When you spend four years wanting something, you don’t rush in. I’m going to take my time with her tonight, and this—right here and now in this room—this is just the warmup.

Her breasts thrust forward as she arches her back. I keep my hand between her legs and step closer. With my free hand, I tug down her dress and expose one lace-covered breast.

“You’re beautiful. I can’t wait to undress you, to see all of you.” I suck at her nipple through the lace, and her pussy clenches tight around my fingers.

I love a woman with sensitive breasts. I pull back and tease her with my tongue, circling her nipple before drawing it into my mouth again, all the while pumping my fingers in and out of her.

She squeezes me. Tighter and tighter, and I know she’s close to coming. I need her to come before I go back out there. Once she left my arms on the dance floor, I felt like I was drowning again, looking at my father and knowing what he’d say if he knew how badly I’ve fucked up.

She moans, and the sound washes away some of the chaos in my mind. I need more.

“So fucking beautiful.” My lips brush her ear as I speak. I want to taste her there. Everywhere. “I’ve always liked to look at you. Always loved the way you’re comfortable in your own skin, the way you own a room the minute you walk into it. But you’re even more beautiful when you’re about to come.”

I circle her clit with my thumb. Someone knocks on the door.

She startles in my arms, but I hold her still.

“Stay with me.” She’s so close, and I want to feel her come on my hand, around my fingers.

“Samuel?” My father’s voice. “Did I see you go in there?”

“Come for me,” I say into her ear as he knocks again.

Then I kiss her hard, swallowing her moans as her body contracts and she squeezes around my fingers.

* * *

Liz

Sam ignores his father’s voice and cups me for a few more breaths, allowing me to come down from my orgasm before he pulls away.

“Didn’t you say you saw him go in here?” his father asks someone.

Sam puts his finger to his lips, telling me I should be quiet. The door clicks at the lock as someone turns the knob.

“Call him,” another female says. I recognize the voice as belonging to Della. Despite our jokes at the bar last night, I don’t think she’d be thrilled to find me indecent with her brother. “Here. I’ll do it.”

Sam grabs his phone from his pocket just as it starts to ring. He silences it, but not before they hear the distinct ring tone.

This would be hilarious if it weren’t mortifying.

His father clears his throat. “Come on, Della. He’s clearly . . . busy.”

Della snorts. “God, leave it to Sam.”

We listen to the sounds coming from the other side of the door. After a minute or two passes, we both relax and Sam chuckles.

Standing, I smooth my dress down then smack his shoulder. “I can’t believe we almost got caught.”

Sam grins and grabs me by the hips, pulling my body against his so I can feel the evidence of his erection. “I think you liked it.”

“Liked what?”

That cocky grin again. That I know what gets you off better than you do grin. Hell, he might. “You liked almost getting caught,” he says.

“I didn’t!”

“Nothing shameful there, Rowdy. There’s nothing wrong with a harmless exhibitionist fantasy or two.”

I roll my eyes and scan the floor. “Where’s my underwear?”

Sam shrugs and points over his shoulder as he backs toward the door. “I’d better get back out there.”

“Give me my underwear back,” I grind out between my teeth.

He smirks. “Not a chance.” The lock clicks as he releases it, and then he’s gone, leaving me alone, red-faced, panty-less, and holy shit, so not done with him.

I’m not going to play his game. Hell, I’m not sure what kind of game has a girl going to a wedding reception without panties.

Sam Bradshaw’s kind of game, the slutty angel on my shoulder purrs. But I only go commando in public on my own terms, not because some cocky bastard steals my panties.

Okay, and maybe I’m too embarrassed to go back out there. Maybe I don’t want his dad to look at me and know I was the one holed up in the conference room with his son.

I sneak out a few minutes after Sam and make a beeline for the exit.

I’ve just reached the door when Connor calls my name from behind me. “Wait up a minute.”

So close.

“I don’t want a lecture,” I warn him.

“Tell me you’re not driving and I’ll have no reason to lecture you.”

Turning, I see that he has no clue I was with Sam. I shake my head. I drove here, but I’m still too buzzed to drive home. I’ll leave my car in the lot and walk the half-dozen blocks to the house I rent with my twin sister. “I’m walking. I live close,” I say.

Connor shoves his hands in his pockets and nods. “Just making sure. Do you want me to walk you?”

“I’m okay, but thanks.” Something tugs in my chest—that old regret that I couldn’t want a nice guy like Connor. That night Sam turned me down at Notre Dame, it was Connor who found me sitting on the porch. He’d been cleaning up from the party and shooing the stragglers out the door. He was that guy. The one who made sure everyone had a ride home, the one who got the worst of the mess cleaned up so the house didn’t smell like the bottom of a beer keg come morning.