I’m almost dizzy with happiness as I kiss Layla slowly, holding her close.
I’m having the best damn day.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m tired as Hell. Since five this morning, I’ve been ironing ties, picking up clothes from the dry cleaners, and bringing people coffee. While she was getting ready, Amy kept writing soppy little romantic notes to my brother and demanding I pass them on to him. I probably would’ve refused, if he wasn’t so goddamn happy every time I came in with another one.
Pulling back from Layla for a second, I glance back at the dance floor. Rob is out there with Amy, twirling her under his arm to the band music. Warmth glows in my chest. He looks like he’s walking on air.
God, I love weddings.
Layla sighs, leaning against my chest, and I look back down at her. As if this day could get any better, now I have the most gorgeous woman in the room in my arms. I nuzzle into her temple, kissing down her hairline and across her ear. “This dress is incredible,” I murmur, smoothing the mint silk over her skin.
She doesn’t answer, yanking my mouth back down to hers. I tug her bottom lip slowly between my teeth, sucking on the soft flesh, and she makes a low choking sound, a shudder wracking through her.
I pause. Layla’s never usually this receptive. I suddenly realise that she’s sweating, trembling slightly against me. Her breath is coming in small, sharp pants.
“Hey.” I pull away. “Layla.”
She turns her face away, burying it in the front of my shirt. I run a hand down her back, left bare in her dress, and another shiver runs through her, more violent than the first.
This isn’t right. I carefully peel her away from me.
“Sweetheart?” I stroke her hair back from her eyes. Her face is bright red, and her chest is heaving. I frown, cupping her cheek. “Hey. What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she mutters, leaning against me like she doesn’t trust herself to stand upright.
I’m getting increasingly alarmed now. I slide my hands down to her waist, holding her up. “Yes?”
She huffs. “Zack and Luke…” she bites her lip.
“Hm?”
“They…” she shudders against me as I stroke her back. “Ugh. You remember those balls that Zack gave me? From Sinsters?”
I blink at the change of subject. “I… yes?”
She gives a little shrug, shifting her weight slightly. “They put them inside me.”
I stare at her as all of the blood rushes out of my head. It takes a moment for her words to sink in. Then I swear.
“Christ, Layla. You were sitting there with toys inside you through that whole ceremony?”
“Yes,” she whispers, pushing closer. I can feel the strain in her body, the slight tremble in her hips. She’s been on the edge for a while.
“And they left you like this?” I ask, bending to breathe in the scent of her hair. “That’s just cruel.”
“Mmhm.” She looks up at me, her green eyes huge. “Help me?”
I look behind me at the party. We have the wedding photos scheduled in a few minutes. Any second, one of the bridesmaids is going to come looking for me. My entire body is screaming at me to grab Layla and carry her all the way back to our hotel room. But I can’t.
“Please?” Layla asks softly. She looks a mess; there’s a pink flush crawling up her neck and cheeks, and she’s breathing shallowly as she rubs her body unsubtly up against mine. I can’t leave her like this.
“Come with me,” I mutter, taking her hand.
Layla lets me lead her out of the hall and into the service corridor. Hustling her to the end of the hallway, I open the door to the private staff bathroom. It’s pretty in here: the wallpaper is patterned with roses, and the seashell-shaped sinks are set in a long marble counter studded with gold-plated taps.
Locking the door behind us, I turn and push Layla back up against the wall, kissing her again. She melts against me, gasping. Her hands cling to my lapels like she’s holding herself up. “Please,” she whispers again. “It’s driving me mad.”
I slide my hand down the curve of her hip, feeling the cool fabric of her dress bunch under my fingertips. “Do they hurt? Want me to take them out?”
She shakes her head, grabbing my wrist and guiding it between her legs. “Please,” she breathes. “Touch me.”
Dutifully, I slide my palm underneath her dress. Her soft, smooth thighs are hot and damp. When my fingers reach the sodden lace lining her pants, I have to close my eyes. She’s soaked. Nudging the wet fabric aside, I slide two fingers between her slick, puffy lips, marvelling at her softness. She shudders all over as I tease my fingertips around her entrance, before gently dipping them inside. As I start to stroke her, I feel the hot, slippery surface of the metal beads. She jolts as my fingertips brush them, and I kiss her cheek. “Does that feel good?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
“Y-yes,” she stutters. “Oh—”
I laugh, fluttering my fingers inside her.
For a few minutes, we’re mostly silent. I finger Layla steadily, and she buries all of her little gasps and murmurs into the front of my shirt. She’s already close. I can feel her wetness dripping down the palm of my hand, wetting my wrist.
Suddenly, my phone beeps on the counter. I close my eyes. Crap. “I don’t have much time. That’ll be my brother wanting to do pictures.”
She grinds up against me again, her hips trembling against my hand. When I meet her eyes, they’re glassy with tears.
I frown. “Baby, does it hurt?”
“It aches,” she hisses. I pause, and she makes a sad sound. “No,” she gasps. “No, keep going!” Her voice is tight with desperation. Obediently, I keep up my steady movements, plunging my fingers deep inside her. Her slippery walls clamp down on me like she’s trying to drag me in deeper, and her whole body jerks against mine. She’s on the edge. She probably has been for a while. Her breathing starts coming quicker, each gasp more high pitched and desperate than the last, and I kiss her even harder, not letting up so she can catch her breath.
“Gonna come?” I murmur.
She nods into my shoulder, and I smile against her, thrusting my fingers in even deeper until I reach the metal beads. Very carefully, I grasp ahold of one, twitching the string inside her as I roll my thumb over her swollen nub.
