Chapter Thirty-Seven
HOLLIS
“Oh my god, Hollis,” Pres moans, her voice slightly muffled. “Don’t stop.”
She’s got her wedding dress gathered around her waist. My pants and boxers are pooled around my ankles, and we’re going at it like horny teenagers in the closet of her old bedroom.
Or two newlyweds who just snuck off for a quicky before their wedding reception.
I slide my dick out, watching the way her body squeezes me. Then I give her a single thrust. She whimpers, reaching back to dig her fingernails into my thighs. That’s her way of saying I need to stop with all the teasing and just fuck her already.
“You want it hard and fast? Is that what you’re asking for?”
“Yes,” she pants.
I grip her hips. “You gonna be quiet? Anyone could hear.”
She looks back, grinds her ass against me, and grins. “No.”
Jesus.
“Gather your skirt with one hand and hold on to that rod with the other,” I instruct, pointing to the empty closet rod near her head.
This is a nice house. It should be secure.
She does as she’s told, wrapping the delicate lace of her skirt around her arm. Her hand reaches up to grip the bar. Mine circle her waist, resting on her hips. Then I give her what she wants.
The first thrust makes her cry out. The second makes her moan. Now she’s just a mess of garbled words and gasping breaths.
“You’re gonna get us in so much fucking trouble,” I whisper into her ear.
“I don’t care. I love getting into trouble with you.”
God, I love this woman. I slide my hand up her torso, underneath the bodice of her dress.
No fucking bra.
I squeeze her tit, running my thumb over her sensitive nipple. Her skin is so soft, I just want to touch her everywhere. Reaching over the layers of fabric, I find her soaking-wet thong. It’s already askew. I part her labia and start to rub tight, slow circles over her clit.
Her knees almost buckle.
“Yes,” she moans. “God, yes. Right there.”
I tighten my hold around her chest, give her clit all the attention it deserves, and fuck her until we’re both crying out so loud, the whole West Coast is probably blushing.
Still panting, a laugh escapes my lips. My forehead falls to her shoulders, and soon they’re shaking with high-pitched giggles.
“Oh my god,” she gasps, then snorts. “My mascara is gonna run.”
“Do you think they sent out a search party yet?” I carefully pull out, making sure to keep her dress out of the way. I may enjoy knowing she’s got the evidence of our lovemaking still on her skin, but I think she’d kill me if it left a giant cum stain on the train of her dress.
“Nah.” She straightens and fans out her skirt. I start to pull up my boxers and pants, but stop to take a second to just look at her.
“You really are beautiful,” I tell her. “I thought so from the first moment I saw you in high school, but then I got to know you, and realized your beauty is just part of you. It radiates out of every pore.”
She turns, smoothing out her dress one last time. She bends down and picks up my jacket, which fell on the ground at some point, and slings it over her shoulder, taking a step forward to adjust my tie. “I think you’re beautiful too,” she says with a contagious grin on her face.
“I think you mean handsome.”
“I said what I said.”
We finish adjusting our clothes and emerge from the closet. Pres takes a minute to tidy up her makeup, deciding that it will serve as a good excuse if anyone asks where we’ve been. Considering we’re both flushed and look extremely satisfied, I doubt anyone will believe us.
Five minutes later, we step into the hallway. I take her hand. My eyes drift down to the closed door that used to be mine.
She notices.
“It’s my mom’s yoga room now,” she says, with a soft sadness in her voice.
“Pres, it’s okay,” I tell her. “I didn’t expect them to keep it the same.” Even her room has been painted and remodeled since she moved out.
“They did, though,” she explains. “They didn’t change it for years, Hollis. They tried not to let it show how much it affected them, but they always hoped you’d come back.”
My throat feels thick. I nod, brushing my thumb over hers. Plastering on a smile, I say, “We should head downstairs. Don’t want to keep them waiting. We are the guests of honor, after all.”
We’re halfway down the stairs when Tilly comes barreling up. “Where have you been? Everyone’s waiting!”
“I, uh…” Pres stumbles over her words. “Had to touch up my makeup.”
Tilly rolls her eyes. “Did you touch up your husband’s too? ’Cause you’re both positively glowing.” I sputter out a laugh. A smirk plays on her lips. “Come on.”
We walk past people carrying platters of food and flowers. I’ve never seen so many people at the Creed house before. I thought holidays were chaotic.
Just before we reach the living room, which leads out to the deck, Tilly stops and turns. “How do you want to be introduced?”
“Introduced?” Pres raises a brow.
“Do you want the DJ to introduce you as Mr. and Mrs. Beck? Are you hyphenating? Or…”
Pres gives me a nervous smile, then answers for both of us. “Um…why don’t we just skip a formal introduction, Mom? Keep this casual?”
Her eyes flick between us, sensing unresolved tension. It’s something we need to talk about, but not right now.
“Yeah, of course. Great idea!” We follow her through the open doors, step out onto the spacious deck, and then walk down to the large tent set up on the beach.
Not sure why we needed a formal announcement in the first place.
The moment we appear, everyone erupts in cheers. Music starts, and the crowd swiftly parts, revealing a dance floor.
“That was weird, right?” I murmur.
“That they all just moved like that? In sync?” she whispers with a smirk. “Yeah, totally.”
Since everyone is holding back, watching instead of offering congratulations, I dip my head and say, “I guess we’re supposed to dance now?”
She snorts. “Considering the way they’re staring at us, I’m gonna say yes.”
I take her hand, and we step onto the small dance floor. Grabbing her waist, I pull her close. Neither of us is a fan of being the center of attention, so I keep her focused on me. Smirking, I say, “Good thing you accidentally married a guy who can dance, then.”
She slides her arms around my neck. “Pretty sure I married you on purpose today.”
The song changes. I recognize it immediately. “My Home” by Myles Smith, but it’s been slowed down, and he’s singing acoustic. Perfect for a first dance. Perfect for us. Whenever I hear it on the radio, I always think of Pres.
“Did you pick this?” I ask her.
“Maybe,” she answers as we sway back and forth. “I may not have cared too much which chicken dish my mom chose, but I did have an opinion on some of the song choices.”
I cup her chin and kiss her, forgetting we have an audience. The crowd whoops and hollers. We pull apart, and I try to spin her around. It’s a disaster. My dancing skills are not that advanced. But we laugh, and the guests enjoy the show.
I just love seeing her smile.
When the song ends, another begins, and other couples join us on the dance floor.
About half a song in, we both look at each other. “So…” I start.
“Drinks?” she finishes.
Just as we turn, I swear I see a familiar face in the crowd—a wisp of platinum-blonde hair and a cruel smile. But then, we literally run right into Jonas and Keisha, and I forget all about it.
“You’re here!” I exclaim, pulling him into a tight hug.
“Are you kidding?” he beams, giving me a hearty slap on the back. Although the wedding attire is semi-formal, he’s in a heather gray suit, vest, and tie. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
I also give Keisha a hug, who’s more appropriately dressed in a flowy pink strapless dress. “Are you sure you’re just not here because of all the celebrities?” I give her a knowing glance.
“There are celebrities here?” He pretends to be surprised, causing Pres to snort out a laugh. Keisha ignores her husband’s antics and smiles, sincerity in her tone. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” I answer, my throat thick with emotion. I didn’t doubt they would show up, but, damn, it means a lot that they’re here. In a sea of strangers, it’s so good to see two familiar faces.
I guess a formal introduction is necessary. “Keisha, Jonas, meet my wife, Presley.”
They exchange hugs rather than handshakes, having met and talked on the phone several times now. We make small talk for a bit. They ask about the house and our honeymoon plans. I ask about their upcoming trip to Rome.
Then I notice Pres start to shift from side to side, wincing.
“What’s the matter?” I ask.
“Shoes,” is all she says. I look down, and peeking out of the high slit of her dress are the strappy gold heels from our first wedding night. She was barefoot for our ceremony, but when I saw her pull those out for the reception after our tryst in the closet, I damn near lost my mind.
“You know those shoes drive me crazy,” I told her.
She simply smiled as she slowly wrapped those tiny gold straps around her ankle. “I know.”
“Do you want me to go get you a different pair?”
She shakes her head.
I chuckle. Oh, the irony. Apparently, she’s determined to tease me with those shoes on both of our wedding nights—a game I’d gladly play if I didn’t know she’s in pain.
I bend down so my lips brush her ear. “How about we compromise? I take those sexy shoes now, and I promise you can put them back on…later?”
It’s the emphasis on the word later that does it. Her eyes meet mine, and her cheeks flush pink. “There’s a pair of ballet flats in an overnight bag by my old bed.”
I just smile and wait as she uses my arm for support and slowly removes one shoe at a time. Once she hands them over, I turn to my best friends. “Do you think you can take my barefoot bride to the bar and make sure she gets a drink?” I toss Pres a wink. “No tequila.”
I’m practically on cloud nine as I climb the stairs two at a time to the deck. I might even start whistling as I walk through the double glass doors into the Creeds’ living room and head upstairs.