Chapter 2

The curtain whispered shut behind Elise, leaving only the low hum of the salon’s air conditioning and the soft glow of the vanity bulbs.

Sarah didn’t move away. She stayed close enough that the heat of her body reached me through the open back of the dress. Her fingers still rested at the base of the zipper, two cool points against my skin.

“You’re shaking,” she said.

I wasn’t cold. The fitting room was warm, almost too warm, the air thick with the scent of new fabric and the cedar note that clung to her sweater. I watched our reflections in the three-way mirror—my bare shoulders, the ivory satin pooled at my hips, Sarah standing behind me in black, her expression unreadable.

She drew the zipper the rest of the way down. The dress loosened and slid. I caught it against my chest, holding the fabric in place. Sarah’s hands settled on my waist, steadying the fall of the skirt until it dropped to the carpet in a soft heap. I stood in only a strapless bra and simple panties, the mirror showing every angle of me at once.

Her palms stayed on my waist.

“The bra’s digging in,” she murmured. “It’s leaving marks.”

I looked down. Red lines pressed into the soft skin above the cups. Sarah’s fingers moved to the clasp at my back. She didn’t ask. The metal released with a quiet click. The bra loosened, then fell forward when I let go of it. Cool air touched my breasts. In the mirror I watched her gaze drop, linger, then rise to meet mine again.

Neither of us spoke.

Sarah’s hands returned to my waist, then slid upward, slow enough that I could have stepped away. Her palms cupped the undersides of my breasts, thumbs brushing the outer curves. My nipples tightened under the light touch. A small sound escaped my throat before I could stop it.

She turned me to face her. The mirror still framed us from every side—my bare chest, her clothed body, the narrow space between us shrinking. Sarah’s eyes were darker than they had been in the car. She leaned in and kissed me.

It wasn’t soft. It was certain, open-mouthed, the kind of kiss that already knew the answer. Her tongue met mine and the taste of her—mint and something warmer—flooded my mouth. My hands found her shoulders, then the back of her neck, pulling her closer. The sweater under my fingers was soft. Beneath it her body felt solid, strong.

Sarah walked me backward until my shoulders met the mirrored wall. The glass was cool against my skin. She kissed down my jaw, my throat, the slope of one breast. When her mouth closed over my nipple and sucked, my head tipped back against the mirror with a soft thud. Her hand slid between my legs, cupping me through the thin cotton of my panties. I was already wet; the fabric clung.

She rubbed once, twice, slow pressure that made my hips push forward. Then her fingers hooked into the waistband and drew the panties down. I stepped out of them without thinking. Sarah dropped to her knees on the pale carpet.

The first touch of her mouth was hot and deliberate. She licked a long, slow stripe through my folds, then sealed her lips around my clit and sucked. My hands flew to her hair, gripping the knot she had tied earlier. The pins loosened. Dark strands fell around her face as she worked me with steady, focused strokes of her tongue. The wet sounds filled the small room. My thighs trembled. I watched us in the side mirror—me naked against the glass, Sarah on her knees, her mouth moving between my legs like she had all the time in the world.

She slid two fingers inside me without warning. The stretch pulled a broken moan from my chest. She curled them, stroked, and kept licking in tight circles until the pressure coiled hard and low. I came with my back arched off the mirror, thighs clamped around her head, a raw sound tearing out of me that the thick curtain barely muffled. Sarah stayed with me through it, tongue gentling only when the pulses slowed.

When she finally pulled back, her mouth shone. She rose slowly, still fully dressed, and kissed me again so I tasted myself on her tongue. My hands moved down her body of their own accord—over the soft sweater, the waistband of her jeans, the front of her. My palm met a hard, unmistakable ridge.

I froze.

Sarah’s breath caught. She didn’t step away. She simply watched my face as my fingers traced the thick shape straining against the denim. It was large. Heavy. Real.

“Sarah—”

“I know,” she said, voice rough. “You can stop. Or you can keep going.”

My hand stayed where it was. Curiosity and shock warred with the lingering throb between my legs. I popped the button of her jeans. The zipper lowered. Beneath the fabric she wore dark briefs; the outline of her cock was clear, the head already pushing against the waistband. I eased the briefs down. It sprang free—thick, flushed, longer than I had expected, the skin smooth and hot against my palm.

I stared. Sarah’s breathing had turned uneven. A bead of moisture gathered at the tip. I brushed my thumb across it and felt her hips twitch.

“Still want to stop?” she asked quietly.

I answered by wrapping my fingers around her and stroking once, slow. The weight of her in my hand felt impossible and inevitable at the same time. Sarah made a low sound and braced one hand against the mirror beside my head. I stroked her again, firmer, watching the way her eyelids fluttered and her mouth opened.

She reached down, stilled my wrist, and kissed me hard. Then she turned me to face the mirror again, chest pressed to the glass, and kicked my feet apart. I heard the soft tear of a packet, the roll of latex. The blunt head of her cock nudged against my soaked entrance.

“Tell me to stop,” she said against my ear.

I pushed back instead.

She sank into me in one long, controlled thrust. The stretch burned—thicker than anything I had taken, filling me until I felt it in my throat. A broken cry left my mouth. Sarah’s hand covered it, muffling the sound, while her other arm locked around my waist and held me still. She waited, buried to the hilt, until my body adjusted around the invasion. Then she began to move.

Deep, measured strokes. The wet slap of skin on skin. My breasts pressed flat to the cool mirror with every thrust. Sarah’s breath was hot against the side of my neck. She kept one hand over my mouth and used the other to rub tight circles on my clit, matching the rhythm of her hips. The dual sensation built fast and mean. I came again with a muffled moan, cunt clenching hard around her cock, legs shaking so badly she had to hold me up.

She didn’t stop.

She fucked me through the aftershocks, then harder, the mirror fogging where my open mouth pressed against it. The second orgasm crashed into the first with almost no warning—sharper, longer, pulling sounds from me that her palm barely contained. Only then did Sarah’s rhythm falter. She buried herself deep, hips locked tight against my ass, and came with a low, gritted groan, cock pulsing inside the condom while her arm stayed banded around my waist.

For a long moment the only sounds were our breathing and the distant murmur of the salon beyond the curtain.

Sarah pulled out carefully. I felt the sudden emptiness, the trickle of wetness down my inner thigh. She disposed of the condom, tucked herself away, and zipped her jeans with steady hands. I remained leaning against the mirror, naked, legs unsteady, the marks of her fingers already rising on my hips.

She picked up my discarded bra and held it out. When I didn’t move, she stepped close and put it on me herself, fastening the clasp with the same calm precision she had used to unzip the dress earlier. The panties came next. Then the dress, drawn up my body and zipped in silence.

Only when I was fully clothed again did she speak.

“Elise will be back any minute.”

I nodded, throat too tight for words. My reflection in the mirror looked almost the same as it had twenty minutes earlier—ivory dress, neat hair, the future Mrs. someone. Only the flush on my cheeks and the slight tremor in my hands gave anything away.

Sarah smoothed a strand of hair behind my ear. The gesture was gentle. It felt more intimate than the fucking had.

“I’ll wait in the car,” she said. “Take whatever time you need.”

She slipped out through the curtain. I stood alone in the fitting room listening to the soft click of the suite door, the return of ordinary salon sounds, the frantic beat of my own pulse. Between my legs I was sore and wet and still pulsing with the memory of how completely she had filled me.

I was marrying her brother in eight weeks.

And I had just come twice on his sister’s cock against a three-way mirror while the rest of the world kept shopping for veils.