Chapter 3

Owen

“Wait! Where are you going? We have so much cake left.”

She ignores me and makes a beeline for the door. I watch her shake her cute little ass away from me for about five seconds before the temptation to follow her overwhelms me.

I look over at the bridesmaid I’ve just soiled, who seems to be looking for a towel.

“Need anything else?” I ask her, hoping the answer is no.

She smirks. “I’m good, thanks. Excellent service. Five stars.”

“See you later then.”

Off I go, leaving what’s-her-name behind me to try to clean the frosting off her tits.

Good luck with that, sugar.

I follow the little Peeping Tom into the ballroom. Amid a sea of swirling skirts and squeaking patent-leather shoes, I find her standing at the bar, where the bartender is filling her champagne glass to the brim.

“Do you have a bigger glass?” she asks him, ignoring me lurking behind her.

“Allow me.”

She widens her eyes in surprise as I reach over her shoulder and grab the entire bottle, along with an extra glass for me. I know old Carl has sprung for an open bar, but I drop a couple of big bills into the tip jar to show her that I know how to be a gentleman.

It’s just that I prefer not to be. In fact, I would like to pour this entire bottle of bubbly on her dress until it soaks through to the skin, clinging to her every curve and making her nipples hard. After all, wedding cake is meant to be enjoyed with champagne.

“Cheers,” I say, topping off her glass and clinking it against mine.

She acquiesces, taking a sip and glaring at me. “Where’s your date?”

“Oh, she’s had enough of me for one night.”

She snorts. “I can see why.”

“You mean because I let her have dessert first, satisfied all her cravings, and went back for seconds?”

“I mean because you’re a bad, dirty man with cake on his face. Who invited you, anyway?”

She’s lying. I am spotlessly clean. Although what I’m envisioning right now is very, very dirty.

I can tell she’s stifling a smile.

“Are you flirting with me?” I ask as I feel my face with my fingers, looking for crumbs.

“No.”

Yes, she is. She doesn’t know it yet, but this bad, dirty, sexy man wants to fuck her, and she wants to help him do it.

“Why don’t you give it a try? You might like it.”

“Why don’t you try locking the door? I’ll never be able to un-see what just happened—or look at cake the same way.”

That makes two of us. I’ll never forget the look on her face when she caught me straddling the bridesmaid like the world’s sexiest cake topper, spreading my frosting all over her. She looked hungry, and soon, it’ll be her turn to get a taste.

“Don’t be so uptight, sweetheart. What you walked in on was a girl checking a wedding fling off her bucket list. She won’t miss me. But if you walk away now, I think you will.”

In one big gulp, she drains the bottle and thrusts it in my hand, along with her now-empty glass.

“I’m done with my champagne.”

I calmly return the bottle and glasses to the bartender.

“Good. Then you can dance with me.”

She opens her mouth to respond, but before she can give me an answer one way or the other, I gently grab her by the waist and whisk her away to the dance floor. On the stage, a very skilled string quartet is enchanting the crowd with what I’m guessing is Mozart.

Unlike the younger men who are now enviously eyeing her, I’ve had a few years to practice all my moves, and it shows. I’m agile, light on my feet, and I know how to coax a woman’s legs over her head.

On the dance floor, I mean.

In school, I took ballroom dancing instead of enrolling in sports because it seemed like the easiest way to get laid. I can even do the infamous lift from Dirty Dancing, the one that made all the girls drop their panties in the ‘80s.

But tonight, I’ll start with something simpler—a waltz. I can’t just grind against her like I’m at a club. If I give her a few inches of space and treat her like a lady, she’ll be rubbing up on me before she even knows she’s doing it.

I take her hand and put my other hand on her waist. She slips her other arm around my back and follows my lead.

“One, two, three,” I instruct her as I move my feet, leading her through a simple box step.

“What’s with the counting?” she asks.

She’s fighting me with her lips, but she’s encouraging me with her hips. I can already tell she’s going to make me work for it. Pressed against her, I can feel myself rising to the challenge.

“Don’t make me get to four, or you’ll get a spanking.”

She laughs. “I’d like to see you try.”

That’s the answer I was hoping for.

I slide my hand down her back and give her a light smack on her ass, enjoying the way she squeaks in surprise. It feels so good that I leave it there for a while, lifting her tight little cheek with my palm. I’ve been wanting to do this since the moment I laid eyes on her.

“Are you going to let me go?”

It’s not a request; it’s a question.

I gaze into her young, sweet face. She has perfectly smooth skin and such long, beautiful lashes. Her hair falls around her face in shiny ringlets, still in her natural color. She’s a clean slate, and I want to write dirty words all over her.

“Do you want me to?”

“Maybe.”

“What if I use both hands? Would that feel better?”

I reach down with my other hand and show her what I mean, gently pulling her hips toward mine.

“What if I tell you to stop? Will you do it?”

I lean down, put my lips close to her ear, and whisper, “Not until you say uncle.”

Before I pull away from her, I give her a soft kiss on the side of her neck, just to see how much she likes it. It’ll just be a matter of time before she asks for more and kisses me back.

And like I predicted, she moans. Inching forward, she presses against me, and I can feel her give into whatever fantasy that’s been running through her mind since the moment she caught me in the cake room. She looks into my eyes and smiles at me, parting her lips in invitation.

I’m about ready to RSVP with my tongue when I get a much better idea—one I think she’s going to like. But it’s going to take all the willpower I have not to kiss her right here and now.

I dodge her lips, kiss her on the cheek, and back away. Then, I take her by the hand and start weaving through the crowd.

“What are you doing?” she asks, raising her voice to be heard over the music. “I thought you wanted me to dance with you.”

“I think you’re ready for a private lesson.”

“What does that mean?”

She stops in the middle of the dance floor, pulls her hand away, and folds her arms across her chest, waiting for an answer. She wants to know what she’s getting herself into, but that’s a question only she can answer.

“I can teach you any move you want. Whatever fantasy you have, I’ll make it happen. No judgments. All you have to do is ask.”

Her face turns bright red. She can pretend all she wants that she didn’t like what she saw, but I can see right through her, and she knows it. This girl has cravings, too, and I plan to satisfy each and every one before the night is over.

But I’ve lost my chance to make her feel like the only woman in the room, so I try another approach, something nonthreatening and straight to the point.

“Do you really want to stay here all night and do the chicken dance? Or do you want to come with me and dance more intimately, preferably with no pants?”

Now the choice is hers. I can see the wheels turning in her head. She knows she should say no to sloppy seconds, and I really wouldn’t blame her if she did, but I think we both know the alternative is not nearly as fun.

Finally, she cracks a smile.

“I fucking hate the chicken dance.”

“Good girl. There must be an empty room around here somewhere. Maybe I’ll even lock the door this time.”

She pauses for a moment, twisting her hands nervously as she considers my invitation. I can tell she’s a really nice girl, and she already knows I’m a really bad boy.

Which is exactly why I know she’s going to say yes.

Soon, I’ll get another glimpse of that ravenous look she was giving me.

She smiles deviously. “I think we should leave it open.”