Page 8 of The Fake Husband
"Good. Imagine being bothered by your ex at your own wedding."
"We rattled him, huh?"
"Serves him right for inviting you."
Nadine smiles softly. "I'm glad you're here."
It's at this moment when I know—wherever she leads me, I'm more than willing to go. "I'm glad I'm here."
Nadine searches my face, and for one crazy second, I thought she would say something, but she doesn't. Instead, she scoots closer to my seat until her shoulder digs into mine.
Just before coming here, Rachel and Nadine agreed we should both be touchy. Apparently, it's the little things that would sell the lie. So throughout dinner, I keep doing just that. Planting a kiss on her bare shoulder. Brushing my knuckles along her cheek.
Nadine, as always, couldn't be outdone.
She rests a palm on my chest to whisper into my ear or buries her nose in the crook of my neck and shoulder.
What she doesn't know is I have dreamed of having her this close for so long. Too long, in fact. And while I look pretty normal from the waist up, my lower body is a different story.
My cock strains against my pants, so much that I'm starting to fear the seams will burst. And when Nadine rests her elbow on my thigh, I'm seconds away from an orgasm.
I guess the first order of business when we get back to our bedroom is take a long cold shower.
At dessert, Nadine makes me grab one of each—churros, caramel empanada, flan, a slice of Tres Leches cake, and somestrawberries with cream to name a few. She, of course, only eats her favorites while I have to finish those she didn't like.
In the middle of biting a tamale with nuts and fruits inside, Tara leans over and grins at us.
"Your husband is a little obsessed with you, isn't he?"
Nadine opens her mouth to answer, but I beat her to it.
"Yeah," I say, looking at Tara. "I absolutely am."
Tara's smile widens. She has just handed me a moment, and I'm taking it.
I cup Nadine's jaw with one hand. My thumb rests at the corner of her cheekbone, tipping her face up to mine. I've never been this close to her, though God knows how many times I've imagined it in my head.
As so many filthy thoughts bounce around my skull, I capture her mouth with mine.
The first contact is supposed to be brief, a performance for everyone to see. It is immediately not that, because she makes a sound against my mouth—a small gasp—and that sound is the last thing I register from the outside world for the duration of this kiss.
My hand tightens on her jaw.
My other hand, which was on the back of her chair, moves to her waist. Her ribcage rises when she inhales, and I feel it under my palm. I hold my hand there.
Fuck.
Kissing Nadine ignites fireworks in every inch of my body; my nerve endings are firing with sparks.
She turns toward me—not staying still, not waiting for it to end, turning into it—and her hand comes up to my chest and rests there, just above my racing heartbeat. She can feel it, I'm sure.
The logical part of my brain knows that dinner continues around us, but the illogical part is too focused on her, her mouth, and the sound she makes. The whole place could collapse and burn, and I still won't break this kiss.
Years of lusting after her but repressing my feelings have arrived at a breaking point, and this is it. Right here.
I can never kiss her like this again, so I'll take what I can get.
By the time we pull apart, I'm an absolute mess. My plans to behave have gone up in flames. I should have fucking known. My usual defenses were always useless against her.
