Maid of Honor 001

What if he didn’t see the message? Should I call him? Should I walk over to his room, with the camera in my hand and the dress open at the back like that?

The three-condoms pack I had bought a few minutes earlier waited impatiently in the nightstand. I strode over there, tore open the packaging and snatched one. I was going to hide it in my bra, like the first time I pushed my luck with him.

The loud knocking startled me. I dropped back the condom and slammed the drawer shut before rushing to the door.

“Your daughter has turned into Bridezilla,” I said opening the door so wide it hit the wall.

I marched back into the room without waiting for his reply. He closed the door behind himself and followed me. I relaxed a fraction. We were alone in my room. That was a good start.

“What is it now?” he asked, standing rigidly in the middle of the room.

I picked up the camera from the table and pressed it into his hands.

“She wants photos. Of me. In this dress. I couldn’t be there for the fittings, but I sent them my measurements and the dress is fine. See?”

I executed a slow pirouette in front of him, expecting him to comment on the zipper.

“And she said,” I went on when he didn’t say anything, “she said, and I quote, that my selfies suck. I am a visual artist! People pay for the photos I take. I know art is subjective but come on!”

My rant picked up steam and by the end I was breathing hard. Part of me was annoyed with Nora for the earlier wedding rehearsal idea, but mostly the guilt for this charade was strangling me.

The burst of light from the flash broke through my incipient panic attack.

“That cannot look better than my selfie,” I exclaimed. “No way you were far enough to take in everything.”

“Then I’ll try again.” He took a few steps back, until he was with his back to the far wall. “Is this better?”

I stalked over to him, took the camera from his hands and turned around, pressing my back into his chest. I looked through the viewfinder, trying to figure out where I should stand to be fully in frame. His breath caressed the side of my neck, distracting me.

“It should be fine from here,” I said, taking a step forward.

The touch of his hand on my shoulder blade rooted me to the spot.

“Do you want me to pull the zipper…” His voice trailed off, while he ran his fingers over the teeth of the zipper. “Up?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “For the photos.”

That long pause in the middle of his question messed with my head. Did he give me a choice? He offered to pull the zipper up… or down?

“For the photos,” he repeated.

He brushed my hair aside and glided the zipper up slowly. Goosebumps blossomed on my skin. I hoped I hadn’t made a mistake.

I kept up the charade, posing for several photos. It was hard to look at the camera and not at the man behind it.

“That should be enough,” I said when I was fairly sure I had enough photos to choose from.

“I don’t think you will want to send Nora any of them,” he said, looking at the display.

Was he making fun of me? I wasn’t a super model but I usually looked ok in photos. Despite what Nora said, my selfies were actually very cute.

“That’s not a nice thing to say.”

I snatched the camera and hooked it to my laptop. As soon as the photos loaded on the screen, I understood what he meant. Those were not the photos of a demure maid of honor. The woman in those photos would make people click on an ad for an escort service.

“Fuck,” I breathed, getting aroused at the sight of the sensual photos of myself. “This is your fault.”

He came behind my chair, and leaned down, looming over me as he looked at the screen.

“That so?”

His lips brushed my ear when he spoke. His voice was like dark chocolate. Each sound tasted like a bittersweet promise. I went on scrolling through the photos unable to pay attention to anything other than the man hovering over me.

“Oh, I like that one,” he said, and put his hand over mine, pressing the back key a couple of times.

I closed my eyes, blushing as vividly as the red-faced woman on the screen.

“What are you doing?” I asked when he pushed my hand aside and started typing on the keyboard.

“I’m emailing me that photo.”

“Are you kidding?” I tried to push his hands away, but he managed to fend me off with one hand and keep typing with the other.

He wrapped his left arm around me, immobilizing my hands to my chest.

“You look very sweet,” he said, clicking the send button, “and you still have clothes on.”

Still.

Oh. God.

There we were, on the brink of the same mistake. Time to push us off that cliff.

“I looked like I was begging for sex,” I whispered.

His arm tightened around me, crushing my breasts. His voice lowered to a hot, husky whisper.

“Weren’t you?”

My breath caught in my throat.

Come on, Aryra . Close the deal.

“Yes.”

He let his breath out in a slow, steady hiss, like he was relieved and fighting for control at the same time. He straightened up and offered me his hand. I held on to it as I stood up, shaking with anticipation.

“It’s a nice dress,” he said, scanning me up and down leisurely.

“Money well spent,” I replied with a smirk.

“Did I buy that?”

He twirled me around, reminding me of that one time we danced together. Except, now he was entirely sober. The smile sparkling in his stormy green eyes was all the more beautiful for being completely lucid.

“You did.”

He grabbed my waist, and pulled me roughly to him. That hadn’t happened back then, on the dancefloor. I placed my hands flat on his chest, fighting the urge to start undressing him. His fingers dug into my flesh, and his breath came out in a shuddering sigh.

“Do you have any idea how much I want to tear it off you?”

“About as much as I wish you would?” I answered breathlessly.

“Damn it, Aryra , don’t tempt me.”

The mixture of laughter and threat in his voice made my head swim. I tittered on the edge of daring him to do it. Miraculously, I managed to hold back the impulse. At the back of my mind, I must have realized that I’d disappoint Nora if I couldn’t wear the dress she picked. And that I’d have to lie to her about how I ruined it.

“Be gentle then,” I said, looking into his smoldering eyes.

“This time,” he promised. “Turn around.”

He slid the zipper down carefully, pressing a close-mouthed kiss on my spine for every inch of my skin he uncovered. He pushed the dress smoothly off my shoulders, then his hands lingered on my chest. I tried to shove the dress past my breasts myself but he slapped my hands.