“By the horrific aim of drunk teens shooting basketballs?” Wincing, she rubs the back of her head, settling farther into my couch. I brought her back to my place seconds after she crash-landed on her knees.
“I’m shocked at you. I had you down as the worst patient ever.”
“See? I’m full of surprises. I love being doted on. Now, please cover my scrape with a Band-Aid,” she says in a deliberately dainty tone, pointing to the tear on her knee. “Since you like being a nurse.”
The funny thing is, I do like taking care of her. I like that I was the one to wrap an arm around her, shield her as we walked out of the park, and hail a cab faster than any man has ever hailed a cab in the history of men hailing cabs.
I head to the bathroom, grab a bandage, and return to her, so I can press it over the scraped-up bit of skin.
“Why did you think I’d be a terrible patient?”
“You’re so stubborn I figured you’d be completely pig-headed about letting me take care of you.”
“I guess you were wrong.”
“I guess I was.”
I smile to myself, but I don’t tell her how much I like being wrong on this count.
When I’m done, I sit next to her. “Okay, so the head still hurts?”
“Yes, but it’s getting better.”
“And the knee smarts?”
“Definitely, but I’ll live.”
“Living is good. I recommend it. Does anything else hurt?”
She seems to consider the question, then taps her forehead. I lean to her and press a kiss to it. “Anything else?”
She hums as she runs her hand over her cheekbone.
I know where this is going, and I like it. I brush a kiss to her cheek next. “What else?”
She gestures to her lips and pouts. “This hurts a little.”
“Let’s see if I can make it better.” I kiss her lips, and I’m rewarded with a soft, sweet sigh as her arms loop around me.
When I break the kiss, I meet her eyes. “So, you’re all better?”
She shakes her head, affecting a shy little smile. “I realized there’s one more thing that hurts.”
“What’s that?”
She taps the hollow of her throat and then drags her finger down to her breasts, and I groan. “Definitely, that needs a lot of TLC.”
I dip my face to her neck, kiss her there, then travel down her chest to her cleavage. She wriggles against me and yanks me even closer. I kiss the tops of her breasts, and she gasps, arching her chest against me.
I look up. “Does that hurt a lot?”
“So much.” She drags her hand down her belly to right below her waist. “And there. Definitely there.”
I grin as my hands make their way to her back, and I find the zipper on her dress. I slide it down and make quick work of the rest of her clothes, till she’s down to her white lace panties.
“Ah, you did wear white.”
She smiles, then her smile disappears, and a flicker of nerves seem to pass over her brown eyes. “I wore them for you. I thought you’d like them.”
White. Wedding night. It’s almost too much to contemplate that this is where fate, or life, or circumstance has led us. That even though we agreed more than a week ago that we wanted each other’s bodies, we haven’t been able to have them till now.
I don’t want to linger on the fact that I’m finally going to fuck her on our wedding night, but I can’t deny that this moment feels like precisely the right time. Elise doesn’t just excite me sexually. Her mind captivates me. Her quick wit, her big heart, and her blunt honesty are huge turn-ons. She’s been turning me on since the day I met her, and tonight there will be no stopping me from showing her how much.
I wrap my fingers into the waistband of those perfect white lace panties. “I do like them,” I say, in a rasp. “I like them so much, I want them gone.”
I drag them down her legs, then feast my eyes on the gloriousness of her naked body. Smooth, creamy skin, perky breasts, and a landing strip that points to where I want to be.
“White was perfect,” I add, as I cup her between her legs, then stroke her with my fingers.
She’s soft and slick, and so fucking ready for anything and everything. She arches into my hand and whispers, “Kiss me.”
I oblige, gladly moving down the couch and wedging my shoulders between her beautiful thighs. A sexy, greedy sigh falls from her lips, and she’s already pushing my head to the center of her legs as she parts her thighs for me.
God, that move, right there. Watching her open for me. Watching the look in her eyes—want and need and maybe, just maybe, a touch of something more I can’t define—sends sheer desire shooting down my spine.
The lust in her gaze, the vulnerability in her position—it’s a gift. And it’s one I’m so fucking grateful for.
A gentleman should always thank a lady for giving him the gift of her body. I’ll thank her by lavishing attention on her with my tongue.
