Page 98 of Bridesmaid By Chance
Please don’t fucking climb on my lap.
She takes a seat on the bed, right next to me, but leans down on her elbow and then dances her hand over my bare stomach. She’s more playful this morning, almost back to her regular self, and even though I’m happy about it because I couldn’t stomach the cold shoulder from her, I know I need to be hyperaware.
How I react when she’s around.
What I say.
How I touch her…
“What do you think, Hudson? Think you’ll let me draw you like one of my French girls?” Her fingers flick over my nipple, and I can feel myself start to go hard.
“No.”
She smirks. “Mm, shame. Your wife would love to see you naked.”
“Sloane.”
“Hmm?”
“Stop.”
She smiles again and slides her hand down my leg, causing me to lift right off the bed and away from her.
“Get…get dressed,” I say as I attempt to hide my half-hard dick.
“You’re no fun.”
“What the hell do you expect me to do?”
“Get into the role. Be Rose. Speak with an English accent and tell me things that you would never tell Billy Zane.”
“Get. Dressed.”
She rolls her eyes. “Ugh, you’re so annoying. Always business. That’s you. Business, business, business. What happens when you’re on your deathbed one day looking back at your life? Are you going to be happy with all of your business-focused choices? Or are you going to think back and say, remember that time I married my business partner’s sister and had the time of my goddamn life? Don’t you wantthosememories?”
“The reason I’d be on my deathbed is because I decided to have those memories with my business partner’s sister and he was the one who put me in the hospital.”
“Oh, it would be worth it,” she says as she stands from the bed. “Because I’m worth it.” She winks and turns away from me, dropping her robe right before she heads into the closet.
Fuck.
Me.
Hands on my hips, I try to clear that image of her perfectly round ass out of my head. I try to calm my racing heart. Tell myself not to fucking fall into the trap. Remind myself that this is what I wanted. I didn’t want her being cold to me. I hated it, actually. I like this side of her; I just wish that it wasn’t slowly eating away at my willpower.
“This class will be good for you,” I call out as I push my hand through my hair. “It will prepare you for what’s to come.”
She pokes her head out of the closet and asks, “Did you say come?”
My expression falls. “Sloane, come on.”
“Come on what? Come now? Husband, you can’t just demand it. You have to work for it.”
Jesus.
Christ.
“What kind of etiquette class is this?” Sloane whispers to me, leaning in close so her breath tickles my neck.
