Craving Him (Page 50)

Craving Him (Love by Design #2)(50)
Author: Kendall Ryan

“Fine. Boring it is. Dinner, drinks, and girl time.”

“Sounds perfect to me.” Ben and I had agreed to spend tonight apart in anticipation of making our wedding day that much more special when we were reunited at the altar tomorrow. To be honest, though, I had my doubts about his abilities to stay away. I was prepared to get a three a.m. phone call asking me to come home so he could sleep.

Instead of a swanky dinner at a fancy restaurant that served five one-bite courses that I’d never be able to identify, relaxing in pajamas with takeout sounded heavenly. “You know what I’d really like?” I teased, lifting my eyebrows to taunt her.

Ellie leaned closer, obviously hoping my line of thinking was something naughty, like a strip club. “What?”

“To go to your place—our old place—order pizza, drink wine, and catch up on girl talk. “Don’t hate me because I know you pulled a miracle to get us dinner reservations at that swanky bistro . . . but I kind of just feel like staying in . . .”

She laughed. “I love that you’re cool with eating pizza the night before your wedding and you’re not on some crazy juice fast.”

“Hell no. Either the dress fits or it doesn’t. And Ben doesn’t love me for the size on my tags.”

She smiled. “You guys are too f**kin’ cute for me to handle. It’s a deal, as long as this girl talk includes you spilling some secrets on your fiancé’s big dick and his skills in the bedroom.”

I grinned devilishly. “For that, we’ll need tequila instead of wine.”

“Booyah. Let’s go. We’ve got to stop on the way home for tequila.” She smiled, grabbing my hand and hauling me from the office.

22

Ben

The moment I spotted Emmy advancing toward me down the center aisle, unshed tears in her eyes, I knew I’d love her forever. I could just picture us old and gray, sitting together telling stories of my modeling days and our adventures in Paris.

Seeing her walk down the aisle, watching the soft whoosh of her dress, the subtle sway of her hips, the tender way her hand rested on her father’s forearm . . . all of it captivated me. But when she reached me at the altar I fought back a misty feeling forming behind my eyes. I’d never seen something so sweet. I couldn’t imagine how someone so honest, so pure could love me for me. But Emmy did. Deeply. And I could see that reflected back at me from those gorgeous, bluish-gray eyes. She looked stunning. That was all I could focus on during the brief but loving ceremony, which was very Emmy. Simple yet elegant—and of course genuine.

Now we were joined on the dance floor, surrounded by our closest friends and relatives. I held her in my arms, swaying to the soulful melody played by the band. Life was perfect. My girl was mine. Forever.

Our families were getting along well; the only hitch came when Emmy’s mom spotted my mother’s date. I thought her eyeballs were going to fall out of her head when she saw the guy my mom had brought to the reception. The guy couldn’t have been over twenty-five. Oh well.

I rarely heard anything about Fiona. Only that her baby girl had been born. A little thing she’d named Alice. I was happy for her. She’d gotten what she so desperately wanted—to be a mother. And her brand-new daughter kept her too busy to interfere in our lives.

The change in our lifestyle had been nice. With Emmy running the charity, not everything was about my modeling career anymore. I was looking forward to all that lay ahead for us, beginning with a month-long honeymoon to St. Barts.

“Ben,” Emmy said as she threaded her fingers through the hair at the back of my neck.

“Yeah, baby?” I bent lower to brush my lips past her ear.

“I want . . .” she paused, stopping herself.

“What?”

“Um, nothing.”

“Tell me.”

“Never mind. It’s a bad idea.”

She had me intrigued. I cocked an eyebrow, challenging her to continue as her eyes fluttered to the floor. “Look at me.” Her gaze latched onto mine once again. “Tell me.”

“I want you,” she admitted softly.

“You’ll have me later. Several times,” I promised.

She whimpered softly, her fingers tightening in my locks. “I want you right now.”

“Fuck, baby, you can’t say things like that.”

“I need you deep inside me, please,” she begged softly, keeping her voice low so no one could overhear our conversation.

Shit, her great uncle Rudy was dancing just beside us, and I could see her father and brother standing at the bar, their eyes flitting over to me and Emmy every now and again.

“Take me somewhere private . . .” she whispered.

“Look at me,” I commanded. Her eyes lifted to mine. “Will you be quiet and behave like a good wife while I f**k you?”

A little groan tumbled from her parted pink lips and she quickly nodded.

I knew it was a bad idea, but my dick sprang to life on the dance floor, forcing me to tow her from the reception hall.

I laced her fingers between mine, loving the feel of the diamond ring brushing the inside of my hand. With one hand at the small of her back, I led her down a quiet hallway. At this time of night the hotel was all but deserted. I didn’t know where I was taking her—a coat closet, an unoccupied office—but I settled for a women’s restroom tucked down a seldom-used hallway in the back of the hotel.

Turning her to face me, I captured her mouth in a hungry kiss and used my back to push open the bathroom door, walking us backward through the doorway. Emmy’s hands were instantly at my belt, making a tiny groan rumble in my chest. I loved knowing how badly she wanted me.

“Ben, I need you,” Emmy whined.

“I know, baby. I want to f**k you so bad.” How the f**k would I get her out of this dress? Since I had no clue how I’d get her dress off her, I figured I’d have to take her with it on, a thought that made me rock hard.

Emmy pulled me toward the stall at the end, stopping to point at something on the floor and giggled. “Look. There are panties on the floor.”

“Looks like we weren’t the only ones with this idea. Our romantic wedding makes panties drop.”

I chuckled softly, spotting the pair of pink frilly panties that lay discarded in the center of the room.

After a moment’s hesitation, Emmy asked, “Ellie? Is that you?”

What the hell?

I peered underneath the stall door and spotted a pair of men’s black Italian loafers just like the ones I wore and a pair of silver strappy high-heeled sandals. Fucking Braydon. And Ellie. Now there was an odd pair. They fought like damn cats and dogs.