He shrugs before sitting down on the bed and leaning back against the headboard. “I don’t know why you have to worry about it. That dress isn’t going to be on you long.”
I sit up and leer at him. “It’ll be on me long enough. I can’t have it gaped open in the back. Everyone will see my present to you.”
His eyes fill with curious wonder. “Your present to me? And what would that be?”
I roll off the bed and pull my tank top off. “Not telling. It’s a wedding day surprise.” I toss it into the hamper and walk to the bathroom to take care of my nightly routine. After washing my face and brushing my teeth, I reemerge and find Reese putting his dish in the sink. “You ready for bed?” I ask.
“Yeah. I’m fucking beat.” He rounds the counter and brushes past me, slapping me on the ass before he steps into the bathroom.
I crawl under the covers, laying on the side I always occupy and facing my one and only window. I’ll never forget the first night Reese slept in this bed with me. It was the night of Juls and Ian’s wedding. The night that is permanently branded into my memory.
The night that will always mean more to me than he’ll ever know.
Seven months ago
“Where do you want me, love?” Reese asks, backing up the stairs that lead up to my loft.
This is it. The moment I’ve been dreaming about, thinking about constantly. We’ve only been official for two-and-a-half hours, but getting him in my bed has been the only thing on my mind. I wanted to leave Juls and Ian’s wedding reception early, but I didn’t. I held out. I do have some willpower; not much, but some. And having any willpower around this man is an extremely difficult task, trust me. If he hadn’t fucked me in the bathroom two-and-a-half hours ago, I definitely wouldn’t have made it, but he did. So we stayed. And now, he’s mine. He’s had me in his bed, and I’d be damned if I was going to go another second without having him in mine.
“My bed. Now.” I push against his heaving chest, feeling his heart beating rapidly against my palm. He’s still deliciously decked-out in his tux and it’s killing me. He’s killing me. The look he’s giving me right now, the way his body towers over mine, his intoxicating citrus scent. It’s fucking killing me. I’ve never been this turned on before, I’m sure of it. My panties are still in his pants pocket and right now, I could probably use them. I can feel my wetness pooling between my legs. I lick my lips, biting down on the bottom one as the back of his long legs hit my bed. With one tiny push, he falls back and I’m on him.
“Mmm, my girl is impatient,” he says, smiling up at me as I straddle his waist. “You can take your time, you know. I’m not going anywhere.” Take my time? Nonsense. His hands tug at the hem of my dress and with one quick motion, it’s pulled over my head and discarded somewhere. Anywhere. Who the fuck cares where my dress is because right now, the only thing I care about is him.
“Fuck taking my time.” My fingers frantically rip open his dress shirt, the tiny white buttons flying out in every direction. “You can take your time with me, after I fuck you.”