I feel his abdomen clench just slightly at my touch. “Stop,” he says.
“What?” I ask, feigning innocence as I bat my eyes up at him.
He growls and rolls over on top of me, his fingers locking my offending hand above my head. As he does, I feel his stiffness strain through his pants and press against my leg.
“Oh.” I flicker my eyes down and then back to his face. “That.”
“Shouldn’t you be hungover?”
“You’re right.” I slip my free hand through his thick curls and tug his hair. “I could use a little hair of the dog.”
“You’re not cute.”
“I’m very cute. And you like it.”
“I’m never going to hear the end of that, am I?”
I shake my head. “No.”
Braxton tilts down and draws a trail of warm, morning kisses down the side of my face. I gasp. The unshaven scruff on his chin prickles my jaw and throat. His hand snakes up my shirt and cups one of my breasts. He rubs my nipple, hard and sensitive, underneath his thumb and I moan, a spike of pleasure bursting between my legs and forcing me to clench my thighs. Braxton shifts forward so his knee is snug tight between my legs, smashing my aching sex. I gasp and writhe against his thigh as he kisses, sucks, and fondles me, expertly controlling the heat of my desire as it ebbs and flows over me in waves. My body arches, spackled with morning sun, my clothes twisted half-on, half-off.
“Braxton,” I whimper breathlessly.
“Quiet,” he whispers in my ear. “These walls are thin.”
Unfairly, just as he tells me to be quiet, he pushes his hand up my skirt, pulls my panties to the side, and dives a finger deep inside of me.
I gasp, loudly, and I fist his hair.
“It’s not…that…it’s just…” My words are jumbled around my brain, and it takes me a second to collect them all. “Do you think having the wedding around the train tracks is a good idea?”
“What?”
“I mean, at first I thought it was cute, but now I’m worried it’ll be too much.”
His eyes darken. “Are you really thinking about the wedding right now?”
“I’m not…not thinking about it…”
“Stop thinking.”
“I can’t just—oh.”
His finger pirouettes inside of me, hitting my pleasure center. I can’t stop myself now; I’m undulating into his hand, overwhelmed. He kisses my throat and sucks at the skin there, and it drives me crazy. I’m panting, writhing, twisting up the blankets underneath us. Then he does it. He crooks his finger, right there, and my lips fall open—
Braxton predicts me and his hand clamps over my mouth the second I take in a breath to scream. I cry out into his palm as my orgasm explodes within me. I throb hard around his finger, and he strokes me, draws it out until I’m seeing stars. As I come down, I pant hard, my breath coming rapidly through my nose. His hand is still over my mouth, which is somehow comforting, and I taste the skin there as I catch my breath. With his skilled finger still buried deep inside of me, Braxton presses a kiss to the back of his hand, where my lips should be.
“Are you going to be good?” he asks.
I nod compliantly. I feel like melted butter underneath him, basking in the warm glow of gratification and the South Carolina sun. He removes his hand from my mouth and cups my face instead.
He’s tender suddenly. He paints his fingers down the side of my face. He knits his eyebrows, his eyes inspecting me.
I can’t help but grin. “What?”
Now his eyebrows furrow. “What?” he parrots.
“The way you’re looking at me…what is that?”
He doesn’t say anything, but his tongue wets his lips briefly.
“You’re thinking that you like me again, aren’t you?” I say.
He scoffs on a laugh.
“How much do you like me?” I draw my hand down the front of his body. I cup his groin over his pants. He’s a handful and more and responds to my touch. “Oh,” I say. “You like me that much?”
“And then some.” He dips down and crushes my lips in his. I taste his kiss, the inside of his mouth, and his tongue as I tease him lightly.
“We really should get ready,” I sigh against his mouth. “We’re already going to be late to the brunch.”
“Screw the wedding,” Braxton murmurs. “Cora is going to call it off anyway.”
“You’re confident. You have less than a day left to get her to change her mind.”
“Plenty of time.”
“What’s your play?” Braxton knits his eyebrows in confusion at my question, so I clarify. “You know. Your coup de grâce. I know you have one.”
“Everyone has a weakness,” Braxton says.
“And what’s Ray’s?”
“Whiskey.”
“That’s it…whiskey?”
“You heard him at the distillery. He told us he can’t hold it. I’m going to give him a bottle I picked up from Muddy Waters as an early wedding present. And when he gets drunk and makes an idiot of himself at the rehearsal…Cora will drop him like last season’s sweater.”
Little details from last night filter through my memory. I remember how he spoke about his father, his past. He’s not wrong. If Cora sees even a smidgeon of her alcoholic father in her husband-to-be…she’s bound to head for the hills.
“You’re devious,” I say as I pull Braxton against me. “It’s kind of hot.”
We roll around on bed, kissing, until I get him onto his back. His hands immediately slip under my skirt and cup my rear, but I grip his wrists to stop him.
“Wait,” I say.
“What is it?”
“I want to do this my way.” I look over him and say, “Take off your shirt.”
He does, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the floor.
God, he’s so built, it’s unfair. But not boxy—he’s sleek, sculpted. I can’t help but take it in for a second as I straddle his lap.
My eyes flicker over the image of him in the bed, and my gaze latches onto the bedposts. There are old-school drapes on either side of the four-poster bed, pulled back and tied neatly with decorative rope.
Bingo. I undo both of the drapes and, holding the rope in my hand, say, “Lift your hands over your head.”
It’s not hard to see where I’m going with this. Braxton lets out a surprised breath of a laugh and then says, “You’re kidding me.”
“No. My way. Right?” He looks dubious. I tilt in and ghost my lips over his. “What if…I make it worth it?”
His breath shakes against my mouth. His jaw tightens, debating, and then he finally lifts his arms. “You’re full of surprises, Susie.”
“You have no idea.”
I shift over him and wind the rope around his wrists and the rungs of the headboard. It takes only a couple of seconds, and I tie it off in a nice sturdy knot.
Braxton even tests the restraints, tugging once. The knot doesn’t loosen, not even slightly. “Should I ask where you learned how to do that?”
I shrug. “I made extra money in college doing magic shows at kids’ parties.”