His body trembles, but he’s got me. I feel Bishop’s fingers curl around the back of my dress, tugging at the bodice. His kisses increase in pressure against my neck. “I’m going to make you mine but not while you’re wearing this damn dress.”
He kisses me entirely differently now, capturing my bottom lip between both of his. The kiss feels like both of us jumping in the deep end together.
He tugs at one of the buttons, grunting at the resistance.
“Wait,” I say. “I’m donating the dress. We can’t rip it. Help me with it?”
I turn around and show him the line of buttons down my back. Gingerly, with quiet grunts of frustration punctuating every move, Bishop unfastens each tiny satin button. He does this while pressing small kisses against my spine, lower and lower, all the way down until I’m completely unbuttoned.
When his kiss reaches my lower back, I’m so ready to be out of this dress. I feel his palms slide in between the loose fabric and my skin. His hands travel higher, his fingers grazing my strapless bra, brushing over my hardened nipples.
We’re getting carried away already. “The dress, Bishop,” I manage to whisper.
I raise my arms up above my head, and he drags the dress up and over my head, expertly handling the fabric.
“You’re good,” I say, teasing him as I turn to watch him hang it on the hanger. A strange look comes over his face when Bishop drops his gaze down my body and back up to my face.
“What are you wearing?” His voice seems to have dropped an octave as he takes in the lingerie set.
“This? I’m keeping. Is it working for you?”
The kissing resumes, this time claiming me with his mouth, his tongue, while his hands roam my sides, my hips, the curves of my cheeks.
The hard span of his cock presses into my lower abdomen, and I grind into him. He quietly moans against my mouth at the friction.
“Shh,” I say, laughing and pressing my finger to my lips. “I know for a fact everyone out there is listening to us.”
He looks at me with his hard stare and whispers back, “Then we’ll just have to find a way to muffle the sounds.”
While I’m figuring out what he means by that, Bishop kneels in front of me, kissing me all the way down my stomach, across the front of my thighs, and ends with a kiss to the front of my delicate white bridal panties.
I bite down on my lip to keep quiet as I gasp. Bishop reaches a finger in and tugs the crotch of the stretchy lace to the side. He then angles one big masculine shoulder between my thighs, urging them apart. This is so messed up, but I so don’t care. When his lips brush against the top of my split, a small squeak escapes my lips. Bishop stops his kisses to my pussy and looks up at me, silently shushing me with a wicked gleam in his eye.
Bishop’s tongue parts the seam at my front and licks, deftly finding my most sensitive ball of nerves. His kisses, warm breath, licks, and silence confound me. I’m amazed, but I’m also yearning to scream, squeal, writhe, and go nuts on this man.
I can’t do any of that here.
I make the mistake of looking down, and my gaze gets trapped in his. My cheeks feel like a furnace as I watch the tip of Bishop’s tongue dart between my folds, then his lips capturing my clit. My mouth goes slack as my orgasm creeps over me, as silent and self-aware as a sinner in church.
* * *
“I’ve not been completely honest with you. The plan was to steal you away all along.”
This is nothing that I didn’t alre
ady know, but it’s nice to hear Bishop say the words.
“You waited to tell me that when you had me under your spell, in your hotel suite, after sweeping me through the hotel lobby with the concierge watching us. Everyone knows now. Everyone will talk.”
We’re in Bishop’s personal suite on the top floor of Orchid, overlooking downtown. He still has the desperate, slightly disheveled look about him as he gazes down at me over my shoulder but about ten degrees happier.
“I need you, and that’s all I know how to do right now. I’m never going to eat or sleep again until I know you’re mine. One hundred percent. So are you? Are you mine?”
I’m still taking in the sight of this powerful man in frayed jeans and a faded tee-shirt, its fabric stretched over his arms. We’re sitting on his bed, with me between his legs. All of his long, hard limbs cage me in as we talk.
“Yes, Bishop. And not just because you’re different from—“
He grits out, “Don’t say his name. Don’t let his name come out of your mouth ever again, do you hear me?”