I cut him off with a kiss, and I really had intended it to just be a firm, relieved kiss to shut him up—shut myself up—and thank him for being him when I needed it. But it went from playful to fevered as soon as he opened his mouth, let me slide my tongue over his bottom lip, and met me halfway with his.

With a growl, he had me lifted and pressed against the back wall, his hands sliding up the skirt of my dress, fingertips digging into my thighs. “You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”

“No!” I gasped, my head falling back and hitting the wall heavily as he ground his cock between my legs.

“Because I’d drag you by your hair down that aisle.”

I laughed, and it turned into a moan as his lips played their way up my neck and over my chin. “It’s funny that you think you could drag me anywhere,” I told him.

When he returned to me, I tilted my head away, pushing on his shoulders. “On your knees.”

He glared at me. “Excuse me?”

“Knees,” I repeated.

If looks could kill, I would be chopped up into tiny pieces and served with the calamari. But without speaking, Bennett lowered my feet to the floor before kneeling in front of me. He didn’t require further instruction; he simply pulled one of my legs over his shoulders, leaned forward, and opened his mouth against my clit.

Bennett’s only goal was to get me off, in record time. There was no teasing; there was no flicking of the tongue or gentle warm-up kisses around my soft, bare skin. There was only open mouth, suction and, finally, the press of his fingers at my entrance, swirling, gathering my slick lust with his fingertips.

But he didn’t do what I expected. Instead, he slid his thumb into me and dragged his wet fingers to my backside, where he carefully pressed one just inside. I let out the most desperate, pathetic moan of my life and slid my hands into his hair, holding him steady so I could rock against his face. Bennett didn’t penetrate me there often, but when he did it—whether with fingers or his cock—it always left me sated and dopey for days.

His mouth sucked and pulled at my tender skin, and his finger and thumb pressed together and away, a pulsing dark pleasure. The sensation was somehow both too much and not enough. I wanted everything he was doing to be deeper, and harder, and bigger almost to the point of pain. My pleasure built low in my belly, a steady, throbbing hum between my legs. I feared the explosion would elude me, that there was too much else happening out there, on the other side of the door. I worried nothing but Bennett’s naked body would be enough, heavy and commanding, pounding into mine.