on-line has been so overwhelmingly cruel and unsupportive I can’t eat or sleep. The guilt is unbearable.
“I did this to her.” Pain sears through my chest. “I forced this decision upon her.” What have I done?
“What you did was show her how strong and beautiful she is. You empowered her.” Reese sighs. “She knew what the ramifications would be. Give her a little credit, Decker. When this eventually blows over, she won’t regret it.”
“Will it blow over?” Have I ruined her career?
He takes another gulp of beer and stares out the kitchen window. “I don’t know.”
My heart sinks beneath the gravity of the situation. She has enough money to retire from the limelight, but that’s not what I want for her. Because that’s not what she wants. She worked too goddamn hard to spend the rest of her life hiding from the glare of publicity.
I’ve been tethered to my phone for the past week, obsessing over every post and article. I lived in a naive world before this. A world where I thought the best of people. I was wrong. So fucking wrong.
Giving into the compulsion to read the latest updates on my notification alerts, I stare at the screen of my phone with the hope that the consensus has finally shifted.
Laynee Somerset must’ve slept on a hand grenade. Her back is hell on earth. Wish she would’ve kept that horror show to herself. #sharingisnotcaring #gross
Move over muffin tops and beer guts. Laynee Somerset coming in as the star of scars.
Who stabbed Laynee Somerset? I heard it’s just a publicity stunt. Conspiracy theorists want to know.
People are saying @layneesomerset is hideous?! Well if that’s hideous I’d like some of that please. She looks amazing.
No wonder the gorgeous Blake Harridan cheated on her #beautyandthescarredbeast #epicromancefail
Am I the only one turned off by Laynee’s pity party? Lil too much too late IMO
Edgy and twitchy, I shut off the screen and toss the phone on the counter. I want to respond to every single one of those body-shaming motherfuckers. I want to fucking annihilate them. How can they think of her as anything less than perfect? Killer body, exquisite face, with a personality and strength of character that’s incomparable. She’s the whole package. What the hell is wrong with people?