Free Their Wicked Wedding by Ember Casey Page A

every criticism you might have of my behavior these past few days. But I swear, there is nothing in this world that means more to me right now than our wedding.”
    All traces of anger are gone from her expression. But the worry is still there.
    “I mean it,” I assure her. And I do. “This week is about you and me. Nothing else.”
    Slowly, I pull her face toward mine. My lips brush against hers once, then again, trying to show her with a touch what I can’t quite find the words to say. Her mouth softens with each kiss, until finally her lips open beneath mine again.
    “Kissing… doesn’t make… everything better… you know,” she murmurs between each meeting of our mouths.
    “But it certainly doesn’t hurt,” I counter, pressing my body against hers. She makes a small sound in her throat.
    This is what this week is about. The way she melts in my hands. The way my body aches in response to hers. The way she can make everything else in this world disappear with just the whisper of her breath on my skin. We belong to each other, and this weekend, we’ll make it official. She’ll be mine forever.
    I catch her in my arms and lower her slowly down onto the stairs. Her arms come around me, and her nails dig into my shoulders as she pulls me closer.
    And I continue to move my mouth against hers, drinking her in breath by breath, growing drunk on her sweet softness, getting hungrier with every flick of her tongue. From the moment I first saw her, my desire for her has only grown. I used to tire so easily of women: they always satisfied me for a time, but I always reached a point where I’d had my fill and began to hunger for other things. After all—one might think they can eat their favorite food every day for every meal, but time reveals the truth: that the tongue grows weary of the same flavor over and over again.
    But with Lily…
    My desire for her still grows every day. My need for her deepens with every word that passes between us. With every look we share. With every touch of her skin against mine.
    The tips of her fingers brush my neck, and I involuntarily let out a growl.
    She breaks her lips away from mine, and I drop my mouth to her throat. The skin there is so soft—softer even than her lips. And though it’s not as sweet, I could spend hours devouring the delicate column of her neck kiss by kiss, lick by lick. I nibble at her with my teeth. Gently—for though I would love to leave my mark on her, I have a feeling she won’t appreciate any bruises in our wedding photographs.
    “Calder—” she begins, but her voice cuts off when I nip at her neck again.
    And there’s somewhere still sweeter I want to taste.
    She’s wearing a skirt today, thank God. I push it up over her hips.
    “Calder,” she says once more, and this time her tone is a warning.
    I cup her face again. My thumbs brush against her cheeks. My fingers skim across her ears. She’s so precious. So perfect. And she’s mine.
    “You’re my world,” I tell her. “Everything else is just noise. Just distraction.”
    I can see her whole heart in her eyes. Her love for me. Her passion. And there—just when I thought I’d convinced her that everything was fine—her worry, still a flicker of shadow in their depths.
    “I love you,” I tell her. “And I want to show you that. Please, let me show you. Let me be with you.”
    I kiss her again, and when my lips come down on hers, she responds with hunger, tightening her arms around me and holding me close. I catch her by the hips and hold her to me, as if I could pull her right into me, and I know that all other worries are behind us. Nothing can shake this.
    I need her. I need to bury myself in her goodness, her hope, her love. But I still want to taste her first.
    I drop down a few steps so I can more easily reach the haven between her legs. She can’t completely lie back on the stairs, but her half-reclined position gives me perfect access. I flip her skirt all the way past her