4. ANDIE #3
I can’t tell if it’s nerves or excitement bursting inside me right now.
I know it’s ridiculous, but it’s as though I’m seeing him in an entirely different light, now that he’s sitting before me as my husband.
Like I can finally see his good looks, his power, his control, in all the ways that a wife might.
I have never been the type to wilt under pressure, and a man like this? He’s a challenge, not a threat to me.
“Mhm, sure,” he replies, taking another bite of his food. He doesn’t move his eyes from mine as the plane finally arches up into the sky. My stomach flips, and I don’t know if it’s because of the change in pressure or something else entirely.
“What are you trying to say?” I demand.
“What do you think I’m trying to say?” he asks, batting it toward me once more. Like he wants me to be the one to say it.
Well, if he thinks I’m going to play coy and pretend like I don’t know what he’s getting at, he’s got another thing coming.
“I think you’re trying to say that I shouldn’t spend my wedding night in my dress,” I reply, tipping my head to the side, not breaking his gaze for an instant. “Because you’re my husband. And you’d rather have me out of it.”
“That’s my right as your husband, isn’t it?” he murmurs, his voice dropping suddenly, tone shifting into something darker, more wanting. “To have you any way I want you.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “If you think I’m going to just roll over and?—”
“Who said anything about rolling over?” he remarks, and I feel that heat clenching at my chest again, rising, rising, until it feels like there’s no room for anything else.
He’s loving this, I can tell. Making me squirm.
Watching me try to parse exactly what it is that I want from this, even though I don’t have a damn clue.
“Just because I’m your wife doesn’t mean I owe you anything,” I warn him. “I’m not going to—I mean, I’m not going to just…” I trail off. Fuck. I want to lay down the law here, but how can I, when he’s looking at me like that?
I take another sip of the champagne, hoping it will be enough to silence some of the rush inside my head, but it only throbs with an even more insistent pressure.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he assures me softly. But there it is, the sweet promise in his words, spiraling deep within me no matter how much I try to get a handle on them. Anything I don’t want to.
“And what if I do?” I murmur.
His lips quirk upward, and he leans back in his seat. “Then come here and show me what you want.”
I hardly even know what I’m doing as I rise to my feet and make my way over to him. I should stop this. Hell, I hardly even knew this man’s name at the beginning of the day, and now I’m walking over to him, about to sink down into his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world?
But then I remember that kiss at the altar, his mouth on mine, and I know it’s more than just the fact that I’m technically his wife that has me making my way toward him. It’s the curiosity, the interest in finding out just how far we can take that chemistry between us…
He takes me by the hand and pulls me into his lap in a single motion, hand firm, leaving no room for argument. My breath hitches. His arm snakes around my waist, and the food sits in front of us, forgotten.
“Our wedding night,” he murmurs to me, and he reaches for the glass of champagne before him, resting it on the arm of the chair as he holds me there on his lap. He trails his fingers around the glass, and then dips them into the champagne, before lifting them to my mouth. “Open.”
I do as I’m told at once. It’s as though I’m under some kind of spell, but it’s an enchantment I don’t want to end.
When it does, I will have to face up to the mess that I currently find myself in, but here in the air, high above the truth of it all, I’m just staring back at this handsome man who seems to want nothing more than to make me his.
He slips his fingers past my lips, and I taste the champagne and his skin on my tongue.
My thighs press together as I attempt to contain the heat brewing there, growing to the point of no return.
I should know better, God knows I should, but it feels damn close to impossible when he’s looking at me like that.
He moves his fingers from my mouth to the glass, feeding me drops of champagne from his fingertips as he watches me.
It’s a test, I’m sure of it, to see how willing I am to go along with everything he wants from me.
And despite myself, I can’t deny how much more I crave.
I shift in his lap again, and I can feel him starting to stir against me, the hardness of his cock coming to life where he’s pressed against my thighs.
He drops his hand from my mouth again, but this time, he doesn’t make a move to gather more champagne.
No, this time he brings his hand to my face, just like he did at the altar.
But right now, we’re not standing in front of a room full of people.
It’s just us, the distant roar of the engine, the dinner abandoned on the table before us…
And before I can stop myself, I lean in and kiss him.