Page 84 of Don't Date Your Nemesis

She didn’t even have to finish her sentence.

“Excuse us,” I said to my parents, already standing and pulling Deepika with me.

We slipped away from the reception, weaving through tables and guests until we found a quiet spot in the vineyard, hidden by grapevines with stars overhead, the party a distant hum of music and laughter.

“Why are we here—mmfh!”

I kissed her. Hard.

I poured everything I couldn’t say into the press of my mouth against hers.

“Because I needed to,” I breathed against her lips.

I kissed her again, deeper and slower this time.

“I need you,” I whispered.

26

I WANT THIS

DEEPIKA

I pulled back just enough to look at Liam, my lungs burning and my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. My skin felt hyper-sensitive, every nerve ending screaming from the friction of his suit against my silk dress.

The vineyard stretched out around us in a sea of silver-drenched vines, the air heavy with the intoxicating scent of fermenting grapes, damp earth, and the crisp, expensive champagne still lingering on Liam’s breath.

“Right here?” I whispered, my voice trembling. The distant thrum of the wedding bass vibrated through the soles of my heels.

“Right here,” he said, his voice rough. His gray eyes were blown wide, almost black with a hunger that made my knees go weak. His hands seized my waist, the calloused palms of an athlete bunching up the champagne-colored silk of my skirt until I felt the cool night air hit my thighs.

“Liam, someone could see us if they take a wrong turn from the bar⁠—”

“I don’t care,” he growled, his breath hot against my lips. He moved with a sudden surge, pressing me back until the rough, unforgiving bark of an ancient oak tree bit into my shoulder blades. And God help me, neither did I. Especially not when he was looking at me like I was the only prize he’d ever cared about winning.

Like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

His hands dived under my skirt, his fingers digging into the soft meat of my thighs with a possessive grip that I knew would leave marks. He pulled me closer until my breasts were crushed against his dress shirt and his heavy, rock-hard cock was a blunt instrument between our laps. His bow tie hung loose around his neck, his shirt slightly undone, his blond hair tousled from my fingers.

We were a mess, but I didn’t care about that either.

“Tell me to stop, Deepika,” he whispered, his voice a smoky command.

I kissed him instead, my tongue tangling with his in a desperate, wet slide. My hands fumbled with the cold metal of his belt buckle, my nails scraping against the leather. Watching him charm my family earlier had been one thing, but seeing him this unhinged and needy was a different kind of torture.

It was intoxicating.

We were definitely going to get caught. But the risk sent a fresh wave of slick heat between my legs. Liam let out a low groan as he hooked his arms under my knees and hoisted me up. I wrapped my legs around his thick waist, my pussy rubbing directly against the bulge in his slacks.

“We’re at a wedding,” I gasped against the pulse point of his neck, my teeth sinking into his skin.

“I know,” he said, his breath hot as his mouth found my earlobe, nipping it until I saw stars. I felt his hand reach between us, unzipping his fly with a sharp, metallic hiss.

“Y-your best friend’s w-wedding. Ethan will kill you—ah!” I cried out as he freed himself, the thick, hot head of his cock smearing across my entrance.

“I’m aware.”

“This is so inappropriate⁠—”