Runaway Bride

I lift my gaze to hers, catching her as she stares at me. As soon as our eyes meet, she drops her gaze, and I watch as her already pink cheeks turn a shade darker.

“What’s wrong? Why are you blushing?” I ask without thinking.

She tilts her head, as if she’s trying to gage me, her movements causing a few more blonde strands to slip from her bun. “I know this dress looks beautiful, but it’s incredibly uncomfortable. I would really like to take it off.”

“Oh, yeah, of course. Why didn’t I think of that? Come on. I’ll find you something far more comfortable to wear.” I push from the couch and lead her into my bedroom down the hall, my entire body vibrating with need.

I walk up to the dresser and pull out some sweats, a t-shirt, and a pair of boxers. I’m not exactly sure what she’ll be most comfortable in, so I give her different options.

“Here.” I hand her the stack of clothes. “They’re going to be big on you, but at least you’ll be comfortable.” I smile and head toward the door.

“Actually…I…I kinda need some help…out of this dress,” she stumbles over her words. My mouth goes dry, and for a moment, I forget how to breath. Then, I take another look at the white angel standing in the center of my bedroom…asking me to help her undress. This is something her husband should be doing for her—something a man who isn’t me should be doing.

“What do you need me to do?” I ask gruffly, the need inside me bubbling over. This is dangerous.

“There are some hooks in the back, and a zipper…and underneath that, the corsage needs to be untied and loosened.” She instructs me, and then stands impossibly still.

I step behind her, hoping she can’t see how fucking hard I am for her.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you,” I murmur into her skin, watching as she shivers a little. My fingers skim down the back of the dress. It takes me a moment to find the hooks tucked away just under the edge of the fabric.

After I undo those, I pull down the zipper very slowly, revealing a matching lace corset hidden beneath the fabric of the dress. There is a bow on the bottom, and as I untie it, I can’t help but feel like I’m unwrapping a present that was given to me. I loosen the corset, my knuckles briefly touching her skin, and I feel her exhale slowly. As soon as the corset is loosened completely, Ivy sucks in a deep breath.

Helping her makes me feel good—makes my heart beat furiously against my ribcage. “How is that? Do you feel better now?”

“You have no idea. It felt like I couldn’t breathe, and when you have to walk around in heels for hours…” She shakes her head, and the dress starts to slide down her torso.

I’m about to ask her if she wants me to leave when she starts pushing it down farther. Before I know it, she’s standing a foot away from me in nothing but her loose-fitting corset, lace panties, and thigh-high stockings. My feet refuse to move, and my body’s reaction to her is what any man’s would be:

Need. Want. Lust.

But there’s something deeper, something far more than lust stirring beneath the surface. I want to be the man to take care of her, to support her, cherish her, love her. I want to possess her and listen to her whimper as I give her my cock. I want her pleasure to mirror my own. I want to give her a baby and watch as it grows deep inside her.

I want her.

Chapter Three

Ivy

A nervousness slithers through me as I stand before my savior, my knight in shining armor. He just saved my life in more than one way, and I can’t help but feel the need to thank him, repay him, but there is more to it.

In his eyes, I can see he wants me, and I want him too. I feel this string tugging at my heart, pulling me forward. My parents never allowed me to date who I wanted to, never allowed me the freedom of doing anything.

I never got to choose—my clothes, my car, what school I went to, who I married—and that changes now.

Today, I choose him.

Turning my head, I look at him over my shoulder and our eyes lock. I give him a seductive smile…or at least what I think is a seductive smile. By the hunger in Bishop’s eyes, I’m certain I’m doing something right.

There is a longing in his gaze that matches my own, but he still hasn’t moved from his bed and I wonder if I just imagined it. Maybe he doesn’t want me…maybe I’m just imagining him wanting me like I want him.