66. TESSA
TESSA
“Guard the door.” Holding an open champagne bottle in one hand, Blake handed a staff member a stack of hundred-dollar bills with his other.
The waiter opened his mouth to protest, but when he realized the bills in his hand were hundreds, he complied. Immediately standing in front of the ballroom’s only exit into these gardens.
“I really should be in there for the cake cutting,” I said.
That’s why this outside area was currently clear of guests. They’d all gone inside to watch the twenty-thousand-dollar cake be cut and served because who wouldn’t want a slice of twenty-thousand-dollar cake?
Answer: Blake Morrison.
After spending the entire evening undressing me with his eyes, he’d waited as long as he could to make his move.
With hunger in his gaze, Blake led me along the cobblestone path, beneath the bubble lights strung over flowers, and into a secluded garden gazebo.
In here, you couldn’t even see the building, what with all the ivy and flowers draped inside the crisscross pattern of wooden walls.
In the moonlight and surrounding soft light radiating from nearby bulbs, it took on a fairy-tale quality, like being inside an ornament decorated with ivy and flowers.
“I’ve been dying to get you alone all night,” Blake said, nibbing on my earlobe. “The venue staff has the cake cutting covered. Your part is done until the send-off.”
I smiled. I’d casually told that to Blake a few minutes ago—that I could step away during the cake cutting since the venue staff knew exactly what to do—and he’d gotten a ravenous look in his eyes, vanished, and returned with a bottle of champagne. Bringing me out here.
“Take off your dress,” Blake said.
Good Lord. The way he commanded that shot a bolt of electricity between my legs, and my sex started to throb instantly.
The traitor.
“We’re in public.”
“Not really.” He kissed my neck again, and my damn hormones responded by making my nipples harden. “We have a highly compensated guard to ensure no one interrupts us, and no one can see us in here.”
While true, it still felt risky.
“It’s unprofessional,” I protested, even as Blake slid his free hand into the slit of my dress, drawing it closer to the space between my thighs. Which was now aching like a heartbeat.
“Two lovers in a secluded garden gazebo. Even if the bride caught you, I bet she’d find it romantic.”
She would. But that wasn’t the point. The point was, “I planned the wedding and—” My words cut off when two of his fingers slipped inside of me.
“No panties,” he groaned, pulling them out slightly. “If I knew you weren’t wearing panties, I would have taken you on the drive to the wedding. And again during the ceremony.” He pushed them in with punishing force. “And again during the dinner.”
I could barely focus on his words though, my sex throbbing around him as he pushed deeper inside, and began slow, torturous circles of my sensitive bud with his thumb.
“We shouldn’t …” I breathed in one final, pathetic attempt at protesting.
But after quickly looking around, I realized he was right. The only opening to the ivy-and-floral-covered gazebo faced the lake, and not a soul was out here. Nor would they be, thanks to our guard. Out here, it was just the two of us.
“Want me to stop, Cupcake?”
In response, I rocked my hips, rolling myself on his hand.
“Good girl,” he cooed, rewarding me by curling his fingers inside of me and thrusting them at the perfect angle.
But I wanted more. Needed more, all of him filling me.
Suddenly, his hands were on my designer dress, which he bunched up to my waist, exposing my sex.
“Lean back,” he demanded, pressing my back against the wall at an angle where my sex was closest to him. “Now hold this.”
I grabbed the fistfuls of fabric, holding them up, eager to find out what he was about to do because the glisten in his eyes told me he had something fun planned.
“Higher.” He pushed the fabric up until it was at my belly button.
Swallowing, I couldn’t help but check one last time that no one was at risk of seeing me, completely exposed to Blake, before watching him take that bottle of champagne and tip it down my lower belly.
I sucked in a breath, the chilled liquid dripping down my skin, to my sex.
Blake’s confident eyes met mine, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m going to drink you, Cupcake.”
And then Blake Morrison, still fashioned in a three-thousand-dollar tux, got down on one knee. Not to propose, though that would come in the future, I’d be certain. But to position himself to my sex, which was dripping with champagne.
His tongue started on my lower abs, lapping up the sweet, sticky residue before trailing a long, aching path toward my thighs. He stopped though, flashing a mischievous grin at me as he made me wait, dripping more bubbly down my stomach.
Blake’s gaze seemed mesmerized by it, watching the liquid drip around my folds, and then he fell to the wooden floor.
Finally, gloriously, Blake flattened his tongue and swiped a slow line up my sex.
My eyes shut, my mouth falling open in a groan as he lapped up every drop of champagne around my sex and then, propping my right foot up on the bench beside us, dipped his tongue down my folds and penetrated me.
Standing here now, an offering to Blake, I immediately wondered why I’d fought this.
His tongue plunged in deeper, then pulled back and began thrusting in and out.
When he finally returned to my bud, he gave it all the attention I could have asked for.
Swirling, circling, and sucking while I looked down at the man I loved, my heart exploding with joy.
And passion. It wasn’t long before I came undone on his mouth.
Shuddering and shaking, I rocked my hips against him, riding every last tremble until, finally, my muscles went weak with exhaustion.
Blake stood, turned me around, and pulled me further away from the wall, guiding my hips out and legs apart as he unzipped his pants.
“You’re so beautiful, Cupcake.”
He lined himself up at my entrance, my thighs throbbing with ache as he pushed himself inside in one forceful thrust.
Filling me. Stretching me. Burying himself in me.
Already, a fresh orgasm began to climb around him, and as he found his rhythm, I bit my lip to suppress a scream of ecstasy.
Blake Morrison—ER doctor, fantasy of every sex dream I’d ever had—was in a tuxedo, taking me from behind, while I was in a designer emerald gown.
He buried himself inside of me in a gazebo of flowers, grabbing my breast as he slammed himself into me over and over.
I used one hand to keep the fabric out of the way and the other to brace myself.
Especially as he got rougher and rougher with his thrusts.
When he slapped my ass so hard that a bite of pain preceded the pleasure, I had to bite my lip harder to keep from making too much noise.
And then I began quivering.
“Not yet,” Blake demanded.
“Blake …”
“I’ll tell you when you can come on me, Tess. Not yet.”
I moaned, unsure if I could hold it in. He was hitting that perfect bundle of nerves.
“Almost, Cupcake,” he promised. “I want you to come on me when I come inside of you.”
Holy hell.
When Blake started breathing heavier, I could tell he was close.
“Now, Cupcake.”
I came harder than I ever came in my life, throbbing around his shaft. All while he thrust into me hard and fast, until, finally, he stilled. Spent.
It took us a minute to get our breaths, and when we were done, Blake immediately helped put my gown back into the right position.
Miraculously, we hadn’t spilled champagne or fluids on the outside of the gown.
“We’re having another round of that at home,” Blake said, kissing my forehead.
As we stepped out of the gazebo, we gave our clothes a few last adjustments.
Anyone watching would know what had happened, what with two lovers emerging from a romantic, secluded spot in the garden.
My lipstick was surely smeared, and I could feel the slight sheen of sweat on my neck while Blake’s dark hair was still slightly mussed.
My plan was to make a beeline for the ladies’ room, but after just five steps, I froze.
Because there, standing just around the corner, was Eli.
How he’d scored an invitation to this wedding and how he’d gotten past the waiter still guarding the door, I couldn’t be sure.
But what I could be sure of was the look on his face, which was absolute pain.
His usual confident posture was gone, replaced by something smaller, more fragile.
I could read the devastation in his eyes as he scanned me, then Blake, who wrapped a possessive arm around my waist. I wanted to say something to him, but before I got the chance, Eli walked off, vanishing into the sea of people inside the ballroom.
“I need to talk to him,” I said.
Because I owed him an apology. I couldn’t imagine how heartbreaking it was, not only to get broken up with, but to see me truly in love, knowing I’d just shared an intimate moment with my new boyfriend.
All after being accused of poisoning me.