Free Their Wicked Wedding by Ember Casey Page B

waist and spread her thighs, gazing with longing at the sweet, dark pink folds that wait for my tongue.
    I keep my hands on her legs and stroke her gently as I move my face closer to her. I love the way she smells—like sweat and desire. The scent invades me, making my already-hard cock throb. If I were a patient man, I’d spend some time just savoring that heady aroma.
    But I’m not patient.
    The first lick is always the sweetest. Her intimate flavor explodes across my taste buds, and her flesh quivers against my tongue. Her thighs clench in response to my delicate attack, but I continue to hold them apart.
    The second taste is deeper. This time she hums a sound of pleasure, and I resist the urge to bite down on her. There will be time for roughness later. But it’s hard to be gentle when her hands come down on my head and her fingers curl against my scalp, searching for purchase in my short hair. My own fingers dig into her thighs as I bury my tongue deeper in her folds. Everything is heat and hunger. I know nothing but her. My dear, delicious, wicked little Lily. My precious little minx.
    I lick my way from one end of her to the other. And then I follow the same trail with kisses—light, teasing touches of my lips. She writhes in frustration, the wicked little thing. I want to devour every bit of her. When I’m here, everything feels right again.
    “Let’s forget the wedding,” I rasp against her.
    “Hm?”
    I lift my head. The first time I said them, the words just spilled out, no doubt a result of my stressful afternoon. But now that I’ve decided to be free of Taran Harker and his lies, now that I’ve fully embraced the wonders in front of me, I find myself repeating them with some conviction.
    “Let’s forget the wedding,” I say again. “Let’s just go down to the courthouse. Or run off to Vegas together.”
    She’s gone completely rigid. I loosen my grip and reposition myself so I can get a better look at her face. But her head is still tilted back, still resting against the stair several steps above me.
    “Just you and me,” I say gently. “You and me and the promises we’ll be making. We don’t need this house or the wedding or any of the distractions.”
    This time she sits up completely, and I know the moment I see her face that I’ve said something wrong. She grabs my hands and pushes them off of her thighs, then pulls her skirt back down her legs.
    “And what’s distracting us here?” she says, her eyes flashing. “Why do you suddenly want to run away?”
    “It’s not about running away.” I ache to pull her into my arms again, to taste her again, but I know that won’t help my cause.
    “What is going on with you?” she says.
    I’m a desperate man. And I need her. That is what’s going on. But I force myself to take a deep breath.
    “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’ve just been stressed.”
    “No shit.” She starts to get to her feet. “I don’t know what—”
    “Spend the night with me,” I say, desperate to go back to a moment ago when everything was right with the world. I rise to my feet beside her.
    “No,” she says with a jerk of her hand. “Not like this.”
    “Not like what?” I try to pull her into my arms. “Are you still insisting on sleeping apart until the wedding? I don’t care about stupid traditions, Lily. I just want to be with you.”
    But she pulls away from me. “It’s not a stupid tradition, Calder. The only reason I even suggested it was for you!”
    “I don’t know where you got the idea that abstaining from sex would—”
    “You don’t get it, do you?”
    Honestly, no, I don’t. I don’t see what’s so wrong about wanting to spend the night with her.
    “I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn about this,” I say. “I love you, and I want you in my arms tonight. Is that suddenly a crime?”
    “It’s not a crime, but—”
    “Then what’s the problem? Why can’t we just have one night to ourselves? One night away from