Two Days Before The Wedding

Evangeline

I’ve always been drawn to the unknown, and this night is no exception.

I’m sitting at the bar, slowly sipping probably my third glass of whatever the fuck the barman mixed up for me. I like it, it’s why I’m on the third glass. Do you know why I like it? Because it makes me so sensitive, so aware of my surroundings. So aware of the man in a black suit staring at me with intrigue from the other end of the bar.

Or maybe he isn’t staring at me. Maybe it’s me who’s staring at him.

Isn’t he the groom—or groom to be?

It has to be him. I think I saw his friends dumping a full bottle of whiskey down his throat, screaming about how he should enjoy his last nights of freedom.

It has to be him.

God forgive me for drooling over someone else’s husband to be, but this man is beautiful; dangerously handsome. He’s still sitting, but I can tell he lacks nothing in height too. And his hair, it looks like he just walked out the shower after having the most demanding sex of his life.

What am I thinking?

Why can’t I walk away from things that’ll hurt me?

I jump off the bar stool and stagger my way to him. Not too close, I wouldn’t want to chase him away. 

I think his eyes rake over my form just once before he looks away, heaving out a sigh.

“For someone who’s soon to be married, you sure look miserable, Mr?”

“Creed,” the man replies, his words slurred, almost like he’s absent minded. “Alexander Creed.” He completes.

He brings his hand forward, gesturing me to take it in a shake. I stare at the hand for a moment, stalling building his anticipation. His brow quirks, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk. I mirror his smirk, and instead of taking the hand, I curl my fingers around my glass and bring my drink to my lips, taking a sip.

“And what is a fine man like you looking so miserable about?” I ask slowly, my gaze meeting his for a brief moment.

He shakes his head with a small laugh, his eyes twinkling. So adorable. “Do I look miserable?” He asks.

“Utterly and completely,” I answer, nodding my head affirmatively.

“You’re insane,” He chuckles, taking a sip of his drink like he’s enjoying our exchange a little too much. He continues, “I don’t like the noise, and the crowd. And I’m so confused.”

“Confused?” I quiz.

“Hm,” he hums a response. His glass slips between his lips, and instead of the usual sips, he gulps the entire content with a groan. “There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to get married, a part of me that doesn’t just despise the idea, but also loathes the person I’m marrying. Fuck. . .I’m sharing too much, am I not?”

“You sure are. . .” I tsk, wanting to lessen the grim emotion. “But what are the chances that we’ll ever cross paths again?”

“The world is a small place, Miss?”

“Evangeline,” I answer quickly, “and you, my friend, have got limited time. Come on, let’s have some fun. I’ll teach you how to tune out the crowd and focus on your own fun.” 

He pins me a nerve wracking, pussy melting gaze, his gray orbs burning with an unexplainable intensity. “You’re awfully bold, aren’t you?”

“Not bold, just practical. If you’re miserable, you fix it. And right now, you look like a man in desperate need of a fix.”

A faint smile tugs at the corner of his lips. It’s tired, half-hearted, but it’s there. “You’re trouble,” he mutters, setting his glass down.

“You have no idea,” I quip, holding my hand out to him.

His eyes are moving sharply, darting between my hand and my eyes, brows raised. He’s resisting, holding back. Maybe he wants to be a good man to the woman he’s marrying, maybe despite his confusion and hate, he doesn’t want to hurt her or anyone.

I think for a moment, he almost doesn’t take my hand. With a loud exhale, his hand finds my glass, fisting and bringing it to his lips, dumping the remnant of my drink down his throat. The action makes him bold and he slowly rises to his feet, exuding such power that almost startles me into running away.

His hand slides into mine and mine disappears.

God, he’s so big.

Don’t let me fall into sin tonight.

I tug him toward the dance floor, weaving through the crowd. My head spins a little, but it’s the good kind of spin—the kind that makes the room feel alive. When we reach the center, I turn to face him, flashing what I hope is an encouraging smile.

“Dance with me!” I shout over the music and loud crowd, swaying to the rhythm of the music that’s thrumming through the speakers.

“You’re serious?” He raises an eyebrow, amusement and awe dancing in his eyes. 

“Completely. Let go, Mr. Creed. Show me what you’ve got.”

His amusement takes the better of him and laughter tumbles out of him. It’s quick, short-lived but it’s the most melodic sound I’ve heard in a while. “You’re not joking. . .” he mutters.

“And you’re stalling,” I tease, grabbing his other hand.

At first, he’s stiff, awkward, clearly uncomfortable. But the more I move, the more I smile and laugh, the more he loosens up. His hands find my waist, holding me firm. And we start to move together.  

We soon forget the crowd and noise he hates so much. And it’s just the two of us, laughing and dancing like we’ve known each other for years, like we’ve done this a million times. His head tilts back as he laughs again—a full, deep laugh this time. It sends a thrill through me.

“See?” I say, catching my breath. “Not so miserable now, are you?”

“You’re something else,” he replies, his voice low, warm. 

I’m definitely falling into sin tonight.

The energy shifts into something intense, and Mr. Creed curls his hand tighter around my face, pulling me into him. My pulse roars in my ear and I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the way this man leans down and brushes his lips over mine.

I gasp into his mouth and he moves back, his eyes on mine, our breaths mingling, lighting up an unquenchable fire. 

He’s about to be married—my subconscious sings. 

Fuck me. 

We can’t stop now, can we? Not when we’re outside the club and in an elevator moving up the main building of the hotel, not when we’re walking into what I believe is his hotel room. Exquisite. The man has got taste.

Alexander turns to face me, his chest rising and falling as he tugs his jacket away. “You’re so beautiful, angel.” He murmurs, his hand cradling my face, thumb stroking my cheek.

Fuck me.

There’s no going back now.

Everything else happens so fast, in blurs. I’m naked before I know it, moaning from the stroking of his tongue, my body tingling. I don’t know what makes it all so good, the alcohol or the fact that this man knows how to please a woman. 

And then he drives into me with a force that has my eyes rolling to the back of my head. Panting, groans, grunts, slapping of skin, fills the room.

It’s pure ecstasy.

And by the time he’s done drilling me, I don’t find the energy to leave. We lay there, tangled with one another as sleep claims us.

What a night.