My entire body jerks, and I gasp.
I swear to God Seth’s pupils dilate, as if he’s a predator who’s spotted his prey. The wickedest smile spreads across his face.
“Want me to try again?” I whisper.
“To be coy?”
He moves his thumb again, this time sliding it over my clit through my panties. This time I’m ready and the only part that moves is my hips, rolling toward him, seeking a rhythm.
I just nod to answer his question, and his hand keeps moving: slide, slide, his movements becoming tempo, even if it’s slower than I’d like.
“Go ahead,” he says, that hungry, delighted grin still on his face. “Tell me something coy while I play with your clit right outside your sister’s wedding.”
He moves the tiniest bit faster, and my eyes stutter closed. My head goes back against the wall, and I take a deep breath, bite my lips together with my teeth.
“Fuck,” I hiss.
“I don’t think that’s it.”
I force my eyes open and look at him.
“This isn’t…”
A wave of pleasure knocks me backward. My train of thought dissolves. My eyes are closed again and the back of his neck is cool beneath my fingers.
“Go on,” he says after a moment.
He’s laughing. I can tell. I’d like to kill him but then he’d stop.
I haven’t had sex in the two years and few months since the last time I fucked Seth. In all that time it’s been me and a few different vibrators, and while I’m strongly in favor of some self-love, it’s not the same.
A vibrator doesn’t slowly tease your clit the tiniest bit slower than you want. A vibrator doesn’t move a little faster when you make a noise. It doesn’t bite your earlobe when you turn your head to one side, cool plaster under your cheek, wainscoting gripped in your other hand.
And I’ve never once heard myself whisper, “I’m gonna come,” to a vibrator, nor has a vibrator ever whispered back, “Please.”
Somehow, when that wave crests and slams through me, I don’t make a noise. I don’t moan or shout Seth’s name or even whimper, I just gasp for breath and press myself against the wall and feel my face flushing and my legs tremble.
Seth pulls his hand away. My skirt hasn’t even hit the floor when he kisses me again, his hand going to my face and his fingers locking into my impossible hair, pinned back and sticky with hairspray and a dozen other things.
He pushes me against the wall like he can push me through it, kisses me like we’re fucking. His shirt’s come untucked and I slide my hand under it, his happy trail tickling through my fingers.
“The fuck are you doing?” he growls, into my mouth. “I already told you not to undress me here.”
I don’t answer. I just slide the palm of my hand down until it finds his cock, thick and hard as fuck below the zipper of his pants.
“I don’t need to undress you,” I tell him. “Just unzip.”
He pushes me even harder, his hips driving his erection against the flat of my palm as he groans softly, into my ear.
“Cabin,” he says. “Now.”
“It’s a chateau,” I tease as I stroke him again, tip to root.
“I don’t care what it’s called, we need to go there before someone catches us fucking against this wall.”
“Is that a prom—”
He puts the pad of one thumb over my mouth.
“You know goddamn well it’s a promise,” he says.
I open my mouth. Lick his thumb. He pushes it between my lips and I close them, suck on it gently.
His cock twitches against my palm, and I lick his thumb one more time, let him pull his hand away.
“It’s the last one in the row,” I say. “Number twelve. Here.”
I pull the key from my pocket, and Seth takes it, those ferocious eyes alight.
“You’re not coming?”
“I better be.”
The key’s in his pocket, both hands on my ass. He squeezes in response.
“You’re not accompanying me?”
“I’ll be there in five minutes. Ten, max.”
“That long?”
His fingers find the notch between my ass and my thigh, slide inward, and I want to climb him again.
“At least let me pretend I’m not the bad sister.”
“Oh, you’re the very good sister.”
“Ten minutes,” I say, and tug on his waistband again, pulling him in for another long, slow, deep kiss.
“If you’re not there in ten minutes I’m finding you and throwing you over my shoulder,” he promises. “And I’ve had more than enough whiskey to make good on that promise.”
“Go,” I whisper.
One last kiss, and he does. I watch Seth as he walks from the dark hallway into the brightly lit foyer. He nods at someone I can’t see, and I take a deep breath, lean my head against the wall. I think my legs are still shaking.
Seth doesn’t bother getting his jacket from the ballroom. He just heads for the outside door, looking casual as you please, shirt half undone, tie loose, sleeves rolled up, hair looking like someone’s been grabbing it.
He gives me one last look as he exits, eyes filled with smolder and promise, and then he’s gone.
Chapter Nineteen
Seth
I don’t understand why this place is a thousand dollars a night. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice. It’s nice as hell — stone fireplace, two leather couches, separate bedroom with an enormous four-poster bed, marble-covered bathroom complete with Jacuzzi — but a thousand dollars?
I’m just saying, I’d spend it differently.
While I wait for Delilah, I flip every switch in the place. I turn the lights on, then off, then dim them halfway. I check the blinds. I start the fireplace, find another in the bedroom, start that one too. I even plug my phone into the provided charging dock, and she still hasn’t shown up, so I sprawl on one of the couches, both arms along the top, and wait.
I think about the way she gasped when she came, up against the wall. I think about my thumb in her mouth, about her saying just unzip, about the garter tattoos that she still has, and I’m so hard it hurts.
She’s still not here. It’s been nine minutes. She gets two more — one because she said ten, and an extra one because I’m fucking polite — and then I’m going in there after her.
Just as I’m about to get up, the doorknob turns and the door opens and there she is, that pink dress swirling around her, the fur cape around her shoulders, cheeks and nose pink from the walk.
“I see you didn’t get lost,” she says, unclipping the cape and hanging it neatly on a hook.
“I assume this key only works on one door,” I say. “C’mere.”
Delilah bends down, takes her shoes off. She leaves them in a pile by the door and walks over to me, the drapes of her dress shining dully in the low light, the sway of her hips mesmerizing.
I think I could watch Delilah walk for hours.
“You said ten minutes,” I tease as she crosses the room.
“What’s it been, eleven?”
When she reaches me she pulls her skirt up, over her knees, and then she’s straddling me, her heat and her weight right against my aching cock.