Six years to get to this moment.
“You look beautiful,” I tell her. I mean it—she’s a f*****g revelation in that dress. I want to tear it offof her here and now and lick between her legs until the hall echoes with her moans.
Six years and I still haven’t forgotten what that sound does to me.
Six years and I still haven’t forgotten what that taste does to me.
Six long, endless f*****g years, and I still haven’t forgotten what those eyes do to me.
“There’s another ceremony in an hour,” I drawl, “so we better get a move on.”
That manages to job her out of her reverie. “What the hell is going on?” she demands. “Are you—who—what—how…”
She’s looking up, down, and all around, like the answers to the billion questions wracking her brainright now are hidden somewhere in the wainscoting.
I g
