Playing With Her Heart (Caught Up In Love #4)(41)
Author: Lauren Blakely

I gasp and close my eyes as he palms my br**sts, teasing my ni**les with his fingers until they harden into peaks.

“Is this how you say you’re sorry?” I say, as my breathing grows shallow.

“No.” He brings his mouth to my upper back, and trails hot kisses down my spine. I whimper as he licks his way down my back, then as his quick hands undo my jeans. He pushes them down to my knees, and does the same with my pink panties. I move with him, letting him touch me, kiss me, taste my body like I’m his canvas and he’s painting me with his tongue. I press my palms into the door and he hooks his strong fingers around my h*ps and tugs me so I bend my back, nearly flattening it. My behind is in the air. I want to turn around and watch, but I also love this feeling of letting go, of surrendering to his touch as he kneels and presses his thumbs against my cheeks, spreading me open. He moves closer, blowing warm breath between my legs, making me ache for his tongue.

“This is how I say I’m sorry.”

I gasp as he kisses my throbbing center, tasting how wet I am for him, enjoying how my body responds instantly to his touch. My breathing quickens as he flicks his tongue against my clit, swirling and licking and sucking me, until soon I’m panting and moaning as quietly as I possibly can so no one can hear, though I am desperate, absolutely desperate, for the release he’s about to bring me. He grips me firmly with his strong hands on my hips, and strokes me with his tongue, relentlessly working my cl*t until I shatter, and even then he pulls me closer, his lips needing me, his tongue still savoring me, drinking me in as if he can’t get enough of me as I come again in his mouth.

I don’t move for a few minutes as the sensations wash over me, the aftereffects of two powerful orgasms lingering in my body.

Soon, he pulls up my pink lacy underwear, then my jeans, and I turn around. I’m sure I’m a light-headed, woozy mess as I snap my bra and adjust my sweater.

“I suppose you’re forgiven,” I say, and he grins wickedly.

“Good. And I suppose I’d better head out first seeing as you look like you’ve just come hard.” Then he pauses, raking his eyes over every inch of me. “And twice.”

He brushes his lips against my forehead and leaves.

Five minutes later after a quick bathroom visit, I join the cast and crew on stage. I can’t help but wonder if anyone else is looking at us and knowing that our hands have been on each other, that our lips have meshed together, that we’ve done so much more.

Or if we’re both fantastic at make believe, because even as I practice the numbers on the call sheet, I’m thinking of my closet and the dresses I have, and the one I want to wear to dinner with my director, because I know he’ll find a way to have his hands underneath my clothes.

And that’s more than fine with me.

Chapter 17

Jill

There is no question in my mind that this is the dress. With its sleeveless scoop neck, plunging back V-line, and a hand-beaded bodice with intricate crystals woven throughout, it is sheer perfection.

“Oh, Kat,” I say, and tears well up in my eyes. “This is the one. This is the dress you’re going to get married in.”

She smooths her hands over the organza material that extends into a cathedral train behind her. A short, dark-haired woman who owns this bridal shop in the West Village watches patiently from her post a few feet away. Kat appraises herself in the three-way mirror, the soft light of the shop making her look even more stunning. “You think so?”

“You know that’s a rhetorical question,” I say as I stand up from the cushiony white chair I’ve been parked in as she’s tried on a strapless lace dress, a satin sheath and many more. Soft, indistinct classical music plays through an unseen sound system. High-class bridal magazines are spread elegantly on top of an oval glass coffee table next to the chair. A vase of jasmine flowers fills the boutique with a sweet floral scent. All these touches are enough to make anyone in here forget that beyond the shop doors lies grimy, noisy, crowded Manhattan. “Look at yourself. It’s perfect and you know it. It’s you.”

I stand behind her, so she can see me in the mirror now, smiling at her. She glances at her reflection one more time, considering the dress from every angle. I can practically see the cogs whirring in her head, inching closer to the moment when she reaches 100 percent certainty. Her brow is furrowed then a grin starts to form, slowly at first, until it quickly becomes a full-blown smile.

She turns around, and she’s simply glowing with happiness. “I’ll take it,” she declares.

“Wonderful,” says the shop owner. “It is perfect for you, Ms. Harper.”

“I’m so glad I found your store. I’m so glad I found this dress,” Kat says, the words spilling out in a happy rush. Then she turns to me. “And thank you for coming with me. I couldn’t do this without you. You’re the best maid of honor and the best friend I could ever hope to have.”

“Oh please. I did nothing except gaze upon your beauty,” I say playfully, but my voice breaks, and I swipe at a tear that rolls down my cheeks. I’m so happy for her.

“Oh, you’re so cute when you’re all emotional and teary,” she says, and crushes me in a hug.

“I’m going to miss you when you move in with him. I can’t believe you’re only my roommate for a few more months.”

“I know. But I’ll still see you. We’ll still hang out.”

“Always. We’ll always hang out.”

We pull apart, and the shop owner helps Kat take off the dress, and they make arrangements for it as I wander through the tiny store, with its cream walls and gold framed vintage pictures of garden weddings and sunset vows. When they’re done, the shop owner asks Kat about her bridesmaids’ dresses.

“Something classy. Something she could wear again,” Kat says, nodding to me.

“I need a dress for tonight is what I need,” I say under my breath.

Kat turns to me, gives me a curious look. I wave my hand as if to wipe away the comment I should have kept to myself.

“I have a black and white dress in mind,” the shop owner says. “Sleeveless and above the knee. Straight lines. Very sophisticated. I’ll have it in the store next week if you’d like your maid of honor to try it on when you come back for a fitting?”

“That sounds fantastic,” Kat says, then we exit the store. “Are you holding out on me? You have a Saturday night date with Patrick and this is the first I’m hearing about it?”