Indecent... Exposure Read online

  ‘Shut up and fuck me,’ I said. ‘The quicker and harder, the better.’

  ‘I aim to please,’ he said, as he moved back between my thighs. I gathered my skirts at my waist and pulled my thong to the side. A leg hooked over his hip and the head of his cock was tucked snugly against me, a tease that didn’t last long.

  I didn’t want foreplay. I wanted the hard, randy thrust of him inside me, the hot breath of an aroused male in my ear, the satisfaction that comes with making a man surrender. And he was fit and anonymous, and I would never see him again after tonight, and I wanted that too. I gripped one muscular buttock and squeezed. My other hand skated up his lapel, up the smooth satin fabric of a tuxedo collar. I pulled him close, let him feel how hot I was, that my cunt was already wet.

  He resisted, but not for long. I yanked down the bodice of my dress, let him feel the warm, heavy weight of my tits pressed against him and with a groan, he shoved his cock inside me. ‘Naughty boy,’ I whispered in his ear. ‘Look at you, fucking the maid of honour up against a wall.’ His ragged breathing excited me, as did his thickening cock. I rocked my hips, clenched hard against his length. I needed this. I needed to move on from the two people in the ballroom on the other side of the corridor. I needed to feel in control, I suppose, because I had never been in control with them.

  His hands found my waist, and he started to move. There was no hesitation, no caution. ‘Someone might catch us,’ he said, as he pounded into me. His hands moved up to grab my tits. ‘Someone could walk in here at any moment, see you with my cock in your pussy and your tits in my hands.’

  So that was his game. Everyone has one. The trick is to work out what it is. ‘Is that what you want?’ I slid a hand between us, put pressure on my clit. ‘You want someone to catch us? You want someone to see?’ But he didn’t answer. Instead, he slid a hand under the knee that was hooked over his hip, pushed it higher. The wall held me up, the wall and one spike heel and my hands on his shoulders. He’d been right about the size. I had no complaints. But that didn’t mean that I had nothing to say.

  I stopped teasing my clit and started to rub it, and then I started to get loud. If he wanted to get caught, then so did I, and the louder I shrieked the harder he fucked me. A win win all round, there was no doubt about it. I imagined the whole reception sitting there listening to me getting pounded against the wall, and the thought was deliciously exciting.

  ‘I’m coming,’ he said. ‘I’m coming so hard.’

  His fingers dug into my leg as he slammed into me, fast and deep. I rode out his orgasm with one of my own, sharp enough to make me silent, which was a pity, though I tried not to feel too put out. It had been a long time since I’d come with anyone but Victoria or Paul, and it was good to know that while my heart might be broken, my pussy certainly wasn’t.

  It was about that time that the door opened and the light flicked on, and Scott Smithson walked into the room.

  Chapter Two

  So that’s how I ended up where I am now, pinned to the wall by the cock of a man I don’t know, with Scott Smithson, a man I most certainly do know, staring at me in that judgemental way of his. ‘Scott,’ I say, blowing the hair out of my eyes as I fight to get my breath back. ‘Do you mind? I’m a little busy here.’

  I stay where I am, with my dress around my waist and my tits exposed and a still-hard cock buried in my pussy. I would move, but my legs aren’t steady and my new friend doesn’t seem in any hurry to pull out.

  ‘I can see that,’ says Scott, his voice low and angry. ‘Fortunately, the disco was loud enough to block out most of the noise.’

  ‘That’s disappointing,’ I reply, letting my leg slide to the floor. Two feet are definitely better than one, and I need two right now. You see, Scott Smithson is my best friend’s brother. We don’t particularly like each other. Never have, if I’m honest. It’s hard to like someone who thinks that they’re perfect and treats everyone else like an inferior species. ‘If you came here to lecture me, can you get on with it? I feel like a dance. How about you?’ I glance at my companion. He catches my eye for a second, then pulls out of me, quickly turning so that his back is to Scott.

  Fine. I’ll let him have that one. I wouldn’t want to deal with a used condom with an audience either.

  ‘You’re the maid of honour,’ says Scott. ‘You’re supposed to be supporting the bride, not screwing one of the guests.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I reply. ‘I thought it was traditional for the bridesmaids to get laid at the wedding. Or does that only apply to the best man?’

  I run my hands over my hair, which is sticky with hairspray. ‘Come to think of it,’ I continue, ‘the best man has been looking down my dress all day. Maybe I’ll go and find him, see if he fancies a blowjob.’

  ‘The best man is married,’ Scott says coldly. ‘I refuse to believe even you would stoop that low, Amber.’

  ‘What’s up?’ I taunt him. ‘Jealous?’ I put my hands on my dress and am about to pull it up when I catch sight of something that makes me pause. Something so unexpected that it takes a moment to accept that it’s happening. Scott Smithson is staring at my exposed breasts. His blue eyes are dark, and there’s a flush highlighting the sharp line of his cheekbones.

  It’s the same reaction I’ve had since I grew them at fifteen. But I’ve never seen it from Scott Smithson. I find myself watching him, curiosity swelling inside me. This is something new, something unexpected, and I guess all the champagne I’ve drunk has made me reckless. ‘Are you looking at my tits, Scott?’ He swallows as I smooth my hands over the curve of my breasts, then test the weight of them. They’re heavy, too big for my hands. ‘Like what you see?’

  He says nothing. He doesn’t need to.

  I move closer. ‘You can leave, you know. The door is right there.’

  But he doesn’t. I catch a nipple between my fingers and play with it, then I lift my breast to my mouth and tease it with my tongue. Despite all the champagne I’ve drunk, I feel suddenly very steady and in control. Scott doesn’t look in control, though.

  ‘The door,’ I say again, watching as his hands clench into fists at his sides and his chest heaves as he sucks in air. I take another step towards him. I wonder what he will do if I get close enough for him to touch me. I wonder if I want him to touch me, and I’m surprised to discover that I definitely don’t not want him to. The thought of his hands on my flesh is astonishingly delicious, especially given the situation we’re in.

  But before I can get that close, Scott does what I’ve been telling him to do. He swiftly turns away from me, slamming the door closed behind him. The bang makes me jump, makes my heart thump hard in my chest.

  ‘A friend of yours?’ The voice comes from behind me. Lucas. I’d almost forgotten he was there. I turn back to look at him.

  ‘Not exactly,’ I say. ‘More of a pain in the arse.’

  ‘More fool him,’ says Lucas, with a slow, easy smile. It’s the sort of smile that should undo me, that should have me taking him back to my place, but I can’t get the image of Scott Smithson out of my head. He looked devastatingly attractive, with his evening shirt fitting snugly across his shoulders, that dark hair and those light blue eyes. He always looks devastatingly attractive, and it has always made him all the more annoying, because there’s nothing worse than a man who is gorgeous and knows it.

  ‘Thanks for the fuck,’ I say to Lucas, as I tug my dress back in place and then head for the door, kicking my skirts out of the way as they tangle with my heels. ‘It was fun.’

  ‘Any time,’ he says, tucking his hands into his pockets with the resignation of a man who knows he’s just been knocked back, but isn’t too hurt by it.

  Then I open the door and stumble out into the corridor. To my left are the double doors that lead back to the reception. Music is filtering through the gap, the soundtrack to Dirty Dancing. What a cliché. In the other direction, I spy the broad shoulders and long strides of Scott Smithson. I’m slow in my heels,
but I’m determined. ‘Scott!’ I yell. ‘Hang on a minute.’

  I want to know what the hell just happened in there. I want to know why Scott, Mr Perfect, was looking at me like that. He thinks I’m a tart and I think he’s a bore. I never expected he might want me. I never expected that I might want him, either, and that’s what has me chasing him down now.

  ‘Scott!’ I yell again, and this time his shoulders stiffen inside his white shirt, their width highlighted by the black line of his braces. He stops. Then he turns around, slowly. ‘What do you want, Amber?’

  ‘I…’ I fumble for something to say. What do I want? Not sex, surely. I’ve just had sex. And I wouldn’t want it from him, anyway. Would I? That thought is so disturbing that I switch to the defensive. ‘You were looking at my tits,’ I say, using that word because I know that he’ll hate it, the big prude.

  He turns his head to the side, his jaw set hard, as if he’s working to hold back a response that he doesn’t want to give me. Then he turns back to me, fixing those eyes on me, so stunningly pale in contrast to his midnight black hair. ‘Why did you do it?’ he asks.

  ‘Why did I do what?’

  ‘Why did you take a man you barely know into a room and have sex with him?’

  Because I just watched a man I was in love with get married to someone else. Because I wanted to feel something other than hurt, just for a few minutes. I plant my hands on my hips. ‘It might come as a shock to you, Scott, but some women like sex. I happen to be one of those women. I know you think we should be all prissy and virginal, but fortunately you don’t get to tell me how to behave.’

  His hands go to his throat and start tugging at his tie. He pulls it loose, letting the ends fall flat against his shirt, then he unfastens his collar. The button below it is unfastened too. I see a flash of skin, a dark dusting of hair. A strange fluttering sensation starts up in the pit of my stomach.

  ‘But why him?’ he asks.

  ‘Why not him?’

  ‘Because he was a stranger,’ he says. ‘Because you know nothing about him. You had no idea what he was going to do to you in that room.’

  ‘Trust me,’ I interrupt him. ‘I had a pretty good idea.’

  ‘No, you didn’t.’ He’s almost shouting now. He looks really, really angry. I stumble to the wall, lean against it, my legs suddenly unsteady. I bend down and unfasten my shoes then pull them off. When I glance back up at Scott, I realise my mistake. He’s tall and I’m not, and those extra four inches were making all the difference. ‘If you wanted sex, Amber, you should have asked someone you know. Someone you could trust. Not some man you’d only just met.’

  ‘Who should I have asked, then?’ I yell right back at him. ‘You?’

  Silence drops. Scott’s chest heaves. He stands there; staring at me, then shoves his hands back in his pockets. ‘Yes,’ he says, his voice low. ‘Maybe you should have asked me.’

  CARINA™

  ISBN: 978 1 472 08399 9

  Indecent Exposure

  Copyright © 2014 Jane O’Reilly

  Published in Great Britain (2014)

  by Carina, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited, Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

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