Layla lets me lead her out of the hall and into the service corridor. Hustling her to the end of the hallway, I open the door to the private staff bathroom. It’s pretty in here: the wallpaper is patterned with roses, and the seashell-shaped sinks are set in a long marble counter studded with gold-plated taps.
Locking the door behind us, I turn and push Layla back up against the wall, kissing her again. She melts against me, gasping. Her hands cling to my lapels like she’s holding herself up. “Please,” she whispers again. “It’s driving me mad.”
I slide my hand down the curve of her hip, feeling the cool fabric of her dress bunch under my fingertips. “Do they hurt? Want me to take them out?”
She shakes her head, grabbing my wrist and guiding it between her legs. “Please,” she breathes. “Touch me.”
Dutifully, I slide my palm underneath her dress. Her soft, smooth thighs are hot and damp. When my fingers reach the sodden lace lining her pants, I have to close my eyes. She’s soaked. Nudging the wet fabric aside, I slide two fingers between her slick, puffy lips, marvelling at her softness. She shudders all over as I tease my fingertips around her entrance, before gently dipping them inside. As I start to stroke her, I feel the hot, slippery surface of the metal beads. She jolts as my fingertips brush them, and I kiss her cheek. “Does that feel good?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
“Y-yes,” she stutters. “Oh—”
I laugh, fluttering my fingers inside her.
For a few minutes, we’re mostly silent. I finger Layla steadily, and she buries all of her little gasps and murmurs into the front of my shirt. She’s already close. I can feel her wetness dripping down the palm of my hand, wetting my wrist.
Suddenly, my phone beeps on the counter. I close my eyes. Crap. “I don’t have much time. That’ll be my brother wanting to do pictures.”
She grinds up against me again, her hips trembling against my hand. When I meet her eyes, they’re glassy with tears.
I frown. “Baby, does it hurt?”
“It aches,” she hisses. I pause, and she makes a sad sound. “No,” she gasps. “No, keep going!” Her voice is tight with desperation. Obediently, I keep up my steady movements, plunging my fingers deep inside her. Her slippery walls clamp down on me like she’s trying to drag me in deeper, and her whole body jerks against mine. She’s on the edge. She probably has been for a while. Her breathing starts coming quicker, each gasp more high pitched and desperate than the last, and I kiss her even harder, not letting up so she can catch her breath.
“Gonna come?” I murmur.
She nods into my shoulder, and I smile against her, thrusting my fingers in even deeper until I reach the metal beads. Very carefully, I grasp ahold of one, twitching the string inside her as I roll my thumb over her swollen nub.
FIFTY-NINE
JOSH
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.”