Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

MACY

" W hat's this?" I turn over the envelope in my hand. It's plain white with my name written on the front in Spencer's meticulous all-caps handwriting.

"It's a letter. I had some things I wanted to say to you. To get off my chest. You can read it later."

"I don't want it." I try to hand the letter back, but he makes no move to take it from me. "I'm here right now. Why can't you just tell me what you want to say?"

Spencer pushes his glasses up his straight nose. "This way I was able to put my thoughts down in an organized and succinct way. It would take too long to discuss now, especially with Woodall around, all over you, like he's marking his territory." He makes that mucus-y, throat-clearing sound.

How was I ever in love with this man?

"It's disgusting, Macy," he continues with a sneer. "Even right now, he's looking at us."

I glance over to where Wood is standing with Noah. He is, indeed, looking at us. His stare is intent and he's making no attempts to hide it.

The wild look on his face, his eyes on me—they make my heart race and my chest tighten. I like his eyes on me. My skin heats thinking about more than just his eyes on me.

"He's watching because he likes looking out for me, making sure I'm okay. He takes care of me. And he's not just looking at me, he sees me." I push the envelope against Spencer's chest. "You never did."

Afternoon light streams into the sunroom's windows, warming every surface and making them glow, from the white walls to the white, shiny marble floor, and even our matching white, fluffy robes.

Livvy stretches. "Massages were a good idea."

"Yeah. Thanks, Bex."

Bex shrugs. "No need to thank me. I'm just trying to avoid my mother." She laughs.

Livvy groans. "She keeps sending me the most unhinged texts. Like…" She gets out her phone and scrolls for a second, sits up straight with a serious expression, clears her throat, then starts reading in a haughty voice.

"‘Olivia. The dress you were wearing tonight was a bit revealing. I certainly hope this isn't indicative of your entire wardrobe. Mom.'" Livvy looks at us over the phone and exaggeratedly rolls her eyes. "And, yes, she addresses me by name and signs off on her texts as if it's not already clear who the message is to and from. And she uses so many periods. It's really psycho behavior."

Livvy looks back to her phone and puts her lips into a hard line. "This one's priceless. ‘Olivia. I saw you and your friend kissing after dinner. Please be a lady and keep that private. No one wants to see that. Also, I do hope that he will be wearing long sleeves for the wedding, though I doubt there is a collar high enough to cover those drawings on his neck. It really is a shame. Mom.'"

I can't help but giggle. It's probably the one and a half mimosas. "She's that upset over kissing? Imagine if she'd seen you doing what Wood and I caught you doing last night."

Livvy's eyes narrow. "You shush!"

Bex leans in. "What were you doing?"

"Nothing!"

"Definitely not nothing," I say.

"Spill it!"

Livvy's face goes pink but then she starts laughing. "It was just a little blow job in the bathroom. No big deal."

Bex screams and slaps Livvy on the knee. "Oh my god, yes! I love that for you."

"Okay, enough of that. Here's the next one." Livvy pushes her shoulders back, straightening, and goes back to the snooty voice. "‘Olivia. Please help me get through to your sister. She has been drinking too much. I'm concerned. Also, it's classless. Mom.'"

"Ugh," Bex grunts. "She's the reason I'm drinking. She keeps asking me about what's going to be said during the ceremony, and if it's a real priest or one of those people who got ordained online and that it's not too late to find a church." Bex drinks the rest of her third mimosa.

"She's going extra crazy because Dad is flying in tomorrow," Livvy adds.

"One more night before the shit show really begins. Let's enjoy it." Bex pours the rest of the champagne into her glass, not bothering with the orange juice this time.

Tonight is black tie. Orchestra. Fancy.

I eye the dress hanging from the bathroom door. It's the only fancy dress I own. Sundresses? Plenty of them. Even cocktail dresses and that one nice jumpsuit? Totally. Got it. But black tie? No. And I don't exactly have the means or desire to spend a bunch of money on a dress that will gather dust in my closet.

So, it's this cornflower blue silk taffeta dress from when I was a bridesmaid at my sister's wedding…ten years ago, at the age of sixteen. I'm amazed it still fits. In those ten years I've worn it to one other wedding and one upscale Bat Mitsvah.

I'm freshly showered and shaved and, luckily, was able to do my makeup in a way I'm mostly happy with. But my hair, as usual, is not cooperating at all. I'm trying to put it in an up-do, but curls keep escaping, one sticking straight up, defying gravity.

I take out a bobby pin and try to put it back in over the rogue lock of hair, but it just sticks up in a different, weird way behind it. I take it back out. Then another bobby pin. Then two more and throw them down on the sink.

"Everything all right in here?"

"Yes." No.

I peek around the door to Wood having just walked in the room, shutting the door behind him and carrying a floor length garment bag on a hanger.

"Is that your tux for tonight?" I thought there was already one hanging up in the closet, but maybe that's for the wedding and this is a different one.

"No, this is for you."

"Is it my maid of honor dress?"

"It's for tonight. You mentioned not liking your dress, so I thought I might surprise you with a new one."

"I don't remember mentioning my dress."

"It was a couple days ago. I ordered it the next morning. It just barely arrived in time, but Walter made it happen."

I'm frozen in the doorway, blinking at the garment bag. "You got me a dress?"

He shrugs. "I thought it would look nice on you."

I step toward him as he unzips the bag to reveal a gorgeous emerald green dress. I get closer to touch it. It's dripping in beads and lace details around the bodice.

It's beyond amazing and then my vision is blurry and my cheeks are wet before I even know what's happening.

"Shit. You hate it. It's okay. You don't have to wear it?—"

"No." I look up to Wood, worry etched in his forehead. "I love it," I say. "I love it so much." The tears keep coming and now I'm ruining my makeup—the only thing that had been going well for me.

"What's wrong?"

"Now my makeup's a mess and my hair is ridiculous, and there's no way a dress that pretty should be on me."

"Mace." Wood's voice is soft as he lays the dress on the bed and comes to me. He slides his hand around my back and holds me to his chest.

After a few minutes I'm settled, but I don't want to pull away. Mascara marks his T-shirt.

"I think this is the fifth shirt of yours I've ruined," I hiccup.

"I'm going for a dozen. They're like trophies."

"Stop making me laugh, I'm wallowing."

He chuckles, making my cheek bounce against his chest. "Come on, let's fix this."

We walk into the bathroom, and I look at the damage in the mirror. Other than being a little blotchy, my makeup is mostly intact.

"See, it's not that bad. Just a little touch-up around the eyes and you'll be fine," he says, standing behind me in the mirror.

"What about my hair?"

"You should wear it down."

"I should?"

"Yeah. I love it down."

He does?

I'm still a bit overwhelmed when he starts taking my hair down. And then he's combing it out with his fingers and rubbing his fingertips against my scalp in little circles as he does it.

I close my eyes and exhale and my little ball of anxiety unravels and dissolves away just like that.

Then he dries my eyes with a tissue, dabbing so delicately I still can't figure out what I did to deserve him.

"Thank you," I say. "I feel better now."

"Good." He smiles his lopsided grin, and everything feels right.

I touch up my makeup and put a little product in my hair to keep the curls smooth then go out to the room to change while Wood showers.

The beads are mesmerizing in the sunlight as I take the dress out and hold it up against me. I put it on with a little effort—it's a column dress and quite tight around the torso and hips, then goes straight down to the floor with a slit along the right leg that's not too high.

It fits perfectly.

The tag is hanging off the side—one of those that's thick and embossed with a fancy ribbon instead of one of those plastic fasteners. I make the mistake of flipping it over and I see the price.

My jaw drops. Not figuratively. This dress costs as much as six month's worth of rent. And rent in Seattle is not cheap.

Maybe I should tell Wood I can't accept this. It's way too much.

But then I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

The dress really does hug and accentuate every curve. Like it was made for me. Even my small chest is held perfectly in place with just the right amount of cleavage to be sexy yet sophisticated.

My hair looks nice down around my bare shoulders and I look…beautiful.

I've looked in the mirror and thought I looked nice, sure. Cute. Pretty, even. But never have I felt like this.

A little whoosh comes from the doorway and out of the corner of my eye there's a flash of white. I turn to see a white envelope come flying under the door and landing several feet onto the ornate rug.

My name is written in blocky letters across the front. I pick it up just as the bathroom door opens.

I hastily stuff the envelope behind a clock on the dresser and turn with a smile as Wood comes out.

He's dressed in a fitted black tux with a white shirt, white bow tie, and black leather dress shoes. My mouth is dry. He looks so handsome and put together and every bit like a man who can afford the dress I'm wearing.

"Wow, you clean up nice."

He looks up from fixing his cufflink and stills. He's not moving, not talking, making no facial expressions. Very un-Wood-like of him. But his eyes are trailing me slowly down to the floor and all the way up again.

"No one's going to be looking at me. Not when I'm next to you."

I look down at the dress and pretend to smooth out a wrinkle. "Do you like it?"

"You are stunning," he says.

My cheeks are tight, I'm smiling so big.

I walk over to him and straighten his tie. His chest is warm and firm, and I let my hand linger there as I look up at him.

He's looking down at me with his eyes, the color of the dress I no longer have to wear tonight, and a slight smile on his soft lips.

I know how soft they are, and how they feel.

I want to kiss him again.

But I don't.

The west lawn is hidden away behind a wall of hedges—tall arborvitae meticulously sculpted into sharp spirals and boxwoods formed into perfect cubes—and can only be seen from the upper floors of the house.

The only entrance is between two of the arborvitae, where two men stand on either side in tuxes, handing glasses of champagne to each guest as they enter.

Wood and I walk in, my left hand in his, warm and secure, a cold glass of champagne in the other.

The space is grand. An expansive wooden dance floor has been built in the center in front of an area set up with chairs and music stands for the orchestra. Round tables with crisp, white tablecloths are nestled around in the lush, dark green manicured grass. Large topiaries line the inside of the hedges, dripping with white flowers. And string lights span the entire distance overhead.

Servers in all black suits and slicked back hair walk around with trays of hors d'oeuvres while guests mingle, and the wedding coordinator surveys everything while periodically talking into her headset.

I don't see Bex and Jake yet. I look around for Livvy or Noah. No luck.

Two servers walk in front of us, maneuvering their trays around each other, and as they pass, Saundra and Margot are standing on the other side.

I squeeze Wood's hand but it's too late. We've been spotted, and they saunter our way. I take a big breath in and force a smile.

"Mr. Woodall." Saundra nods toward Wood then looks at me. "Macy. What a lovely dress." She looks me up and down, smiling cooly in her sleek black gown.

"You look really nice," Margot agrees.

"She does. Extraordinary." Saundra takes a sip of her champagne.

"You two look great, too. Beautiful dresses." I nod. Am I still smiling?

"Thank you." Margot beams. She's stunning in a low-cut gold, slinky dress. She looks at Wood expectantly.

"All of you ladies look wonderful." He gives them his most dazzling bright grin.

Saundra looks between him and Margot in a way that makes my stomach twist.

"But I think it's safe to say I'm a bit partial to this one right here." Wood leans over and kisses me on the temple. "Always the prettiest girl to me," he whispers.

I don't know if they heard that. I'm too preoccupied breathing in his scent and reveling in how he tightens his arm around my waist so the warmth of his body is pressed all along my side.

Anyway, I like that he said it in a way that was meant for just me. Like it had nothing to do with faking a relationship.

And then he says he sees Noah and excuses us away, and I'm so grateful for it.

Luckily, dinner goes smoothly—all six courses. Well, except for Zayne getting mad at Dane.

It started during the salad course when Zayne noticed one of Dane's exes followed him on Instagram earlier that day. Escalated when he started pointing out how the ex was like-bombing and commenting on everything going back months during the cheese course. And hit its peak as the main course was being served when Zayne ran off after Dane refused to let him see his private messages.

By dessert, they were both back and had made up, the ex in question blocked on every social media platform.

Speaking of dessert, it's a dark chocolate molten cake with a fresh raspberry compote, and as it's served, the orchestra comes out and starts setting up their instruments.

I decline the cake, even though it looks wonderful. I didn't account for it with my insulin earlier, and this dress is skintight and I'm already afraid I'm going to burst a seam.

Still, I watch Wood sink his fork into his cake with a longing sigh.

"Do you want a bite?" Wood asks, chuckling.

I tear my eyes away from his plate and shake my head.

"See," he says, scooping a big, fudgy bite of cake onto his fork, "you're saying no, but the way you've been watching me eat is saying something else entirely."

"I have not," I say, trying to hide how much I'm salivating.

"Just one bite?" He offers it to me.

"You'd share your cake with me?"

"Mace, I will order dessert at every meal just to be able to give you a bite. Or all of it. Whatever you want."

My chest feels too tight, like I can't breathe. It's probably just the dress. Definitely, probably.

I lean forward, opening my mouth. I look up at Wood as he slides his fork in my mouth, the tip of his tongue wetting his lips as the rich chocolate hits my taste buds.

The violins begin playing, softly in the background, hopefully masking the sound of my moan as I finish the bite.

But the way Wood is watching me, eyes half lidded, makes me think he heard it.

Bex and Jake are the first ones to the dance floor, others trickling in after.

Wood leans in, our shoulders touching. "Dance with me?"

"Yes." The word escapes my lips without any hesitation. Without any thought. Maybe it's the champagne.

His face lights up, like he's just as surprised by my quick answer as I am.

He takes me by the hand and leads me to the dance floor. Right in the middle.

"I don't really know what I'm doing," I whisper.

"None of us do," he says with a wink. He places my hand on his shoulder, takes my other hand in his, then holds me around the waist and pulls me in closer. "Just follow me."

Other string instruments join in with the violins in a hauntingly beautiful melody.

He takes a step and I look down to follow and make sure our feet don't get tangled.

"Look up at me," he whispers.

He looks down at me with a smile on his lips. Then the brass instruments start in, the music getting louder and picking up speed.

Suddenly we're moving all around the dance floor, around and through the other dancers and I'm no longer paying attention to my feet. He twirls me and dips me and spins me again, his expression gleeful.

The song ends sooner than I expect, but Wood makes no move to let go of my hand or waist and I don't either. So we dance again.

And again.

It's still warm out, but there's a misty breeze coming up off the water and the sun is getting lower, just dipping to the treetops, elongating all the shadows.

I'm almost out of breath when the next song stops. We're in the center of the floor again. Eyes are probably all over us. But I'm only looking at Wood. And he's only looking at me.

I place my hand on his cheek and lift to my tiptoes. There's a little voice in the back of my mind, feeding all my fears. What if he doesn't get the hint and you're left hanging? Sad and pathetic. What if he doesn't even want to kiss you? You're asking for too much. You're being needy. He's doing this because he's a nice guy. He doesn't actually like you. Not like that.

And for a second, I'm afraid he's going to reject me.

But he doesn't. His lopsided grin appears almost instantly along with his little dimple and he bends to meet me halfway and then his mouth is on mine.

Our lips entwine as he cinches his arms around my waist so that I'm pressed firmly against him. I open my mouth to him, and his exhale of breath as he slips his tongue inside is sweet and soft. Almost desperate.

He kisses me slowly. Long, deep strokes of his tongue against mine. Leisurely. People exit the dance floor around us as new couples enter. A new song begins. We don't dance.

His fingers play at my back, and he moans when I suck his bottom lip between my teeth. He pushes his hips forward as he plunges his tongue back inside to rub against mine, his erection conspicuous against my stomach.

"Should we go back to the room?" he asks, panting, lips puffy from kissing.

"It's still early," I say, just as breathless.

His hand tightens on my hip. "I can't wait."

We leave immediately. He whisks me out of the garden, his arm around my waist, sliding down. Down to my hip. Down, grazing the top of the curve of my bottom.

Up the lawn and into the house. By the time we make it to the stairs to go up to our room, his hand is hot, full-on cupping my butt, and I'm short of breath. I can feel the flush in my chest and cheeks. Tingling between my legs. Nervous excitement swirling in my stomach.

Halfway up the staircase, Wood squeezes my butt at the same time he brushes his lips at my temple, and a jolt of electricity goes straight to my core. My heartbeat focused right between my thighs, pulsing with desire for him already.

"I need you right now," he growls through his teeth.

Before I can comprehend what he's doing, he's lying down on the stairs in front of me. He shimmies down between my legs and grips my thighs, my feet spread on different steps.

"Wood, what are you?—?"

He arches up under my dress, sliding my panties over and starts licking me right there.

I gasp in shock and grab the railing.

Almost everyone is still outside, but there are people walking around downstairs, probably mostly staff, but still.

"Wood—" We should stop , I think, we should go to the room . But his tongue lapping at my pulsing clit feels too good. I can't form the words.

I'm too busy breathing hard, eyes rolling back, and clutching the railing in case my legs buckle.

Finally, I catch my breath and manage to gasp out, "Wood. Room. Now."

His fingers dig into my thighs as he sucks my clit between his lips. I slap my hand over my mouth to keep quiet, the urge to cry out a profanity is intense.

Wood pulls back, the wet, sucking sound loud as he releases me from his mouth.

He looks up at me. "Only if you sit on my face."

"Okay, fine. Yes." I look over my shoulder to make sure no one has seen anything.

When I turn back, Wood is smirking as he gets up, and then he scoops me up around my hips and hoists me up to his chest.

"I can walk."

"Your legs were shaking," he says, carrying me the rest of the way up the stairs and down the hall.

He fumbles with the door handle, not putting me down, getting it open on the second try. Inside, he sets me directly on the bed then locks the door.

His gaze is glued on me as he takes off his jacket and loosens his tie.

The hunger in his eyes is feral.

My panties are soaked.

Rushed, he climbs on the bed. "Come here." He rolls onto his back as he takes me by the hips and guides me to sit over him.

He pushes my dress up, but I'm having a hard time straddling him. I can't get low enough. The dress is too tight to pull up over my hips.

"Fuck," he gasps, "sit on me."

"I'm trying." I grasp at the zipper, but my fingers can't quite reach it.

He slides his hand along the slit of my dress, lips parted, panting. "Rip it."

"Are you kidding?"

"I'll buy you another one." His hands are frantic up my thighs.

"Absolutely not."

I twist around. Wood sits up and yanks at my zipper. My dress flays open and peels down my body. He makes quick work of sliding it down my legs and tossing it to the floor. Then he unbuttons his shirt, and it joins my dress in a crumpled heap on the rug.

I'm kneeling on the bed in my nude colored bra and panties. Should I take these off, too?

But then Wood takes me by the hips and pulls me on top of him as he lays back down, positioning me over his face.

I've never done this before. I ease down, trying to get close enough for him without actually sitting on him.

Foiled. He has a firm hold of my thighs and pulls me down so that I'm fully seated, pussy to mouth, and he starts eating.

I have no other thoughts. All I can do is hold onto the headboard.

After a few minutes, Wood pulls away with a sharp gasp for air. "Can I rip these?"

"Yes."

He tears my beige panties to shreds and gets back to licking. Down to my entrance, he penetrates me with his tongue while his nose rubs against my clit. Then he moves back up to tease and circle my clit with a pointed tongue, before licking with flat, broad strokes.

And just when my moaning is getting louder and my clit is pulsing and aching for more, he sucks it into his hot mouth as he sinks two fingers inside me.

I thrust my hips, grinding on his face.

"Yes," he says, muffled. "More." He's gargling his words like he's drowning in me and he's okay with that. Encouraging it the way his fingers dig into my hips, making me grind harder.

He moves his fingers in and out of me, loudly, then slides his wet fingertips down. One lubed finger glides right into my other hole and I cry out "oh" and "yes" and "more" and then he has two fingers up my bum, making me feel so full. So perfect.

Wood fingers my rear entrance as he mercilessly licks my clit until it's throbbing and swollen, coaxing my orgasm closer and closer to the surface.

Then he adds a third finger and I hear myself say "oh fuck" as I feel myself stretch to accommodate the intrusion. I know it was me, but it feels like someone else said it. Like, when I'm with him, I'm a completely different person.

And then I'm coming, without warning, shattering completely over him while I cling to the headboard, and he keeps licking me through the waves and shudders.

He takes ahold of my waist right as I'm about to collapse. Sitting up, he settles me in his lap and I lay my head against his shoulder as I come down from the orgasm.

My head is still fuzzy, my vision unfocused, but I concentrate on the warmth of his skin against my cheek and the sound of his heartbeat, racing as fast as mine.

His erection is digging into the back of my thigh and when I shift a little in his lap, he lets out a soft whimper and tightens his hands on my hips.

I like that he's hard. I want to think it's not just from the sexual act he just performed on me, but for me, specifically. That I turn him on. Because I'm still turned on, overheated, and achy for more.

I slide off his lap to the bed. He loosens his hold on me, letting me go, but his brows knit together in protest.

"Are you good?" he asks.

I nod, but I can't take my eyes away from the bulge in his pants.

"Can I see it?" I ask.

He tilts his head, then looks down to where his hard-on is straining against his waistband. "You want to see my cock?"

The pulsing between my legs has come back full force, and I squeeze my thighs together to subdue it.

"Yes," I whisper, looking up at him.

He gazes down at me, lips parted, chest rising and falling quickly, pupils dilated.

I get up on my knees as he stands next to the bed, undoing his belt. He undoes the button, then the zipper. Then his pants are in a pile on the floor and he's standing there in only tight, black boxer briefs.

His skin is smooth and tan, glistening over the swells of his muscles. His shoulders are broad, his hips narrow, and his thighs are thick and strong.

"Come here," he says, raspy.

I crawl to the edge of the bed and look up at him, mouth open.

He hooks his thumb into his waistband and pushes them down as he fists himself with his other hand and pulls it out.

His cock is long and thick. Beautiful. Smooth but with a couple veins corded down to the perfectly proportioned head. It's pink with a clear drop of precum at the tip, getting bigger and then starting to trail down the seam.

Without thinking, I lean forward and lick the drop of liquid from his shaft and follow it up to the opening, where more is leaking out as Wood whimpers above me. The sound is heady. Intoxicating. Empowering.

I never sucked Spencer's cock. He adamantly didn't want me to. He didn't give oral either. I'm still not sure why—maybe something about the cleanliness of it, or maybe the submissiveness of it. I had convinced myself that I didn't mind. Didn't need it. And that I wasn't really into giving anyway, so it was a fair trade. I didn't miss it.

But here, right now, just having the head of Wood's cock in my mouth is making me throb and ache and I want to. I want to pleasure him and feel him and have him whimpering at my mercy.

And I want more. I want him inside me.

I take him all the way in, making him say, "Jesus Christ," under his breath.

So I start sucking him off. He rocks his hips, mirroring my movements and holding the back of my head lightly with his hand and cursing and encouraging me.

His cock is impossibly bigger and harder than before, dark pink and shiny. His precum is slightly salty, slightly sweet on my tongue, and my own wetness is dripping between my thighs.

I pull back, letting him slip from between my lips. "I want you," I say, looking up at him.

He's breathing hard, abs tensed, eyes wild on me. "You have me. I'm all yours, fuck, Mace."

"No. I want you inside me."