I drop the lace of the veil I’m holding on to and look up at him as the woman steps away. She gives him a coquettish smile that makes me want to punch her.
He’s wearing black on black. Fitting.
My eye is drawn to the cuff link he adjusts, a deep red jewel to match the red diamond on my ring, and in his lapel is a single blood red rose so much like the roses he sent me must once have been. This one, though, isn’t dead.
It’s striking, all that black and the blood red against it.
He’s striking.
But tonight, so am I. And I see the impact in his eyes as they lock on mine for a long minute before sliding over me.
The idiot woman starts to talk.
“Get out,” he says, cutting her off without looking away from me.
She looks shocked but recovers quickly. They both scurry, all heels and hair and perfume disappearing out of the room.
He steps toward me.
I don’t back up. I lick my lips instead as I tilt my head back to look up at him. He stands so close I feel the heat of his body. Mine thrums along with the strange vibration coming off him. Almost like our bodies have their own ritual, a sort of mating dance.
He lowers his gaze to the lace bodice. The fingertips of his right hand find my hip, grazing the curve of it up over the arc of my waist. He meets my eyes before wrapping his fingers around to my lower back, the flat of his hand spanning the width of it as he tugs me close. I can feel him, feel his erection against my belly.
And I want him.
“You start something in me,” he says, grinding against me. “I’m going to start it in you.”
Before I can speak, he pushes me backward, so I drop onto the bed, half lying on my elbows.
He crouches down between my legs.
I look at his dark head, unable to move away. He grips a hip with one hand while with the other, he pushes the slit of the dress over and up. All it takes is a few inches to expose me, and the sudden cold makes me gasp.
Damian drags his gaze from my pussy to my eyes, then back.
I’m laid out like a feast. A feast for him.
All I can do is watch as his hands come to either side of my pussy. A little pressure and I’m open to him. He looks at me. Just looks at me. I bite my lip, but I can’t close my legs. I don’t want to. Instead, I feel the heat of his gaze, feel the damp between my legs.
Without a word, he closes his mouth over my clit. His tongue is wet and soft, the sucking motion making me gasp as I drop my head back and bite my lip, drawing blood.
He licks the length of me from one hole to the other, then flicks my clit with his tongue. Just when I think I can’t take another moment, when I’m on the edge of orgasm, he’s up on his feet, pulling me to mine.
I stumble.
He wraps a powerful arm around my lower back, cradling me, holding me to him as he looks at me with his nearly black eyes. His lips glisten, and I smell myself on him. When he kisses me, I open to him, tasting myself, and as wrong as it is, I want more.
I want him to finish what he has started more than once.
I want to come. Want him to make me come. It’s not the same when it’s my fingers doing the work.
He pulls back with a grin.
I’m breathless, clinging to his shoulders to stay upright.
“I’ll finish you tonight.” He kisses me again, then steps backward. “After I’ve made you my wife.”
I only remember the phone I’m somehow still holding in my hand when his hand closes over mine, and he relieves me of it.
“No,” I start, almost like I’m coming out of a trance.
“You’ll get it back after the ceremony. It’s yours. Now let’s go. The vultures hunger for their feast.”
With his arm around my lower back, we walk out of the room and through the house, down the stairs to the main floor where a fire burns in every fireplace and music plays from invisible speakers. Candles are lit and a meal that should make my mouth water, makes my stomach turn instead.