Chapter 21 #3
His flirty touches had sent it back to the mall bathroom while Easton dropped to his knees like a man with a mission and absolutely no shame.
My fingers tangled in his hair, my breath stuttering while he looked up at me like I was something to worship.
And then he’d smirked— smirked —before dragging his tongue over me like he had all the time in the world.
Yeah. That’s where my brain was.
Not here. Not at this wholesome rehearsal dinner with cider and candles and emotional vulnerability.
How was I expected to concentrate on dinner rolls at a time like this?
Levi raised his glass, his voice mellow and nostalgic as he continued his toast, now talking about their first kiss. Everyone smiled. Heads turned. Someone might have actually teared up.
I wouldn’t know.
Because Easton’s hand had started sliding beneath the tablecloth.
His palm found my knee. And the second it had settled on my skin, something low and molten lit up in my bloodstream.
Like he’d flipped a switch inside me that was wired to him.
My spine went rigid. My breath caught. The world around me blurred into a watercolor smear of flickering candles and soft piano music I wasn’t hearing.
He didn’t look at me.
That was the worst part.
He just sat there, like he wasn’t actively setting fire to every nerve ending I possessed, his expression politely attentive to the toast.
But there was the smallest curve to his lips. Barely there. A private joke only I could feel.
And then…because he was evil…his thumb started to move.
Slow. Deliberate. Lazy little circles that burned hotter with every pass, like he was testing how far he could push before I combusted.
My fingers curled around my fork in a death grip. I stared hard at my plate, trying to remember what food even was.
My pulse pounded in my ears, drowning out the clink of silverware, the sighs of appreciation over the butternut squash ravioli, the way Paige looked like a fairy-tale princess across the table.
His fingers inched higher.
I snapped my eyes to him. “Easton…” I hissed.
His head tilted slightly. He didn’t even blink. Just let the full weight of that smirk settle into place like it belonged there. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured, too softly for anyone else to hear.
I didn’t .
Fuck, I definitely didn’t.
“Someone will see,” I whispered, glancing nervously to my right, where my cousin was very focused on buttering a roll like it was a performance art piece.
“Then don’t make any noise that makes them look,” he said smoothly, his voice all warm velvet and bad ideas.
And just like that, Easton’s hand was sliding higher.
He leaned in, just enough for his breath to skim my ear, low and warm. He smelled like expensive trouble—cologne and pine trees in the snow and that infuriating brand of confidence that always made my pulse misbehave.
“Enjoying the view?” he murmured, his voice dipped in syrup and sin as he watched me stare at the tablecloth like it was my job.
I lifted my wine glass with a hand that miraculously didn’t shake, took a slow sip, and replied in the most neutral tone I could muster.
“It’s a very nice tablecloth. Great lace-to-fabric ratio. Really tasteful.”
He chuckled low…too low. That kind of laugh that rippled under your skin and made a home in all your more dangerous places. “Sure, let’s talk tablecloths,” he murmured. “But we both know that’s not what’s got you creaming your panties.”
His fingers curled, warm and steady against the inside of my thigh. I felt my whole body go traitorous, tipping forward just slightly, like my bones wanted to chase the touch even if my brain was waving a polite little white flag of panic.
“I’m multitasking,” I whispered. “Having a full-blown meltdown and also considering which fork would cause the most damage if I stabbed you with it.”
He didn’t flinch. Just grinned—lazy and infuriating. “Go with the salad fork. Less surface area, more precision.”
His thumb stroked upward again, drawing a line that made my thoughts scatter like skittish deer .
“You’re doing great, by the way,” he murmured. “If I weren’t the one turning you inside out under this table, I’d never guess.”
My jaw clenched. “You think highly of yourself.”
“I’ve had almost two years to think about you. To think about all the things I would do once I got you back,” he said, all wicked calm. “This isn’t arrogance, sweetheart. It’s long-term planning.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Are you seducing me with…military metaphors?”
He grinned, that stupid, infuriatingly sexy grin. “Is it working?”
His hand continued to move higher.
I pressed my lips together, hard. The tablecloth did absolutely nothing to muffle the way his fingers dragged slowly beneath the hem of my dress again, this time pausing just shy of scandal.
“You’re the devil,” I breathed, barely moving my lips.
“I’m patient,” he whispered back, his mouth a hair from my cheek. “But not for much longer.”
My heart beat like it was trying to punch its way out of my chest. My thighs tightened instinctively, but his hand stayed right there—steady, possessive, daring me to open. Daring me to give in.
I shifted in my seat. He felt it. His breath caught.
“You keep doing that,” I breathed, trying to sound annoyed and not utterly wrecked, “and I’m going to drop my wine glass or say something incredibly unhinged.”
His voice came back low and wrecked with heat. “Then maybe sit on your hands, Trouble. Because you’re making it really fucking hard to behave.”
“I’m literally doing nothing.”
“You’re blushing, biting your lip, and making those little breathy sounds like you want me to lose control.” His fingers flexed against my skin. “You call that nothing?”
I exhaled sharply. “I hate you. ”
But fuck, he wasn’t wrong. I was definitely doing all of that.
Every nerve in my body was tuned to him, strung tight and thrumming. I wasn’t pretending anymore. I wanted him—completely, unapologetically—and he knew it.
I could’ve stopped him. Could’ve given him a look or brushed his hand away.
But I didn’t.
Because I didn’t need to test if I was ready.
I was.
Not just for this slow, torturous game we were playing beneath the table. Not just for the way his fingers curled against my thigh like they belonged there. But for all of it. For him. For us.
That certainty didn’t scare me now. It thrilled me.
And judging by the way his hand moved—higher now, slower, full of dark confidence—he could feel it, too.
His fingers skimmed the inside of my thigh again, retreating just enough to make me bite down on a gasp, then rising once more…teasing, testing, tempting. Every pass edged closer to where I wanted him most.
My thighs shifted…subtle, sure. I opened just enough to tell him everything he needed to know. Not an accident. Not an oversight.
An invitation.
He shifted beside me, his breath brushing the shell of my ear, and his voice followed—low, pleased, laced with heat.
“Still breathing, sweetheart?”
“Barely,” I managed, my teeth clenched in a smile that was definitely not for the toast.
“Good,” he whispered. “The moment we’re alone, I’m gonna peel you apart, spread you wide, and fuck you so slow, so fucking deep, my cock will ruin that tight, dripping pussy.
You’ll be a shuddering wreck, choking on filthy moans, begging me to pound you harder ’til you’re nothing but a slick, screaming mess, owned by every inch of me. ”
Holy fuck. I’d never heard hotter words in my life.
I choked on a moan, my core throbbing, slick heat pooling. At least my clothes were still soaked from the snow…maybe the damp fabric would hide the fact that my panties were soaked through.
“I’m going to kill you,” I breathed in a shaky voice.
His chuckle slid over my skin. “Worth it.”
I darted a glance around the table, heart racing, half expecting someone to notice the way Easton’s hand was teasing me senseless, his slow, deliberate strokes along the inside of my thigh setting my skin on fire.
But no one looked. No one noticed. The oblivious chatter around us only cranked the heat higher, like we were getting away with something obscene in plain sight.
And fuck, that made it so much hotter.
He leaned back, sipping his wine with that smug, panty-melting grin, like he wasn’t unraveling me under the table.
But his hand stayed, fingers curling with possessive intent, pressing just enough to make my breath hitch.
Each subtle flex screamed mine , and I was already so wet, so ready, I could barely keep from grinding against him right there.
His thumb slid higher, boldly slipping just under the edge of my soaked panties—teasing the slick, sensitive skin so close to where I ached for him. My thighs quaked, a soft, needy whimper escaping before I could stop it.
He heard it.
I saw it in the way his eyes darkened, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his jaw tightening like he was fighting not to drag me out of that room and fuck me senseless against the nearest wall.
I wasn’t the only one unraveling.
His voice dropped, a low, husky purr laced with sinful amusement. “Did I tell you how much I fucking love that dress?”
I tilted my head, lips curling into a sultry smile, my voice a soft, teasing drawl. “Oh, I can tell. Your hand’s getting real cozy with it.”
He gave me a slow, predatory grin, eyes glinting with heat. “Just wait until I get it off you.”
“You’re out of control.”
“And you love every second of it, don’t you, baby?”
My heart gave a hard, traitorous thud at that.
Then his fingers slid higher, deliberate and wicked, dipping into my drenched, aching core.
His touch was slow, one finger grazing my slick folds, teasing my entrance with a torturous promise that made my hips twitch involuntarily.
I bit my lip to stifle a moan, my entire body igniting as he lingered there for a heartbeat…
before moving away again, leaving me throbbing, empty, and desperate.