“I know, right! I wanted these little pink ones that sat about two inches above the knee but Chloe flat out refused.”
Miranda’s dress was orange and short but she didn’t seem to get the connection between what I’d said and what she was wearing. Since when did you wear club slut clothes to a wedding? I would never wear anything that would flash my intimate area for all to see if I bent over, to a fucking wedding.
She shrugged. “Shame but it’s Chloe’s choice.”
“Absolutely,” I replied. Why was she still standing here?
“You want another drink, Nell?” Damon asked.
Oh I was going to need a lot of drinks. “Please. Miranda?”
“I’m fine, thank you, Damon just got me one.”
Low blow, bitch.
I turned to him and he frowned. Was he really doing this in front of me? Please say I’m just overreacting.
“What do you want?” He asked, sounding confused and scared and like he was about to protect his crotch.
“I’ll have a double vodka and lemonade, please.”
“Doubles already, huh?” He said, using his flirty voice. Damon was back but why wouldn’t he act normal when he could go off with another woman right now and it would be fine.
Well when I say fine, I meant I would want to slaughter him, her and probably a few innocents too but he had no obligation to be faithful to me. I hadn’t been to him over the years.
Although I had for almost the last year.
Fuck. I hadn’t slept with anyone else in almost a year!
“Nell, are you okay?” Damon asked, gripping my wrist.
I shook my head but answered, “Yeah.”
“Well, I’ll see you both around,” Miranda said, finally taking the hint.
“Oh, okay,” I replied. “It was nice to meet you.”
Smiling, she walked off without another word.
“Hey, do you think you could cram any more sarcasm in there?” He asked.
Standing my ground, I put my hands on my hips and nodded once. “I wasn’t being sarcastic. She seemed nice.”
Damon deadpanned. “Oh really? You spoke to her for three seconds.”
“And in those three seconds she seemed lovely.”
“Yeah, she was actually.”
Wanker.
I gritted my teeth. “Good. Want me to mingle so you can chase after her?”
If he said yes I was going to smash his glass over his head.
Curling his hand around my hip, he pulled me forwards. “Now why would I want to do that when I have you to keep me entertained?”
“Good choice.” Very, very good choice. The stress and insane jealousy ebbed away.
Arching his eyebrow, he replied, “Well I think so.”
“Would it be totally inappropriate if I jumped on you right now?” I asked, pressing my body against him, thankful that Chloe chose dresses that were fitted around the bust and waist.
“It would, but let’s not let that stop us.”
Logan stopped by, slapped Damon’s shoulder and said, “Please let it stop you.”
I stuck my tongue out. “Party pooper.”
“It’s my party and Chloe would kill you,” he said, shaking his head, smiling and walking off.
“He is no fun at his wedding,” I said and pouted.
Damon lifted one shoulder. “It’s alright, it’ll be dinner soon and I’ll just finger you under the table.”
My face slowly dropped. Lovely. Letting go, I turned around and headed to the remaining champagne glasses on the table across the room. Behind me Damon laughed and laughed and laughed.
The photos had gone on for an age but we were fed canapés while we waited. Plus, free bar. I’d made up with Damon after his fingering comment and he behaved himself through the meal. Chloe had been between guests the whole time so we didn’t get much time to chat but that was cool because Damon was keeping me busy.
“So we have, what, two hours until we have to be back here?” Damon asked, pushing the sleeve of his suit jacket up to look at his watch. “Now…what can we do in two hours?”
“Take a nap. Continue to drink the bar dry.” I still had my dessert so I knew we’d be having sex very soon.
He lifted both eyebrows. “I think you know what we’ll be doing, Presley.”
“Right. Drink. I think it’s a good idea.”
“Nell,” he said warningly.
“Fine, fine. You’re doing what I want. This is going to be all about me.”
He snorted and draped his arm over the back of his chair. “When isn’t it?”
My mouth dropped open. “You utter bastard. It’s not always about me! You get so many blow jobs I’m surprised it’s not fallen off.”
“If you want to try again to make it fall off…”
“I really don’t know why I bother talking to you.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, not meaning it at all, and leant forward to whisper, “Tell you what, since I’m such an arsehole and clearly need to make it up to you I promise to make you come again and again and in as many ways as I can think until you tell me to stop.”
I gulped.
“After that I’ll bring you downstairs, get you drunk like you want, dance with you all night, then carry you back to our room to continue where we left off.”