Chapter 69 Chapter 19: The Groom’s Seat

Chapter 69 Chapter 19: The Groom’s Seat
❝I zipped her into her gown, but I wanted him to unzip me out of mine.❞

The bride was glowing. But I was burning.

I fluffed her veil, forced a smile, and adjusted her bouquet like I hadn’t just had an eye fuck war with her soon-to-be husband behind the dressing room mirror. Everyone thought I was the perfect maid of honour. Polished. Loyal. Innocent.

But if they knew what my thoughts sounded like the second he brushed past me, they’d set fire to the church and call me a whore in the morning.

Jared.

Golden skin, sleeves of tattoos hidden beneath his suit, mouth made for sin.

And he was marrying my best friend.

What started as innocent glances during fittings turned into flirtatious messages at 2AM. A joke about "accidentally" marrying me instead. The moment I pressed my thighs together wasn’t the moment I crossed the line. It was when I replied, “Maybe you should.”

Now, thirty minutes before vows, he walked into the bridal prep room under the excuse of looking for champagne.

Everyone else had stepped out to give the bride a moment alone. Only I had stayed behind. She was in the bathroom fixing her lashes. I was bent over her veil when he closed the door behind him.

Click.

I turned.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t smile. He walked straight up to me.

I backed into the vanity.

He caged me in with one hand on the wall.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, voice low and ragged. “You shouldn’t look at me like that. Not today.”

But his eyes trailed down to the lace at the top of my maid of honor dress like he’d memorized the pattern.

I exhaled sharply. “Then go.”

“I can’t.”

Neither could I.

His mouth crashed onto mine like a sin he'd been dying to commit. Our tongues tangled, hungry and furious. The kiss tasted like guilt, champagne, and everything we weren’t allowed to want.

“Ten minutes,” he murmured, slipping his hand beneath the slit of my gown. “Give me ten minutes before I walk out there and ruin my life.”

I should have stopped him. Should’ve reminded him he was the groom.

Instead, I hiked up my dress and whispered, “Then take your seat.”

He dropped to his knees.

His mouth devoured me like this was our last confession. His tongue worshipped me, fingers digging into my thighs. I bit down on my knuckles to keep from moaning out loud as he traced every inch of me like he’d been waiting a lifetime to learn my taste.

The wedding clock ticked louder.

“I’m close,” I gasped.

His mouth didn’t stop. If anything, he worked harder, hungrier, determined to make me fall apart on the edge of his tongue before he said “I do” to someone else.

And I did. Hard.

When I looked down, he was staring up at me, mouth glistening, pupils blown wide. He stood, adjusting himself beneath his tux pants.

I looked at the clock.

He had three minutes to get married.

We said nothing.

He opened the door and turned once, eyes full of heat and regret. “Last chance. Tell me to leave her.”

I froze.

The bride’s voice echoed from the bathroom.

“Is he gone? I’m ready now!”

He stared at me.

My lips parted