Her eyes widen. With a low moan, she explodes in a hot, wet mess against my hand. I hold her steady as she convulses against me, gripping hard onto the front of my jacket as waves of sensation roll through her. I can feel her pulsing around my fingers, hot and strong as she writhes against me.
It is the hottest thing I think I’ve ever seen. I have to close my eyes and force myself to steady my breathing.
Eventually, she starts to slow down, but I’m not done. My heart is hammering. I want more. I jam my fingers knuckle-deep into her, not letting up until she’s squirming again.
“Josh—” she mutters. “I can’t—it’s too much.”
I twist my fingers, scooping at her inner wall, and tug on the string of beads. Almost instantly, she’s coming again, her body jerking hard against mine as she shudders all over. Her hair has fallen over her face, strands tickling all over her cheeks, and I push them back behind her ears, holding her close as she gasps silently.
By the time the last wave of shivers leaves her body, she’s slumped against me, sweaty and limp. I kiss her wet cheek, pulling out of her reluctantly. On the counter, my phone beeps again.
“I have to go,” I mutter. “They need me for pictures.”
She nods, panting. “Okay.” Her lashes dip as she glances down at my trousers. “You don’t want help with that?”
I wince, reaching down to adjust myself. “No time.”
These pictures are going to be awful. Blood is thumping in my balls so hard it’s physically painful, and my skin feels so hypersensitive, I can feel every damn fibre of this stupid suit scraping my nerves. I’m gonna have to make sure I’m standing at the back of all of these photographs.
She nods, nuzzling into my tie, then pulls back. “Okay,” she says quietly. “Go. I’ll see you later.”
I kiss her cheek and turn to leave.
“Wait.”
I turn back. Layla grabs my wrist and tugs my hand to her lips. Before I can say anything, she’s slipped two of my fingers in her mouth, licking them clean of her juices. My balls squeeze at the sensual tug of her lips and tongue against my skin.
“Layla—” I groan. “Please. You’re killing me.”
She nips the tip of my finger, then pulls back and smiles sweetly. “Just cleaning you up. Have fun.”
It takes everything in me to turn and leave. But, somehow, I manage it.
The wedding photographer has set up shop in a corner of the ballroom, setting out all of her equipment against a big white wall decorated with roses. Most of the wedding party are already in position, chatting. Rob is trying to surreptitiously drink a flute of champagne while his new mother-in-law re-ties his tie and talks his ear off.
I go to join them. “Hey. Sorry, it took a while to find you.”
Amy’s mum looks at me and pulls a face. “For God’s sake, clean yourself up. We’re starting soon.” She pushes past us. “Has anyone seen Amy?” There’s a chorus of nos, and she huffs, wandering back into the crowd to find her daughter.
I turn to Rob, who looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “What did she mean, clean myself up?”
He clears his throat. “You, um, look like you just got ravished. Fix your hair.”
Shit. I should’ve checked myself in the bathroom mirror before I left. I reach up and start combing my hair down with my fingers.
Rob watches, grinning. “It’s that Layla girl, isn’t it? She’s cute.”
“She’s here with Luke,” I say stiffly, rolling down my sleeves and looking around for something to check my reflection in.
“You know I listen to your podcast, right? I know all about your weird little four-way experiment.” He tilts his head, looking at me. “I’m happy for you.”
“Nothing is happening between us.” I tug my tie straight, then try to covertly check my fly is done up.
“No?” He asks, eyes crinkling. “You do know you’ve been talking about her for years, right? I feel like I almost know her myself.”
I blink. “What do you mean? I’ve never talked to you about her.”
“Josh, I don’t think we’ve had one conversation in the last three years where you haven’t mentioned her. Sure, you didn’t say her name, but it’s obviously her.” I look at him blankly, and he raises his eyebrows. “Your infuriating green-eyed neighbour? She works too hard and screws up your internet when she’s taking video calls? Blonde hair, hot temper, likes to show you her underwear? Ring any bells?”
“I didn’t tell you all of that.”
“Oh, but you did.” He looks out over the crowd. “It didn’t click until I saw her today. The way you talk about her, I was picturing some kind of warrior princess. She looks more like a little fairy.”
“Don’t let her hear you say that,” I mutter, buttoning my cuffs as the photographer stomps up to us, looking harried. “Do I look okay?”
“You look beautiful,” he assures me. “Absolutely stunning. My gorgeous baby brother.”
The photographer, a five-foot-nothing woman with grey-streaked hair, claps to get our attention.
“Has anyone seen the bride?” She calls, scanning all of our faces. No one in the wedding party says anything, and she sighs. “Jesus Christ, every bloody time. Right. We’ll start off with the groom’s side, then. Can all of the groomsmen get in front of the flowers, please. Groom and best man in the centre. Where are the father and mother?”
Rob stiffens.
I clear my throat. “They’re not in attendance.”
She grumbles under her breath, as if our dead mother and prick father are incredibly inconvenient for her.
“I thought of inviting him,” Rob mutters, as all of his groomsmen shuffle into position around us. “Figured he wouldn’t come.”
“He’d have ruined the whole wedding,” I say. “Picked everything apart. Criticised you and Amy. He’d think all of this was stupid.” Our dad has no idea what love is. He hated anything romantic. Weddings were his idea of Hell.
He nods. “Yeah.” We’re silent for a moment as the photographer takes some test shots, scowling at her camera. “Seriously, though,” he says quietly. “I’m happy that you found Layla. She sounds sweet.” He glances across at me. “And just for the record — she likes you back.”
My heart stammers in my chest. I try to keep my face straight. “How could you…”
He snorts. “Don’t you read your tweets? Every one of your listeners can hear it. The girl’s falling for you. And the other two as well, I think.” He turns to me, his eyes serious. “Let her know. Don’t do that thing where you try to make everyone else happy, but ignore what you want. You deserve to find someone.”
I don’t know what to say.
In front of us, the photographer sighs, setting her camera down. “For God’s sake. Could the best man kindly remove the lipstick from his neck?” She calls out, her voice dripping with irritation.
I turn to glare at Rob, who’s bent over laughing. “You prick.”
“I thought you were experimenting with a new look!”
Someone offers me a tissue, and I wipe the makeup off my skin. I can still smell Layla on my fingers.
Today is going to be a long day.
