dress and they’d danced… And now they were in this suite that was made for romance.
What was he up to? Because with Cal there was always a plan.
She followed him into the living area and then across the hall and into another bedroom. He was already starting to strip. His jacket was strewn on the end of the bed and he was working on his tie.
“Hey, darlin’. Need help with the zipper on your dress?”
She did, but that wasn’t why she’d come in.
“Spin around,” he told her. When she didn’t comply, he took her shoulders and turned her himself. “It’s got one of those hook thingies. Hang on. These always stump me.”
He shoved his hand into the back of her dress, probably farther than was necessary to unhook a simple hook-and-eye closure. It took him a long damn time to work it. All the while he stroked her skin and moved her closer and closer to him. She was pretty sure she was too close now for him to have any kind of angle at all to work the hook. She slid back another half step and came right up against him. Then she heard the rasp of the zipper and felt a rush of cool air on her skin. He brought the zipper all the way down past her waist.
His touch was featherlight on her exposed skin, scattering goose bumps. Her chest heaved with the effort to breathe, and she was caught between wanting him to rip her dress away and fear that he actually might do it and leave her with a choice to make.
Then his fingers were gone. “There you go.” He gave her a perfunctory pat on the shoulder. “Go get changed into something comfortable. I have plans for us after we eat.” He disappeared into the adjoining bathroom and closed the door. A second later she heard the shower.
She shivered, more turned on than she’d been in a long time, and actually contemplated following him into the bathroom. Instead she fled to the safety of her room.
*****
Cal put a hand on the tiled wall and jerked faster on his dick. He hadn’t masturbated this much since he was fifteen and had accidentally come across a nudie magazine in his father’s garage. He thought of Lucy and the way her breasts had nearly tumbled out of the top of her dress when he’d unzipped it. He imagined gripping the front and ripping it down to her waist and then lifting the back of her dress and pounding into her from behind.
He came with a jerk and a long, low groan. It wasn’t enough. Goddammit, he wanted her. He wanted her in a way he hadn’t wanted anything or anyone ever. She was his wife but not his . He was going to have to earn her back, earn her trust, earn her love. He’d do it if it killed him and he grew calluses from jerking off nearly every hour of every day. She’d be his and they could do option number thirty a hundred times a day until they passed out from exhaustion.
He shut the water off and grabbed a towel. He knew she expected him to make a move on her. It was their wedding night. What else did newly married couples do except fuck like they’d never get to fuck again. And goddammit he was hard all over again. He looked down at himself and laughed. This would be part of his penance—having a perpetual hard-on. He’d survived worse, he supposed…but not much. Being around Lucy and unable able to touch her, make her sigh and scream his name was a crueler punishment than any he could’ve ever come up with.
He dressed in loose sweats and a T-shirt. Just about the least sexy thing he could come up with. This was about Lucy and helping her feel safe and secure. It was about trust and commitment, two words he hadn’t ever given much thought to before he’d seen the photos of Lucy and the way her eyes went blank when she thought he was going to make a move on her.
He wanted to punch something so badly. That son-of-a-bitch ex of hers had taken the most precious, most vital woman Cal had ever met and made her a shell filled with fear and shame. Cal would bring her back. She was already starting to come back to him in tiny
What was he up to? Because with Cal there was always a plan.
She followed him into the living area and then across the hall and into another bedroom. He was already starting to strip. His jacket was strewn on the end of the bed and he was working on his tie.
“Hey, darlin’. Need help with the zipper on your dress?”
She did, but that wasn’t why she’d come in.
“Spin around,” he told her. When she didn’t comply, he took her shoulders and turned her himself. “It’s got one of those hook thingies. Hang on. These always stump me.”
He shoved his hand into the back of her dress, probably farther than was necessary to unhook a simple hook-and-eye closure. It took him a long damn time to work it. All the while he stroked her skin and moved her closer and closer to him. She was pretty sure she was too close now for him to have any kind of angle at all to work the hook. She slid back another half step and came right up against him. Then she heard the rasp of the zipper and felt a rush of cool air on her skin. He brought the zipper all the way down past her waist.
His touch was featherlight on her exposed skin, scattering goose bumps. Her chest heaved with the effort to breathe, and she was caught between wanting him to rip her dress away and fear that he actually might do it and leave her with a choice to make.
Then his fingers were gone. “There you go.” He gave her a perfunctory pat on the shoulder. “Go get changed into something comfortable. I have plans for us after we eat.” He disappeared into the adjoining bathroom and closed the door. A second later she heard the shower.
She shivered, more turned on than she’d been in a long time, and actually contemplated following him into the bathroom. Instead she fled to the safety of her room.
*****
Cal put a hand on the tiled wall and jerked faster on his dick. He hadn’t masturbated this much since he was fifteen and had accidentally come across a nudie magazine in his father’s garage. He thought of Lucy and the way her breasts had nearly tumbled out of the top of her dress when he’d unzipped it. He imagined gripping the front and ripping it down to her waist and then lifting the back of her dress and pounding into her from behind.
He came with a jerk and a long, low groan. It wasn’t enough. Goddammit, he wanted her. He wanted her in a way he hadn’t wanted anything or anyone ever. She was his wife but not his . He was going to have to earn her back, earn her trust, earn her love. He’d do it if it killed him and he grew calluses from jerking off nearly every hour of every day. She’d be his and they could do option number thirty a hundred times a day until they passed out from exhaustion.
He shut the water off and grabbed a towel. He knew she expected him to make a move on her. It was their wedding night. What else did newly married couples do except fuck like they’d never get to fuck again. And goddammit he was hard all over again. He looked down at himself and laughed. This would be part of his penance—having a perpetual hard-on. He’d survived worse, he supposed…but not much. Being around Lucy and unable able to touch her, make her sigh and scream his name was a crueler punishment than any he could’ve ever come up with.
He dressed in loose sweats and a T-shirt. Just about the least sexy thing he could come up with. This was about Lucy and helping her feel safe and secure. It was about trust and commitment, two words he hadn’t ever given much thought to before he’d seen the photos of Lucy and the way her eyes went blank when she thought he was going to make a move on her.
He wanted to punch something so badly. That son-of-a-bitch ex of hers had taken the most precious, most vital woman Cal had ever met and made her a shell filled with fear and shame. Cal would bring her back. She was already starting to come back to him in tiny
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