10 Ways to Handle the Best Man Page 6

  His arm tightened, making her suddenly aware of the stiff length prodding her belly through his pants as he moved easily with the music.

  Her thigh muscles tensed and released, her breathing accelerated as the song rose to another crescendo, and the singer crooned the chorus about a new life, a new dawn, a new day.

  Confidence soared through her on the wings of the lyrics.

  She draped her arm round Connor’s shoulder, felt his muscles bunch with tension and swivelled her hips, the slow, sensuous movement rubbing that glorious erection. Could she feel it pounding? Lengthening? Leaping?

  His groan gave her the only answer she needed.

  Yes. Why not make this as torturous for him as it is for me?

  His hand stroked down her spine, and he ground the pounding length into her belly, matching the song’s raunchy bassline.

  ‘Behave yourself,’ he rasped. ‘Or you’ll suffer. I have my finger on the trigger, remember.’

  She gyrated against the huge shaft, the grin spreading across her face. She was slow-dancing with the most dangerous guy in the room. She felt bold and brave and beautiful for the first time ever.

  There were no expectations with Connor, no past and absolutely no future—and the thought was liberating. She had a tiger in her arms for one night only. Why be scared of tugging its tail?

  Her fingers threaded into the hair at his nape and she rolled her hips again. ‘Be careful, Connor, because I plan to make you suffer more.’

  His eyes flashed with challenge, a muscle in his jaw twitching as his hand strayed to his pocket.

  She stretched into the heavy palm caressing her spine, absorbing the riot of sensation as the vibrations flared, and desire coiled tighter inside her. She moaned, her whole body humming, and rode the wave of pleasure as it rose to an impossible peak.

  Then took that final wild leap as the coil released in a magnificent rush and she gave herself up to the love song’s glorious exhilaration.

  * * *

  Jesus Christ, she’d climaxed—in his arms, on the damn dance floor. And looked magnificent while doing it. Untamed, uninhibited and courageous. So magnificent, his raging cock was about to explode in his pants.

  Connor cradled her head against his chest as her body shivered through the final waves of her orgasm and she softened against him. Her lush cleavage plumped up, threatening to spill out. He ground his teeth together, fighting the urge to scoop the ripe flesh out of her gown and suck the nipples poking at the shimmering satin like bullets.

  He was going to hunt the crooner of this song down and punch the guy’s lights out if the damn thing didn’t finish soon.

  ‘Please turn it down,’ she whispered against his neck in between her ragged breathing. ‘I can’t come again—I’ll collapse.’

  Tucking his hand into his pocket, he flipped the switch onto the lowest setting. He raised her chin with a knuckle. The dazed heavy-lidded eyes and the bright flush of embarrassment—and desire—staining those pale cheeks made his cock pound.

  ‘You weren’t supposed to come the first time.’ He kept his voice firm, despite the tickle of humour at the thought of them trapped on a dance floor with her barely able to stay upright and him sporting an erection the size of the Statue of Liberty. ‘What the hell happened to focus and concentration?’

  Her bright green eyes narrowed, her lips thinning in a belligerent expression, and something clutched hard in his chest. Damn, he hated to be a cliché, but she was even more magnificent when she was pissed.

  ‘I’d like to see you try focus and concentration with a huge power tool shoved up your arse.’

  The rough chuckle spilled out. ‘You’re mighty grumpy considering you’re the one who just had the orgasm.’ The vivid pink went a dark red at the reminder—and his cock twitched. He moved his hips, backwards and forwards, brushing the swollen head against her to relieve the pulsing ache. ‘And that power tool is tiny, compared to the one I’m going to be drilling your sweet little pussy with very soon.’

  ‘I can tell.’ She tried to ease back, but he simply spread his fingers across her spine and anchored her in place. Apart from the exquisite feel of her soft belly wedged against his hard-on, he needed to keep himself hidden until he could get his cock to behave itself.

  She squirmed, obviously keen to escape. ‘We need to separate. This isn’t a slow-dance anymore and it looks inappropriate you holding me this close.’

  The crooner had finally stopped warbling, and the music had switched to a recent R & B hit. Making them the only ones on the floor still dancing cheek to cheek.

  He raised an eyebrow. As if she didn’t know why he had to keep her close. ‘If you don’t stop wiggling, this slow-dance may never end. Watching you come has made my power tool hard enough to drill a hole to China.’

  She stilled against him, relieving the ache a little, then ducked her head, her face now a cute shade of scarlet. The muscles of his sternum squeezed.

  And for the first time in, well, forever, he wondered what it would be like to have more than just mind-blowing sex on the agenda.

  He shook the thought off. He didn’t do emotional depth, or empathy, or companionship, or any of that other bullshit that lasted beyond the first night, which was why he never bothered with a second. Sex was the only thing he was any good at when it came to relationships. So why the hell would he want more?

  It was just that Sabrina was more vanilla than the women he usually dated. And what Jamie had told him about the jerk ex had made him feel protective towards her.

  The pulsing pain in his gut finally began to die down. But he continued to stroke her back, drawing a slow circle on the smooth skin with his forefinger, liking the way her body quivered from the soft ripples of sensation still coming from the egg.

  He pulled back. The bright mottled colour in her cheeks, and the feel of her body soft and trusting in his arms, was doing weird stuff to his equilibrium. Weird stuff he had no experience with, so he needed to be careful—for his own protection as much as hers.

  She blinked up at him, as if she’d been a million miles away, too, then she rose up to place her lips next to his ear. ‘You need to turn the egg off now,’ she said, her breathing still a little fast, a little thready. ‘As soon as you’re decent I’ve got to go and organise the bridal car.’

  He considered the request—for about a second—the surge of possessiveness surprising him. He didn’t want her to organise the damn car. In fact, he didn’t want her out of his sight again.

  Placing his hands on her waist, he bent to whisper back. ‘The egg stays on, until I take it out. It’s on the lowest setting to help you work on your focus.’ Something he needed to work on, too, if he was going to get through tonight without giving in to any more dumb notions about turning a one-night stand into something it was never meant to be. ‘Plus I want you to remember who you belong to tonight.’

  ‘But that’s ridiculous—we’ve got ages yet until we can be alone. It’s distracting enough having it inside me, let alone buzzing away for hours.’

  He glanced at his watch. ‘According to your schedule, Jamie and Libby are heading off at ten.’ He touched his thumb to her cheek, brushed back the lock of hair that curled down. ‘You’ve only got to deal with it for an hour before I come to get you.’

  ‘But what if there’s some kind of cock-up?’ she said, sounding a little desperate.

  ‘Tough.’ He pressed his face into her hair, inhaling the summery scent, and taking a wicked joy in the tension vibrating through her body. The egg was gonna make it next to impossible for her to concentrate on her damn schedule for the next sixty minutes—instead she’d be focused on him and what he was going to do to her.

  ‘But I might not be ready in an hour?’

  ‘You’re gonna have to be. Because come ten o’clock, we’re out of here.’ His erection finally having softened to a manageable level, he stepped away. ‘No excuses, Sabrina.’ Lifting her fingers to his lips, he kissed the knuckles, pleased to see h
er eyes widen. The gallant gesture had obviously stunned her. It had stunned him a little, too—he never sugar-coated his sexual encounters with romance. But keeping her off balance was becoming an addiction. ‘You’ll just have to use those epic organisational skills to make damn sure the only cock-up tonight is mine.’

  6) Keep Your Eyes on the Prize: Stay focused and make sure your best man does, too.

  I may have to murder Connor McCoy before this night is over.

  Sabrina flattened a hand against her abdomen, the egg pulsing like a metronome, making her clitoris yearn to be touched. After sixty long, tortuous minutes, the low-level sensations felt like a Chinese water torture, keeping her tense and on edge and totally distracted.

  While she still couldn’t believe she’d actually had an orgasm on the dance floor, more annoying now was the fact that it hadn’t been a particularly impressive one. Certainly not satisfying enough to keep her raging hormones in check after an hour of torture by a love egg.

  In fact, she was actually starting to get quite cranky. And very sexually frustrated. Which had never happened to her before ever. And especially not less than an hour after an orgasm. For God’s sake, she’d managed to go nearly a year without having sex and now suddenly Connor McCoy and his little toy had turned her into some sort of insatiable nymphomaniac.

  She’d already been sharp with Libby and Jamie, overwhelmed by all the duties she still had to complete before zero hour struck in ten minutes.

  She paused at the top of the stairs and scanned the crowd in the entrance hall of the Georgian mansion house hotel, where everyone was gathering to see the happy couple off. Disappointment struck when she didn’t spot the dark head she’d been looking for, swiftly followed by aggravation when the mere thought of him made the torturous vibrations increase in intensity.

  Glancing out the window, she spotted DJ and Malik and a couple of Jamie’s other friends putting the finishing flourishes to their Just Hitched design on the brand-new BMW Jamie’s dad had bought his son and Libby as a wedding gift. The flicker of concern at seeing the gleaming vehicle covered in foam didn’t last long.

  Sod the car.

  So what if she’d spent an hour on Wednesday researching all the different brands of shaving cream—spending sixty minutes with your clitoris swollen to twice its normal size was a great way to make you stop stressing about protecting the paintwork of your best friend’s new Beemer.

  A large hand settled on her hip and she jumped.

  ‘Easy, sweetheart. Not long now.’ The familiar scent of soap and man enveloped her as she turned to find Connor standing beside her, the mocking smile on his lips comprehensively contradicted by the heavy-lidded gaze.

  By rights she should give him a jolly good slap for the torment he’d put her through, but the relief at seeing him was so intense, she felt a little woozy.

  ‘You’re still here.’ The sense of longing wrapped around her chest and squeezed. ‘I thought you might have left.’

  His eyebrow rose and she instantly wished she could take the words back. She sounded needy and pathetic, not at all like the confident sexual virago she had planned to be.

  ‘Not a chance.’ His hand strayed to her backside. ‘I’ve got a date with this cute little butt tonight. You’re not getting away from me that easily.’

  The cute little butt in question hummed beneath the bold caress, the sensation a giddy mix of arousal and trepidation at the reminder of what he planned to do to it. She’d read up on erotic spanking and had convinced herself it wouldn’t hurt. But the thought of being at Connor’s mercy both terrified and excited her—and she wasn’t sure she could stand to spin out the suspense much longer.

  ‘I’m not trying to get away from you,’ she declared, struggling to sound blasé.

  The sudden chorus of cheers from the foyer focused her attention back where it belonged. But as she watched Libby and Jamie progress through the guests to the entrance, and stepped forward to descend the stairs, Connor’s hand gripped her wrist.

  She tried to tug it free. ‘I need to bid Libby and Jamie farewell.’ And a few more minutes to prepare herself wouldn’t go amiss.

  ‘Time’s up. You’re all mine now.’

  He nodded to the ornate grandfather clock a few feet away. The deep sonorous chime as the big hand of the clock jolted into place was barely audible above the commotion below as Libby tossed her bouquet over her shoulder.

  But despite the noise from the gaggle of single women clamouring to catch the spray of flowers, Sabrina felt the chime reverberate in her abdomen—and match the pulsing hum of the egg.

  ‘But don’t you want to say goodbye to Jamie? You won’t see him again before you leave tomorrow.’ The words bubbled out, as the little blip of panic compressed her chest.

  Was she fully prepared for this? Yes, she was ready physically, far too ready frankly. But why did this suddenly feel like so much more than just casual sex? Connor called to some dark, primal need inside her. But did she really want to unleash it? When she wasn’t sure she could control it?

  ‘I’ll call him tomorrow.’ Those mocking lips twisted. ‘What’s the problem, Sabrina? Running scared?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not scared of you.’ Or not in the way he thought.

  His fingers tightened on her wrist. ‘Then we don’t have a problem, do we.’

  Without another word, he turned and drew her down the darkened corridors of the mansion, to the wing containing the guest suites. The arousal pounded harder between her legs. But much more disturbing was her heartbeat fluttering in her chest, like the wings of a caged bird as the bars fell away.

  And the cage that had felt so stifling, so restrictive, suddenly seemed remarkably safe and secure compared to the prospect of freedom.

  * * *

  ‘Lose the gown.’

  Sabrina blinked at the curt command and the sight of Connor, shrugging out of his tux jacket and flinging it over a chair. He had clearly booked the biggest suite in the place. It covered one corner of the mansion’s east wing and had two sitting rooms.

  All the better to accommodate those enormous shoulders.

  Hysteria bubbled as she studied Connor’s tall frame relaxing into one of the armchairs.

  ‘That’s a bit rude.’

  Wrapping her arms around her waist, she swallowed heavily, but it didn’t do a thing for the parched sensations scraping her throat raw. Or the heady pulsing in her sex, which had gained momentum as he led her into his suite.

  Leaning back, he pulled the string for the standing lamp. The wide pool of diffused light illuminated his harsh features. She watched mesmerised as he undid the cuffs on his shirt and rolled the sleeves up forearms roped with muscle.

  ‘Lose the gown,’ he said, in exactly the same demanding tone as before. ‘Please.’

  Crossing his ankle over his knee, his gaze dipped to her toes and then took its own sweet time rising up her body.

  ‘Do you need me to undo it?’ he asked.

  She shook her head. The weight in her abdomen had heated under that penetrating gaze, as if he and not the egg were caressing her insides with that steady, focused stroke.

  ‘Could you turn off the egg?’ she murmured, positive there was no way she could stay upright if she had to strip under that all-seeing gaze with the egg driving her to the edge, too.

  He chuckled, the sound deep and husky. Pulling the remote out of his pocket, he held it up, then slipped the button down. The humming subsided, but that low, insistent throbbing in her clitoris continued as if it were so swollen now it would never stop vibrating.

  ‘Now lose the gown. No more delaying tactics.’

  Busted. Bugger.

  The gown felt tight and confining as he waited. One eyebrow quirked.

  She wanted to be naked in front of him, she realised. She wanted to feel those rough hands on her bare flesh. But she’d never performed a striptease before—and she was suffering from an unfortunate dose of performance anxiety.

&nbs
p; His blue eyes sharpened watching her like a hawk tracking a mouse—but then her gaze snagged on the impressive bulge in his lap.

  Courage, Bree. He’s in no condition to grade you.

  Unhooking the straps, her heavy breasts swayed, no longer held in place by the gown’s internal bra. Gripping the tab of the zip under her arm, she drew it down, the rasp of the teeth releasing loud enough to be heard above her own breathing. Her nipples hardened into tight buds, the silky fabric scraping over them like sandpaper as the bodice fell to her waist.

  Those intense blue eyes fixed on her breasts. Her nipples pinched tighter, hard and pouting, his gaze like a physical caress.

  ‘You have beautiful breasts, Sabrina. Have you ever had your nipples clamped?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ll take that as a no.’ His lips quirked. Was he playing with her again? ‘That’s a shame. Clamps would look amazing on those nipples.’

  Just the thought of the clamps sent a renewed shaft of heat to her sex. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’ Had he brought some with him, like the egg? And did she have the will to object? ‘My nipples are very sensitive—clamps might hurt.’

  ‘The pain is supposed to enhance the pleasure. It’s just a question of knowing how to use them correctly. Luckily, I’ve had a lot of practice.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, feeling stupidly gauche again. So he hadn’t been messing with her? Why had she thought he would be? He was obviously way, way more adventurous about this stuff than she was. And why did the thought of all his practice make her feel a little inadequate? This was in no way a romantic liaison, so why should she care how many women had benefitted from his nipple clamp expertise?

  ‘But your nipples are safe. I wasn’t expecting to get laid while I was here, so I don’t have any other toys with me.’

  Her breath scythed out, her heart pummelling harder at the blunt, impersonal reference to ‘getting laid’.

  Holding a finger up, he flicked it down in indication. ‘Lose the rest. Before I die of suspense.’

  She wanted to tell him no. That she wanted to see him, too, but after the near miss with the clamps, she wasn’t sure she could talk.