Breath of Scandal

“Then stop tempting me,” he said, letting her believe she was responsible for his erection.

A few minutes later, the other young woman approached them. “When do I get to meet the groom, Marla Sue?”

“Oh, Neal, this is my lifelong friend. She’s my maid of honor.”

He didn’t quite catch her name—which was insignificant, anyway. He had caught the suggestive message in her eyes. “So pleased to meet you at last,” she drawled. They shook hands. As their hands slid apart, the pad of her middle finger caressed his palm.

At dusk that Friday evening, everyone in the wedding party convened for a rehearsal in the sanctuary of the big Baptist church, where baskets of flowers and candelabras were already being arranged by a harried decorator. Each time Neal’s eyes wandered toward the maid of honor, he was further convinced that the title was a misnomer. If she was a maiden, he could fly; and the looks she was transmitting sure as hell weren’t honorable. Her daddy, he had learned, was Mr. Pickens’s business partner. He had to admire a girl with the gall to flirt so openly and still be clever enough not to get caught.

From the church, a caravan of cars traveled a few blocks to the restaurant where Ivan was hosting the rehearsal dinner. He had spared no expense. It was a lavish affair. He rose to the occasion, deporting himself as the perfect host. With a glass of champagne held aloft, he got misty-eyed when he said, “If only Neal’s mama could be here tonight to celebrate this happy occasion, it would be perfect. Son, I hope you and your precious bride, Marla Sue, will be a fraction as happy together as me and Rebecca were.”

While Neal decorously sipped from his wine goblet in acknowledgment of the sentimental toast, the maid of honor was fondling his balls beneath the napkin in his lap.

When the dinner formally concluded, everybody got down to having a good time. Among the guests was the newly elected sheriff of Palmetto County, Hutch Jolly, who was Neal’s best man. He and his wife danced to the music of the three-piece ensemble.

Marla Sue opened wedding gifts, squealing with delight as one treasure after another was unwrapped. The maid of honor made a point of brushing past Neal as she left the room. “Excuse me,” she breathed seductively.

Neal waited about sixty seconds before bending toward his bride and excusing himself. “I’ve got something to do.”

“What?”

He cupped her face between his hands. “Brides shouldn’t ask nosy questions unless they want wedding surprises to be spoiled.”

Her blue eyes twinkled. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.”

He gave her a soft kiss before wending his way through the crowd. He had almost made it to the door when he was waylaid by Hutch and Donna Dee. “She seems to be a nice girl,” Donna Dee said. “Far better than you deserve.”

“You know, Donna Dee, with that two-edged tongue of yours,” Neal said, “it’s a wonder you haven’t sliced Hutch’s cock to ribbons.”

“Eat shit and die, Neal.”

Hutch tried to be the peacemaker. “Looks like you’re really marrying into a fine family, Neal. Her folks seem crazy about you.”

Somewhere in the building, a young woman with the hots for him was waiting. The danger of getting caught added spice. The intrigue was irresistible. He was in a fit of impatience to join her. “Y’all make yourselves at home, hear? Daddy spent a mint on this party. Drink up.”

Before they could detain him, he stepped through the door. The private dining room where the party was being held was adjacent to a foyer. To the right was a short hallway. Neal almost went past it before the door to the powder room opened. The maid of honor smiled at him invitingly.

“What took you so long? I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

He slipped into the powder room and locked the door behind him. The dim room was reminiscent of an expensive bordello, full of floral chintz and gilt-framed mirrors. He barely had time to take in the room’s appointments before the bridesmaid embraced him. Their open mouths ground together in a rapacious kiss.

“You’re crazy,” he mumbled as he devoured her neck. “You must really hate Marla Sue.”

“I adore Marla Sue.” She squirmed against him, tearing at the buttons on his shirt and caressing his smooth chest with sharp fingernails and a wet, wicked tongue. “This is a hobby of mine, that’s all. Some girls collect music boxes or antique bottles. I collect grooms.”

When he hiked up her skirt and gripped her derriere, he discovered that she was wearing a garter belt and stockings but no panties. He pulled her high and hard against his straining fly.

Since his hands were occupied, she opened the bodice of her silk dress and shimmied her braless breasts against his starched shirt. The abrasion made her nipples hard. Neal ducked his head to take one into his mouth. She unbuttoned his fly and worked down his underwear until his stiff organ was fully exposed.

“Mmm,” she moaned as she stroked it.

“You want it, baby?” he grunted. “You got it.”

He placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed her to her knees in front of him. She was game, promptly taking him into her mouth. He plowed his fingers through her hair and thrust his hips forward. Throwing his head back, he rolled it from side to side against the door, becoming lost in the sensations of her mouth.

She managed to wrest her head out of his grip. “Sorry. No way am I going to get the short shrift.” She backed up to an upholstered chaise and lay down, raising her knees. Neal stumbled forward and fell on her. He buried his face between her breasts, kneaded them roughly, and slammed his body into hers. The harder he pumped, the better she seemed to like it. They came together explosively. He bit one of her breasts to keep from crying out.