The Wedding Wrecker

10. James

10

JAMES

I woke up to two very… large issues.

Emma was draped across my chest like a silk-clad blanket, her leg thrown over my hips in a way that put her directly in contact with my second, more urgent problem.

Morning wood was normal. Having the woman who'd been starring in my fantasies for three years grinding against it in her sleep was not.

A small puddle of drool marked where her face pressed against my chest. Her shorts had ridden up during the night, and her squirming had crumpled the comforter and sheets around our ankles.

Light streamed in through my small window, highlighting the tantalizing view of her exposed leg and half of her ass in perfect, buttery morning light.

Every few seconds, she was making these small but very real movements with her hips that were going to drive me insane. It was almost as if she was grinding on me in her sleep.

I wished I could pay a visit to whatever dream she was having.

I tried to ease away, but she just followed, pressing closer with a sleepy murmur. Her leg tightened over my hips, creating friction that made me have to bite back a groan.

"Emma," I whispered. No response except her nuzzling deeper into my chest.

This was fine. I just had to carefully extract myself without waking her. If she woke to find herself like this, I had no doubt she’d somehow convince herself this was my fault. But fuck, I’d behaved, despite the overwhelming temptation to suggest otherwise last night. I’d hardly slept because of how hard it had been to keep my hands to myself.

And now this?

But it was alright. I could do the right thing. I would quietly fix this without waking her, and she’d be none the wiser. Easy.

I started to slide sideways, moving inch by torturous inch. Emma made a small sound of protest and shifted again. Like a baby monkey unwilling to release its mother, she reached out, grabbed my shoulder, and fully slid on top of me, straddling me and my morning wood.

Her legs were spread perfectly, positioning her warmth right over my hard and throbbing cock.

Fuck.

Not better. Definitely not better.

Her silk shorts did nothing to hide the heat pressed against me, and my thin sleep pants might as well have been tissue paper. When she rolled her hips, seeking comfort in her sleep, I had to grip the sheets to keep from grabbing her.

"James..." she moaned softly, hips rocking as she grinded herself against me ever so slightly.

Jesus Christ.

"Emma," I said louder, desperation making my voice rough. "Wake up."

She responded by grinding down again, this time with purpose. Her head tipped back, exposing the elegant line of her throat.

"Emma!"

Her eyes flew open. For a moment, she just stared at me, clearly confused about why she was on top of me. She looked down at her hands, which were each clenched on one of my pecs like she was holding on for the ride of her life.

Then understanding dawned, followed quickly by horror.

She scrambled off me so fast she nearly fell off the bed. One hand pressed between her legs while the other crossed over her chest, where her nipples were clearly visible through the fabric.

"I... you..." She backed toward the bathroom. Then her eyes fell on my very much erect cock, which was outlined against my thin pants. “Why is it like that?!”

“Hey!” I said, pulling the blankets up. “I was minding my own business. If a beautiful woman starts humping me in her sleep with barely any clothes on, it’s going to stand up at attention. I’m innocent, here.”

“Beautiful wo—” she cut herself off, shook her head and closed her eyes. "This didn't happen."

The door slammed. A moment later, I heard the shower start.

I fell back against the pillow, trying to think about anything except how she'd felt against me. How she'd moaned my name.

"Fuck," I muttered, pushing my hands through my hair. And then I had the torture of laying there and trying not to picture her naked body in the shower for the next fifteen minutes. I mostly failed, which wasn’t helping the whole morning wood situation.

The water finally shut off, and a few moments later, I heard her voice come muffled through the door. “We’re seriously never talking about this. Ever.”

I couldn't help smiling. "Which part? The drooling or the grinding? Or maybe how you moaned my name? Because that raises some obvious questions about what kind of dream you were having. I mean, with the grinding and the moaning, a man would be forgiven for thinking?—"

"James Carter, I swear to God?—"

"I have to say, your technique was impressive, even while unconscious."

Something thudded against the door. "I hate you."

"That's not what your moans implied.”

"I'm going to murder you in your sleep."

"So you said last night. And I have to say, if what I woke up to was your attempt at murder? Well, consider me far less scared. In fact, I’d welcome any future attempts on my life.”

"Do I need to get out the PowerPoint and go over the rules again?

“For your benefit or mine? Because I’m pretty sure dry humping me in your sleep breaks all the rules, sweetheart. Then again, there’s something on my pants… Maybe it wasn’t so dry."

"I did not—" She made a sound of pure frustration. "That was an unconscious accident."

"So you're saying you can't control yourself around me?"

"I'm saying I was asleep and my body betrayed me in ways I will never forgive it for."

I watched the door, trying to imagine the look on her face right now. "If it helps, you weren't the only one enjoying it."

Silence. Then, so quiet I almost missed it: "Really?"

The vulnerability in her voice made my chest ache. "Emma..."

"No. Nope. Forget I said that." I heard her moving around the bathroom. "We're going to pretend this morning never happened. And you're going to wear a shirt to bed from now on."

"What about pants?"

"Those too!"

"But you seemed to like?—"

The door flew open, catching me off guard. Emma stood there in a towel, hair dripping, cheeks flushed. "One more word about what I liked, and I'll tell Dick you're actually my gay best friend who's just pretending to date me."

I held up my hands in surrender, but I couldn’t help noticing the mirror in the tiny bathroom behind her wasn’t even steamed up in the slightest. I smiled, pointing. “Looks like somebody took a cold shower. Did it help?”

She threw her wet hair towel at my face and stormed past me to her suitcase.

“So,” I said, watching the shape of her ass press against the white towel as she bent down, one arm holding the towel from falling. “What’s on the itinerary for today?”

“I’m meeting with some vendors to iron out a few details.”

“ We’re meeting with vendors, you mean?”

She glared over her shoulder. “No. You’ll screw something up.”

“We’re the happy couple, Em. I think we should probably do this together. Besides, maybe I can help.”

“Don’t call me Em. And I highly doubt that.”

I shrugged. “I might just surprise you.”

“Last time you surprised me, it was by sabotaging a wedding and my career.”

“Rule number three,” I said softly.

She stood with her clothes clutched in one hand and waved them at me. “Don’t you rule number three me, Mister.”

I smirked. “You’re adorable when you’re mad. Also… pink thong.” I flashed a thumbs up. “Great choice. Your ass is amazing, so why hide it?”

She looked down at the thong nearly falling from her hands and tucked it tighter into the ball. Then she made a strangled sound and stormed back into the bathroom.

I watched the door after it closed and wondered what the hell I was doing, exactly.

Things between us would never, ever work. That much became clear in Ireland. So why was I playing with fire? Especially when I still had to do some work investigating this Marcus Wellington guy. Depending on what I found, I might even have to wreck yet another Emma Marshall wedding.