Page 31 of Orc'd At A Wedding
I freeze.
"Show you what?"
"That this is real. That you actually want me and it's not just—just some biological response or pity or?—"
I silence her with another bruising kiss, pouring every ounce of frustrated want and barely restrained need into the slide of my mouth against hers. When I pull back, she's flushed and breathing hard, her lips swollen.
"Does that feel like pity?" I rasp.
"I don't know," she admits, her voice shaking. "I don't know what's real anymore."
"Then let me show you."
I slide my hands down her sides, feeling the rapid flutter of her pulse beneath the thin silk, and hook my fingers beneath the hem of her dress. She lifts her hips instinctively, helping me drag the fabric up her thighs, and the practical cotton of her underwear is somehow more erotic than anything else she could have worn.
"You're shaking," I murmur, running my thumbs along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.
"I'm nervous," she admits.
I pause, meeting her gaze.
"Do you want me to stop?"
"God, no. Don't you dare stop."
I huff a rough laugh against her throat, pressing a kiss to her racing pulse.
"Tell me what you need."
"You," she breathes. "Just you."
I slide one hand higher, tracing her underwear, and she jerks against me with a soft gasp that goes straight to my already painfully hard cock.
"I've been thinking about this," I confess roughly, "since the moment you climbed into bed with me last night. The way you smell. The way you fit against me. The way you look at me when you think I'm not paying attention."
"I didn't think you noticed," she gasps.
"Bliss." I push my forehead against hers, my breathing harsh. "I notice everything about you. The way you fidget when your aunt criticizes you. The way you bite your lip when you're stressed. The way your breath catches when I stand too close."
I slip my fingers beneath the cotton, finding her slick and ready, and she chokes on a moan that echoes off the marble walls.
"This real enough for you?" I growl.
"Yes," she whimpers. "Oh God, yes."
I work her slowly, methodically, learning exactly what makes her gasp and arch and cling to my shoulders like I'm the only solid thing in the world. She's responsive and vocal and absolutely perfect, and when I finally slide one thick finger inside her, she cries out so loudly I have to capture her mouth in another kiss to muffle the sound.
"Quiet," I murmur against her lips. "Unless you want everyone at that dinner to know exactly what we're doing in here."
She bites down on my shoulder in response, and the sharp pressure makes me groan.
"You're going to be difficult about this, aren't you?"
"You have no idea," she gasps, then rocks her hips against my hand in a way that makes rational thought temporarily abandon me.
I add a second finger, stretching her carefully, and she whimpers against my neck.
"Too much?" I ask roughly.
