Her Brother’s Billionaire Best Friend (Her Billionaire #1)

Chapter TWELVE

(Charlotte)

While the wedding and reception would be held on the beach, the rehearsal dinner took place in the resort’s only non-buffet restaurant, specially reserved tonight for rehearsal dinner guests. I arrived as the rehearsal ended and tried to insinuate myself into the room with as little notice as possible.

“Where were you, Sport?” Dad asked when he spotted me. Which was almost immediately.

“I didn’t want spoilers for tomorrow.” I’d thought hard about that planned response, because I’d known I couldn’t say that wedding rehearsals were a specific and boring form of torture that should be banned by the U.N.

Dad chuckled. “Anything exciting happen while we were busy?”

I shook my head, because nothing exciting had happened all weekend without Matt, and he’d been tied up with his best man duties. I checked my phone. “When does this thing end?”

“Well, it goes until question marks, according to the official itinerary. After dinner there’ll be drinking and dancing, but I don’t think anyone will be here until the wee hours, with the wedding tomorrow. So, you can probably make your escape right after you clean your plate.” Thank god, Dad had no illusions about my enthusiasm for all the little required activities.

“Did they have the bear at rehearsal?” I asked, shielding my mouth with my hand and lowering my voice, lest my comment be overheard, and I got sacrificed to the bear for my transgression.

“They did. And it’s— Oh, there it is,” he said, pointing.

Sure enough, Daisy the bear entered, fully untethered or restrained in any way, and lumbered toward a seat at the head table.

It sat in a chair. Like a person.

“Am I the only one who finds this weird and dangerous and not charming?” I muttered.

“No, it’s weird and dangerous,” Dad confirmed. “But still charming, in a way. Or are you jealous that you’re not the only maneater here?”

He had no idea. And I hoped we could keep it that way.

My phone chimed and Matt’s photo popped up. He’d put his number in my phone at some point, without me knowing.

Sneaky jackass.

I opened the text message. No hello, no formalities. Just:

When I snap my fingers tonight, leave the room and masturbate.

“Something wrong?” Dad asked, glancing over at my phone, which I quickly hid. “No. Nothing. Stupid work stuff.”

“Work stuff?”

I blinked at him. “Fine. Private stuff I don’t want my father to accidentally read.”

“Fair enough.”

Mom headed over to us, champagne flute in hand, and not her first judging by how she wobbled. At my raised eyebrow, she snapped, “It’s the damned sand. I could barely stand up out there. Now I have sea legs.” She fanned herself and took a sip. “Where were you for the rehearsal, Charlotte?”

“She didn’t want spoilers.” Dad repeated my flippant response as though it were the most obvious and reasonable thing in the world.

“Hmm,” was all Mom said before draining her glass. “I need to get a refresher.”

As she walked away, I turned to Dad. “She’s handling the ‘my baby is getting married’ thing well, huh?”

“Scott isn’t her baby,” Dad pointed out. “You are.”

“In terms of chronology, sure.” I wasn’t going to argue that I’d never felt like the baby. I’d felt like a disappointing obligation that had demanded my mother split time between her then-dying son and the infant who hadn’t provided the solution they’d been hoping for.

I could swear I physically felt Matt’s presence when he entered the room.

The sight of him hit me like a shockwave and I suddenly wished I had my own drink in my hand. His gaze met mine, only fleetingly, but the heat in his eyes burned through me to my very core.

“Have you met the best man?” Dad asked, and horrifyingly put his hand on my back as if he would march me right up to Matt and introduce us.

I stepped away. “Yeah. Kind of a douche. Cool he owns this place, though. Where’s our table?”

I’d been shoehorned into the seating chart with my parents, the bride’s parents, and a couple of their elderly relatives, right in front of the head table. It would be impossible for me to ignore Matt.

Maybe not impossible; I would definitely keep my eye on the bear in case it made any false moves. But I was close enough that I would hear Matt’s snapping fingers, should he choose to deploy them.

“Charlotte!” Deena called out as she joined us and pulled out her chair. “We missed you at the rehearsal.”

“I was avoiding spoilers,” When faced with an utterly blank look from Deena, I added, “I’m kidding. Since I’m not in the wedding, I didn’t think it appropriate to add another body to the rehearsal.”

“No rehearsal, no dinner,” Roy said, taking his own chair. “That’s what I would say, if I was your father.”

My nails dug into my palms in my lap.

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re not her father,” Mom said with a too loud, too mean-sounding laugh. “And that she’s an adult.”

“He’s teasing,” Deena assured us uncomfortably.

I wanted to snap back that he wasn’t teasing, he was being a paternalistic jackass. Instead, I reached for my water glass. From the sudden tension at the table, I assumed things between the in-laws weren’t all smooth sailing.

“How’s everyone doing tonight?” Matt’s voice jerked my attention straight to him. He stood beside Deena and gave us all a welcoming grin.

She grabbed his arm with one hand and pressed the other to her chest. “Matty. It’s all wonderful. We cannot thank you enough. The flowers, the canopy, the bows on the chairs… it’s all exquisite. Above and beyond what Lauren asked for.”

“Well, I’m happy to be of help.” He glanced over at Daisy. “Any chance you’d want to put a good word in for me? Since I’m walking that fuzzy beauty down the aisle tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Don’t smell like salmon,” Roy said gruffly. Somehow, even his jokes sounded disapproving.

“Damn. That’s what I was going to have for breakfast.” And then Matt did it. He snapped his fingers.

He didn’t even look at me when he did it. He gave Deena’s hand a squeeze as he removed it from his arm and excused himself to visit the next table.

“Mom?” I asked, my heart in my throat as I tried to come up with an excuse for leaving right after we’d just sat down. “Where did you get that drink?”

“Over at the bar.” She waved her hand vaguely toward a direction in which I saw no evidence of a bar.

A server stepped up to the table. “Good evening. What may I get you to drink?”

“Um, a glass of champagne?” Damn the amazing service at this place. I pushed back from the table, anyway. “Excuse me.”

Nobody needed a reason as to why I was leaving. I was an adult. I could go anywhere I wanted. Right now, I wanted to follow Matt’s instructions.

I knew he watched me as I left the room; I couldn’t help but take a surreptitious glance at him as I passed, and our eyes met.

Fuck, the sexual subterfuge was hot.

The only question was, where did one go to discreetly masturbate at a wedding rehearsal dinner? I’d seen a short hallway to the restrooms when we’d entered, but “public bathroom” didn’t scream privacy to me. Plus, it would be too distracting. I didn’t exactly find other people peeing and random snippets of conversation arousing.

There was always a supply room, I supposed. Not like we hadn’t done that before.

I tried my best to be inconspicuous as I wandered around outside the dining room. There had to be a janitor’s closet or something, anything with a lock...

There.

Behind an unlocked utility door that said, “staff only,” I spotted a unisex bathroom. Probably for the employees. I shouldn’t go back there. What if some poor server only got a few seconds between tables to take a pee? I’d been in that position way too often in several of my many past jobs. And I could get in trouble. That might be embarrassing, having to explain why I’d gone into a restricted area to use the bathroom.

I planned to pretend I was drunk and headed through the door like I owned the place. Or, at least, like I knew the owner. The clatter and chatter of a well-organized service kitchen filled the stark hallway, and I had to pass an open breakroom, but no one was inside. I knocked on the door to the bathroom and it was thankfully unoccupied, as well. Feeling like a criminal, I slipped inside, locked the door, and leaned against it for extra security.

The ventilation fan came on automatically with the light switch, drowning out the noises from the hallway. The isolating thrum reverberated through me and lifted goose bumps on the back of my neck. I was alone, in a place where I couldn’t readily justify my presence, and I was going to get myself off while people went about their lives and jobs feet away.

My nipples tightened and I squeezed my thighs together against the ache of excitement that sprang to life there.

I caught sight of myself in the mirror over the sink. The skin of my chest flushed red above the neckline of my green wrap dress, and my jerky pulse was visible in the hollow of my throat. I watched as if in a trance while the woman in the reflection did things I would certainly never have done in this same circumstance. She pulled her dress open and her bra down to bare herself. Then, she put a finger in her mouth to wet it and circled the hard peak of one nipple, making it shine with her own saliva.

I stood there toying with my breasts until the thick, liquid heat in my pussy became impossible to ignore. My gaze followed my hand as I bunched up my skirt and slipped my fingers into my panties. I bit back the moan that bubbled to my lips; my own hand had never felt so good. I circled my hips against the flicking movement of my middle finger.

It felt nice, for the moment, but it would feel so much better if I got really dirty with it. I quickly brought that hand to my mouth and sucked three of my fingers, then reached back down and plunged them inside. I heard the slick pop of my flesh parting wetly and the obscene sound sped me on. I fucked myself hard, reveling in the intimate texture of my body as I rippled around my wriggling fingers. I played my thumb against my clit as well as I could, considering my position. I was clumsy, reckless, totally abandoned to the wild pleasure of doing something I shouldn’t, something filthy, something a good girl never would.

Emboldened, I stepped away from the door and put one foot on the toilet seat, opening wider for myself. It was an awkward angle, but it gave me better access; I was able to jam my fingers deeper, deeper, to go so vulgarly far as to add a fourth, until I’d buried my hand nearly to the knuckles. I curled them and pushed up hard, too hard, while I frantically rubbed my clit with my other hand. Within seconds, I was coming, oh god, I was coming, pounding my fingers against my g-spot until I broke apart with a soundless cry, trembling and barely able to keep my footing. A burst of wetness splashed my fingers and doused my panties as black spots flashed in my vision and the electric fire of my orgasm clenched every muscle below my waist.

I kept my fingers busy until the last shocks had passed, then, my inner thigh muscles quaking, pulled my hand free and set my foot back down.

The woman in the mirror stared back at me in a crashing moment of post-orgasm clarity. Doing something bad was only fun when you were in the middle of it. In the aftermath, I was a woman who’d violently fucked herself in an employee restroom. My panties were sodden; there was no way I could wear them out and I had no idea what I should do with them or where to put them. Sweat shone on all my visible skin. I let my panties hit the floor and stepped out of them, then teetered on unsteady legs to the sink. I couldn’t meet my own eyes in my reflection. I was too ashamed.

But why? You didn’t do anything wrong, I reasoned with myself. Nobody saw. You didn’t hurt anybody. You’re playing a game with a consenting partner. No one will ever know, except him.

He would know. Oh, he would know. Not only because he’d given me this task, but because he’d seen my glassy eyes and reddened skin in the moments after I’d come. He would know from the languorous sway to my walk that I wouldn’t be able to hide, but that no one would notice because they hadn’t seen it before. They hadn’t watched me come. Hadn’t watched me get fucked by another man.

What I’d done? Had nothing to do with me.

It was all for him. Because he’d asked for it.

Before I turned on the tap, I locked eyes with myself in the mirror and brought my sticky hand to my lips. With a groan of satisfaction, I sucked each finger clean, swirled my tongue between them, and never looked away.

After I washed my hands and ran a wet paper towel over my neck and chest, I took my time, carefully looking over my appearance and making sure everything was in place. Kind of sweaty hair patted back into the deconstructed bun I’d worked so hard on so it would appear effortless, check. Bra and dress readjusted, check. Dried off my thighs, check.

Panties?

What the hell would I do with those?

I glanced around the depressingly function-only bathroom. There was no place at all to hide the evidence. Someone would see them in the trash, and I couldn’t flush them; what if they clogged up the plumbing? I couldn’t imagine the kind of “critical conversation” that would be needed in the workplace after a maintenance man found the cause of the obstruction.

Pockets! My dress had pockets! It had been one of the reasons I’d bought the damn thing. I stuffed my panties in one, cleared my throat, held my head high, and walked out of the bathroom and back to the rehearsal dinner.

When I entered, Matt was talking to another table, flashing them his charming host smile. He glanced up, and our eyes locked.

That’s right. I did exactly what you told me to, like an obedient little plaything.

I passed close by him as I moved toward the front of the room and warned him with a nudge from my elbow an instant before I “tripped” and collided with him more firmly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” I said, pretending to stumble off my feet. And in the riskiest move of my life, I whipped the panties from my pocket and pressed them into his hand when he tried to help me.

His eyes widened and his fingers closed around the wad of wet fabric, but he played it off like an accomplished slight-of-hand magician, slipping the panties into his own pocket while “steadying” me.

“That’s all right,” he assured me. “Long day, tall heels?”

“Something like that.” I laughed it off and walked away, struggling to conceal my smirk of satisfaction.