Buying the Bride

“We haven’t done anything yet,” he says, fingers teasing that line of fabric. I’m very aware that I have nothing on underneath it. I wonder now if that was intentional.

Tilting my face up towards his, I try to see his face in the dim light as he spins us together. “Yet?”

I say it like it’s a joke, and yet I know I have way too much riding on his answer. He doesn’t brush it off, and doesn’t laugh. He meets my eyes, that fiery heat rising through me as he stares. “Yet.”

The music changes again, faster and more urgent. I dare to ask the question, “Would you like to do something?”

Andrew spins me so my back is pressed against his chest, his arms holding me against him while we dance, hips and bodies in time with the music, and now his lips are at my ear. “You have no idea the kind of things I want to do.”

He slips his hand in the side of my dress, and I gasp. Blood rushes to my face as his hand strokes across my stomach, lifts to cup my breasts. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that night. You were absolutely everything, and it took everything in me not to fuck you right there in the middle of that gallery.”

“I would have let you,” I moan.

His chuckle makes me shiver. “I know. That’s why I had to leave. I couldn’t do it. I knew I wouldn’t be able to control myself if I were near you.”

His hand drops, teasing a little bit lower. “What changed?” I manage to ask. I can’t even think while his hands are on me.

“I’m tired of fighting it.”

I try to laugh, but it comes out as a moan. “Thank god.”

Andrew’s voice drops even lower. “I saw you that night. I saw how everything turned you on. You were in the middle of a room crowded with people and you didn’t care. You like to be watched.”

Heat rises to my cheeks and I shake my head. “No, not by everyone. Just you.”

“Is that so? Because I think you love it. I think that the idea of being caught with my hand inside your dress excites you.”

My eyes flutter closed, and I try to protest, but I can’t because he’s right. The idea that someone—anyone—in this crowd of dancers can see what he’s doing to me turns me on. “You’re already wet, aren’t you?” he whispers, not waiting for an answer he already knows. “You would have let me take you in the middle of that gallery. And now?”

I arch my back against him, “Please.” It comes out like a prayer, begging him to just give me this, even if there’s nothing else. I need to know what it feels like to have him touch me.

His hand slides further down my stomach, and I shudder. His hand is getting closer to where I want it, to where I need it. Andrew needs it too. I can feel how hard he is behind me, his hips pressing against my ass while we dance.

“You think I didn’t think about this when I gave you this dress to wear?” he asks, voice in my ear. “Because I did.” His hand slips lower, fingers dipping between my legs, teasing and searching. I thought about what it might be like to touch you, to feel that fire.” A finger slips inside me, and I bite my lip to keep from moaning. I close my eyes and let my head fall back against his shoulder like I’m enjoying the dance. But god it’s so much more than that. His finger is deep inside me. Andrew strokes his thumb across my clit. His whole hand moves, pressing against me and into me again and again, and I’m so wet that it’s dripping down my legs. How many nights have I thought about this? How many times have I done exactly what his hand is doing and wishing it were him?

“I’ve never done anything like this,” I breathe.

“What?” I can hear the smirk in his voice. “Danced?”

“Yes I’ve danced…” He moves his hand and my words run dry. Pleasure ripples through my body, and I can’t even take a breath. “I’ve never…”

He smiles against my skin, “Come in the middle of a crowded room.”

“I’m not going to do that.”

Andrew laughs, dark and sensual, “Oh, yes you are. And you’re going to fucking love it.” He slips a second finger inside me, and my knees buckle. The only thing keeping me standing is his arm around my waist and his fingers in my pussy. I’m not even dancing now, just standing pressed against Andrew, and no one has noticed. But they could. This dress is to thin not to see that his hand is inside it. Not to see the way his arm is moving, fucking me, grinding his palm against my clit.