Something Borrowed III

I walked out of that storage room like a woman possessed.

My legs were still trembling. My skin was still buzzing. I could feel him on me—his mouth, his hands, the phantom ache of him inside me. Every step I took, I felt it. The soreness. The stretch. The claim.

I smoothed my dress, my hair. Painted a smile on my face that I hoped looked normal.

And I walked back into the reception like nothing had happened.

The music was still playing. The dance floor was still full. Emma was still spinning in her husband's arms, laughing at something he said. My mother was crying again. My father was telling stories at the bar.

No one looked at me.

No one knew.

And that made it even hotter.

I grabbed a fresh champagne flute—not warm this time—and took a long sip. The bubbles burned my throat but I needed it.

Because I was already wet again.

My wet liquid trickled down the inner part of my thigh where his lips had been moments ago just from the memory.

---

Leo didn't come out for seven minutes.

I counted.

Seven minutes of small talk with my aunt. Seven minutes of pretending to care about her new garden. Seven minutes of my skin screaming for his touch.

And then I saw him.

He slipped through the storage door, looking like he'd just walked out of a board meeting. His tie was still undone. His hair was still messy. But his face was calm. Composed. Like he hadn't just wrecked me.

Our eyes met across the room.

He didn't smile. Didn't wink. Didn't do anything obvious. He just looked at me—dark eyes holding mine—and I felt it in my bones.

One hour, his gaze said. I'll see you soon.

I almost dropped my champagne.

---

The next hour was torture.

I couldn't focus. Couldn't think. Every time someone spoke to me, I nodded along, but my mind was elsewhere. Lost In squeezing my thigh together, trying to numb the unbearable pulse of my swollen pussy.

In the coatroom.

With him.

I watched the clock on the wall. 11:03. 11:17. 11:34.

The minutes crawled achingly.

Leo moved around the room like he owned it. Talking to my father. Toasting with my uncle. Dancing with my grandmother. He was charming, effortless, perfect.

And every time he passed me, his fingers brushed my hand. My lower back. My hip.

Tiny touches. Secret touches.

Each one left a trail of fire.

"Are you okay?" my sister asked, appearing beside me. "You look flushed."

I forced a smile. "Just hot. Dancing. You know."

Emma laughed. "You've been standing here for twenty minutes. You haven't danced once. Come on, it my wedding."

"I'm supervising," I said. "Making sure the cake doesn't melt further."

She followed my gaze to the dessert table. The groom's fondant face had completely collapsed now. He looked like a melted wax figure.

"Oh god," she giggled. "He looks terrible."

"He looks like a sad potato."

Emma snorted. A very un-bridal sound. She smacked me in the loving way she always did. "You're awful."

"I learned from the best."

Emma hugged me, tight, and I felt a pang of guilt so sharp I almost gasped.

She had no idea what I'd just done. Who I'd just been with. How I was still aching from it.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For everything. I know I don't say it enough."

"Of course, Em."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

She pulled back and smiled, and for a moment, I hated myself.

Then Leo caught my eye from across the room. He checked his watch. Pointed at it.

11:47.

Thirteen minutes.

And every single one of them was going to kill me.

---

11:58.

I made my way toward the coatroom. Slowly. Casually. Like I was just looking for my clutch.

The hallway was quiet—a long corridor lined with doors. The reception was behind me, muffled and distant. I walked past the bathrooms, past the kitchen, past a door that led to the bridal suite.

The coatroom was at the end.

I pushed the door open and slipped inside.

It was small. Narrow. Racks of coats and jackets hung on both sides, the fabric brushing my shoulders as I moved deeper. A single window looked out onto the dark garden. Moonlight filtered through, pale and silver.

I turned. Leaned against the back wall.

And waited.

---

The door opened at 12:02.

Leo stepped inside. Closed it behind him. Locked it.

The click was loud in the silence.

He didn't move. Just stood there, watching me, his chest rising and falling a little too fast.

"Hi," I whispered.

"Hi."

I laughed, nervous. "This is insane."

"Completely."

"We shouldn't be doing this."

"Absolutely."

"Leo—"

"I know." He crossed the room in three steps. "I know. But I can't stop."

His body pinned mine against the wall. Coats swayed around us, brushing my shoulders. He was so close I could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. Could smell the bourbon on his breath. Could feel the heat radiating off him.

"You taste like champagne," he said, echoing his words from the storage room. "And I'm addicted."

"Leo—"

"Shh."

His mouth found my neck. Hot. Open. His tongue traced down to my collarbone.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you," he murmured against my skin. "The entire hour. Couldn't focus. Couldn't breathe. All I could think about was being inside you again."

My hands fisted his tuxedo jacket.

"I thought about you too," I admitted. "Every second."

"Yeah?" His lips brushed my ear. "What did you think about?"

"Your hands." My voice was barely a whisper. "Your mouth. The way you said my name."

He groaned. "You're going to ruin me."

"Good."

His lips found mine. Slow. Deep. His tongue sliding against mine.

I felt his hands on my thighs. Hiking my dress up. His fingers finding my panties—the new pair I'd stolen from my emergency bag. He pushed them aside and touched me.

"So wet for me," he breathed. "Already."

"All night. Since you dropped to your knees."

His finger slid inside me. Just one. Slow, like the storage room, but this time he around his fingers.

I shuddered, my muscles clenched around his fingers.

"I want to savor you this time," he said, finger curling. "Last time was fast. Desperate. I need to feel you properly. To stretch every fucking part and inch of you."

I whimpered.

"Tell me what you want," he said. "I'll give you anything."

"You." My hips rocked against his hand. "Just you. All of you."

He pulled his hand away. Turned me around. My front pressed against the wall, coats on either side, the moonlight pooling around us.

I heard his zipper. The foil. His hands on my hips.

"One thing," he said, his voice rough. "Look at me."

I turned my head as I felt his massive head at my entrance, cheek against the wall, eyes finding his.

He pushed inside me with a loud wet sound. Slow. Inch by inch.

I felt everything.

The stretch. The fullness. The way he his hips rolled forward burying his massive cock inside me, like I was made for him.

"Oh," I breathed.

"Feel that?" His voice was strained. "Feel how your pussy is squeezing me so hard?"

I nodded, unable to speak.

He pulled out slow. Pushed back in slow. Each thrust deliberate. Each movement measured.

"Look at me," he commanded again. "I want to see your face."

I held his gaze. Watched the pleasure flicker in his eyes.

"I've dreamed about this," he said. "Every single fucking night. Since the first Thanksgiving I met you."

"I thought I was imagining it."

"Never." He thrust deeper. "I wanted you so badly it was physical. Ached for you."

He reached around. His fingers found my clit. Circled. Stroked, harder.

"Oooff," I was sure I was loosing it. Different feelings

erupting from my pussy.

"Tell me," he said. "Tell me it's been the same for you."

"Leo, you have no idea—"

"Tell me."

"Every family dinner," I gasped. "Every holiday. I'd watch you and ache."

His thrusts quickened. Just slightly. His fingers moved faster.

"I'm close," I warned. "I can't—"

"Hold it."

"What?"

"You heard me." His voice was dark. Commanding. "Hold it until I tell you to let go."

I cried out. Tried to obey. My dripping wet pussy was soaking the floor. The pressure was unbearable.

"I'm so full," I gasped. "Leo, I can't—"

"You can. You will."

His hips moved faster. Harder. Each thrust hitting deeper.

"Look at me," he said. "Don't look away."

I held his gaze. Felt my body start to shake.

"Now. Now!," he said. "Come for me baby."

I shattered.

My orgasm ripped through me, violent and perfect.

"Leo fuck…." I cried out his name as he thrust into me one last time.

"Please Leo I need…" I moaned out. I needed him to cum before I loosed my fucking mind

"Look at you begging hunh " he grunted thrusting deeper as he dug through my insides.

He was close. I felt it.

His cock swelled in my spasm pussy and I felt him. Hot and pulsing. Pouring his milk inside me, buried to the hilt, his body pressed against my back.

We stayed like that. Tangled. Breathless. Trembling.

Then he pulled out, slow, and I felt the loss of him. Already empty. Already wanting more.

He cleaned me gently. Kissed my shoulder. Turned me around.

"That was—" I started.

"Not enough," he finished. "Not even close."

I laughed, exhausted. "How many times are we going to do this tonight?"

His smile was slow. Dangerous.

"Until the sun comes up."

---