SUMMER
Cade is a beast of a man. Tall and impossibly broad with thick muscles that are obviously not accustomed to wearing suits. His short cropped dark hair matches the trimmed dark beard. Then there are those heavily lashed hazel eyes of his that I swear can see into my very soul.
He’s still got his large and warm hand at my back as we take the elevator and I hate this damn dress. I hate how self-conscious I feel in it. Hate how it shows off the curves I usually dress to downplay. Hate the reminder of everything this day was supposed to be.
Of all the things I can’t let myself think about right now, that’s the big one. If I let myself swim around in those thoughts, I’ll drown.
So instead of thinking about those things, I glance at the man beside me and ask the first inane question that pops in my head. “So why aren’t you staying at the wedding hotel?”
As if it’s any of my business.
I don’t recognize him, which could mean he’s from Aaron’s side or that he’s one of the many people my mom invited whom I don’t know. My own damn wedding and I had fewer people on the guest list than my mother. I didn’t even pick anything out, not my bridesmaids, not my wedding dress, frankly not even the groom. Which just about sums up my day, my engagement, and my whole damn life.
Get it together, Summer.
Do not start crying in the elevator. Do not do it, or this stranger will do what he’s been trying to do since the moment you climbed in his car.
He’ll ditch you faster than a busted carburetor, and then where would you be? Soaking wet in a stolen bridesmaid’s dress, in a hotel you can’t afford a room at because your purse and wallet are back at the church, that’s where.
I sniffle loudly.
His gaze shifts toward me, like he’s afraid to look directly at me. I don’t blame him, since no one loves a hysterical woman. How many times has my mother told me that?
Stop being so emotional, Summer. We are Whitmore’s, not delicate crybabies.
“Allergies,” I lie baldly.
He clears his throat. “I wasn’t sure if I could make it or not.”
‘’What?”
“To the wedding. I wasn’t sure I’d make it so I missed the deadline to reserve a room at the wedding hotel.” His voice is so deep and kinda scratchy and I just want to swim around in it.
“Oh.” I say stupidly, because I’d almost forgotten I’d asked him a question. “Where do you live?”
“Corpus Christi.”
The elevator dings and the doors open on the third floor.
Thank God, because I thought the elevator ride would never end.
I follow his lead and we go into his room. It’s a standard King mini-suite with a living area partitioned off by a pony wall, and there’s a small fridge, sink and microwave making up the kitchenette.
He scrapes his fingers through his hair and rain drops fall onto his shoulders. He removes the suit jacket and tosses it in the corner onto the desk chair.
“The bathroom is right there if you want to get out of that dress and warm up in the shower. I can loan you something to put on.” He moves to a suitcase that’s open and so neatly organized it’s kinda shocking. Each item of clothing is so tightly rolled I can’t tell what anything is. It’s just a row of methodically rolled tubes of fabric.
Somehow, the neatness of the suitcase makes me even more aware of how I must look to him—like a drippy, disheveled mess—and I want out of this dress even more. Which hardly seems possible, but there it is.
“You can just put whatever on the counter. I desperately want to get out of this dress. It’s hideous.”
He faces me and his eyes travel the length of my body.
I’m not a small woman. I’ve got curves on my curves and I am nearly busting out of this dress. Especially considering it’s not even mine and was made for a woman much smaller.
Ironically, it was made for the bridesmaid Aaron was fucking.
Or maybe it’s not ironic. Maybe it’s just pathetic.
When I found my fiancé fucking a bridesmaid, I knew I had to flee from my own wedding. And the only item of clothing I could find (other than the obnoxiously large Bo peep styled wedding gown that my mother had picked out) was Tracy’s bridesmaid gown, because, of course, she wasn’t wearing it.
But, despite the hideous dress, there is nothing but heat and appreciation in Cade’s gaze as he looks at me. His eyes linger on my breasts which are currently trying to fall out of this ridiculous dress.
He swallows visibly. “Aren’t all bridesmaids dresses ugly?”
I chuckle. “Yeah, I guess they are.” I go into the bathroom and shut the door.
For the first time this entire shitty day I take a deep cleansing breath. I’d gone to find Aaron to tell him I couldn’t go through with it. The entirety of our relationship, I’d been trying to do the right thing, to be the kind of woman my family wanted me to be, the kind of woman he would want. But the truth is I don’t love Aaron and I know he doesn’t love me.
I knew that even before I found them fucking in one of the Sunday school classrooms, her bare ass on a table stacked with hymnals. Neither one of them seemed to notice the worship music so near their fornicating. Now I know why he demanded I make Tracy my maid of honor.
Shoving aside thoughts of my mother’s pushiness, Aaron’s unfaithfulness, and my own spinelessness, I reach behind me to unzip the damn thing. But the zipper seems to be stuck. I shimmy and wiggle and try to get it to work, but no matter what I do I can’t get the damn thing to budge.
I’m trapped in this dress. Just like I’ve been trapped my whole life. Trapped in my mother’s expectations. Trapped by my fear of disappointing people. Trapped by my fear of being unloved and unlovable.
My mother is tall and thin and blond and beautiful. She’s the perfect daughter of the former governor of the great state of Texas. She married my father who had political aspirations of his own. His premature death cut those dreams short. She’s never remarried and I’m the only child from their decade-long marriage.
No matter how I try, at the end of the day, I will never be the daughter my mother wants. I will never be thin and poised. I will never be politically ambitious.
I will always be the socially awkward girl who is too chubby to look good in Ann Taylor and who talks too much to be charming. I will always be more interested in chrome and pinstripes than I am in platinum and manicures. I will always love the smell of dust and diesel more than Chanel No. 5.
Basically, I will always disappoint my mom. And I can’t pretend that I fit into her world any more than I can pretend I fit into this stupid fucking green mermaid dress.
That I am still trapped in, damn it!
I open the door and call out, “Cade?”
He comes straight to me, this time he’s only wearing his black trousers and socks and he is a sight to behold. He’s not quite as big as like the Rock is, but he’s a sizable dude and I swear his biceps are nearly the size of my head. He’s got brown hair on his chest and then it tapers down his stomach bisecting those movie-star abs.
“I didn’t realize real men had those.” I recognize that I’m pointing at his stomach and I feel like the biggest idiot. Once again, my lack of filter cements my coolness.
I immediately turn my back to him. “I can’t seem to get the zipper to come down. Can you help?”
I feel the heat of his body behind me before I feel his touch. He maneuvers me further into the bathroom. “That hallway has shit lighting.”
Now I’m facing the mirror and he’s behind me, his head down, focused on my back. He’s at least a head taller than me and so broad. I just want to lean back into his warmth and pretend I’m somebody else for just a little while. Or rather I want to stop pretending I’m perfect, poised Summer, who does whatever her mother and fiancé instruct. I want to be myself.
I want to wear my hair down and wear black nail polish and go to the grocery store in flip-flops with a messy bun and no make-up. I want to geek out about muscle cars instead of keeping my mouth shut all the time. I’m tired of feeling like a plus-sized Stepford wife.
He’s tugging on the zipper, but he’s not having any luck either. He looks up. For a moment, his eyes roam over the reflection of the two of us. He is so big—so tall and broad—that for the first time in my entire life, I don’t feel too big. My height and curves seem to match his size.
And, somehow, despite that fact that he is hands down the hottest guy I’ve ever seen in person, there is heat and the undeniable spark of interest in his eyes as his gaze takes in our reflection.
Finally, his gaze meets mine.
“How much do you love this dress?”
“I hate this dress.”
“Excellent.” Then he grabs the top of the dress and rips it open. The zipper splits and fabric tears.
His movement is jarring and shocking and so damn hot, my panties are immediately soaked.
“Oh wow,” I say, but it comes out breathy and kinda like a moan.
Again our eyes meet.
I swallow. Then I reach behind me and grab his leg and pull him flush to my body. His erection pressed into my ass. Exactly what I was hoping would happen. I’m never this bold with men. But I’ve also never wanted any man the way I want Cade.
As inexplicable as it seems that this hot, ripped stranger wants me, the evidence of his rock hard cock is undeniable. And as equally inexplicable that I am this turned on by a total stranger, I am.
Maybe it’s the heightened emotion of the day, of finally finding the courage to defy everyone’s expectation and stand up for what I want. Maybe it’s the adrenaline surge from our escape from the church and our run through the rain. Maybe it’s the rain itself. That crazy Texas rain that pours from the sky, causing flash floods, sweeping away cars. And apparently common sense.
“You gotta man, Sugar?”
“Not anymore.”
His knuckles run up my spine leaving chills in their wake. “Tell me you want this,” he says.
I don’t even have to ask what he means. It’s there in the heat of his muddy-green gaze and growl of his voice and it stirs something frantic and needy inside of me. “Maybe this rainstorm is making me crazy, because this is completely out of my character, but I do. I want this. Desperately.”
“Fuck, Summer.” He spreads the fabric of the destroyed dress so that it falls off my shoulders.
I’m still wearing my bridal lingerie, the lacy white bra with the matching panties, garter belt and stockings.
He doesn’t waste any time unhooking my bra and swiping it off my body so I’m bare. My nipples have been hard because of the wet dress, but now they tighten even more because of the heat of his gaze.
His big hands come around and cup both of my breasts. His palms are warm as they scrape across my sensitive buds. Hot lips, then teeth meet the tender spot between my shoulder and neck. I’ve never done anything like this before. Never had a random hookup, never a one-night-stand. I’ve only been intimate with two other guys before, but for whatever reason—the circumstances, Cade, this damn day—everything about this moment feels right. I close my eyes and toss my head back.
“Open your eyes, Sugar, I want you to know who’s touching you.”
So we’re just going to do this right here. Oh wow. It’s been a really long time since I was intimate with a man and to say my body is overheated would be a major understatement. I’m so ripe, I’m nearly falling off the tree.
Then his hands are back on the remainder of the dress which he effectively renders in two. He’s so damn hot, I can’t even believe it. Once the dress is nothing but a crumpled piece of fabric on the bathroom floor, he steps back from me.
I watch his eyes travel down the back of me. Is he going to change his mind now? Now that he can see how thick my thighs are, the dimples in my skin, the size of my ass. I hold my breath and wait for him to walk away from me.
“Goddamn, Sugar, you are something else. Like peaches and cream. What color is your hair when it’s dry?”
I lick my lips. “Bright red. I’ve been told I favor that actress, Christina something.”
“She’s not as pretty as you.” One arm comes around my body and his hand smooths down my stomach and slides right into the front of my panties. One finger slips between my folds and I swallow my groan. “None of that. I want to hear your noises. Every moan, every pant, they belong to me. Who’s making you wet like this?”
“You are.”
“Name.”
“Cade. You’re making me so wet, Cade.”
“That’s right, Sugar.” He slides that thick finger inside me.
“Yes,” I hiss.
“I’m going to make you even wetter. I’m going to finger this pretty pussy until you come all over my hand. Then I’m going to fuck you from behind.”
“Oh God.” No man has ever talked to me like this. I wouldn’t have thought I’d like such a thing, but it is making me so hot. “I want all of that.”
He removes his hand, then he grabs the back of my thong and tugs until the lace snaps. He slides it out—the lace caressing my tender flesh as it moves—and drops it on the floor. He grabs my ass, one cheek in each hand.
“This ass.”
“Don’t you think those blue jeans highlight the parts of your figure you’d rather disguise?”.
My mother’s words are like a damn specter haunting my subconscious. “It’s big, I know.”
“It’s fucking perfect. You hear me?”
I know it’s not perfect. It’s too big. Too much. Like all of me is.
But when he looks at me like this, I almost believe him. I want to believe him. Want to believe that it’s fucking perfect to him. So, I nod.
“Open your legs a little wider. That’s it. Look at you standing there in nothing but a garter belt and those sheer fucking stockings. You’re like a fantasy come to life.” He pulls his wallet out of his pocket, takes something out of it, then sets them both on the bathroom counter. Wallet. Condom.
Then he’s got one hand on my breast and one between my thighs.
He’s playing my body like it was made specifically for him. He rolls my nipple between his fingers. Two fingers slide up inside me and curl until they reach that elusive spot I’ve never been able to find.
“Oh yes.”
The heel of his hand presses right against my clit as he begins to rock his fingers inside me.
“Turn your head, Sugar. I wanna kiss you.”
I do as I’m told and his lips crush to mine. I’ve never kissed a man with facial hair before and it immediately makes me wonder what that would feel like between my thighs. His tongue slides against mine and he growls as I kiss him back. It’s sloppy and single-handedly the hottest kiss of my life.
There are so many sensations happening in my body right now I’m not sure where to focus. My orgasm comes out of nowhere, slamming through my body in nearly violent waves. I pull away from our kiss and cry out his name. He keeps his fingers moving, wringing out every last bit of my climax, until I nearly collapse back into him.
One thick forearm wraps around my middle. The contrast between his darker skin with the even darker hair sprinkled across his arm is blatant, but nothing has ever looked or felt more right to me than that.