DeAnne's Dilemma (Naughty Forties Book 2) Page 2

  If you like that sort of thing. I, of course, didn’t. And if you believe that, can I sell you a genuine dress that Cleopatra wore?

  “Come on, sweet pea, where’s your sense of adventure? Let’s do it for Sandy.”

  I gritted my teeth. The next however long was going to be purgatory.

  “Not if you keep calling me sweet pea.”

  You know when you say, “you suffered it for whatever”? Like those actors who stand in a pool of freezing water, “for their art”, or the mum who does a sky dive for a favorite charity even when she’s scared shitless. Or even God help me, eat cheese when you hate it, so as not to upset your hostess? When you’d rather pluck all your pubic hair—if you have any—one by one, than do whatever was being asked of you?

  Well, that was me at that moment. I suffered being so close to Quinn. I could smell his aftershave and his own personal scent. And shit, yes, it did still affect me. I shivered, and he nuzzled the back of my neck, the sod.

  “Still there, isn’t it?”

  I ignored him and the nuzzle, which was sending hot tingles all through me.

  “Oh, it is you know.” His breath feathered over my nape. “You might want to tune it out, deny it, and hope it just goes away. But you can’t, it won’t, and nor will I.”

  The kiss was so fleeting I wasn’t sure if I imagined it or not. But surely my imagination wasn’t that good?

  “Did I tell you that I’ve got a month off? And I’m spending it with you?”

  “No, you’re bl—”

  Oh shit, I’d forgotten where I was. Half the people there were staring at us and a good quarter had fished out strictly not allowed cellphones. Presumably to make sure if I decked him one, they could have it on record and sell it to the rags for mega money.

  “No, you’re not bleeding,” I said loudly. “The thorns missed us.” Thank goodness we stood next to a bed full of abundantly flowering rose bushes, which if my memory wasn’t at fault, were called Blessings. The one next to it was Champagne Moment. Both I hoped very apt. Mind you, I think at that moment one called bittersweet memories would have been more to the point for me. Even though the house belonged to both of us, he couldn’t spend that month with me. We’d either be at each other’s throats or at it like rabbits.

  Hold on, would the latter be so bad?

  Yet another dilemma. I mean I’ve been on a sex moratorium for so long now—apart from those few Quinn-induced slips I mentioned earlier—my clit and pussy will have forgotten what to do. Hot sweats, randy, horny dreams, yes. Reality, no. Clenched muscles? Hold a cock inside? That’s a laugh. If I had to do a mid-flow stop I’d be snookered.

  “If you two are finally ready,” Bolshy Beatrix snapped. “Maybe we could get on? Or is the fact you’re not bloody bleeding more important?”

  I sniggered and turned it into a cough. Quinn pinched my bum, and I trod on his foot. As I’d also been inveigled into six-inch stilettos—and was actually bloody glad I’d had Quinn to lean on as we followed the bride and groom down the aisle—he winced.

  Serves him right. He appeared intent on winding me up. “It’d be hard not to be bloody if you were bleeding, wouldn’t it?” I said sotto voce. “Grief, where’s the gin?”

  To my utter amazement his arm snaked around my waist and he grabbed hold of my hand that wasn’t holding the bouquet and put a plastic bottle into it.

  “With tonic.”

  Now how could I take a healthy swig and not be caught?

  “You can’t.”

  Damn him he read my mind. He had a nasty habit of knowing what I was thinking. Maybe his Granny Mac’s second sight was real and had passed down to him?

  God help us all.

  Anyway, I got through the next half hour somehow. We moved, stood, smiled, and shouted as per instructions. Not as per instructions I managed two very large glugs of G and T before Quinn swiped the bottle back with a murmured, “My turn now.”

  I could hardly demand he return it to me, when after all it was his, so I smiled gracefully as he bent to ostensibly tie his shoelace and finished the gin. Meanwhile I ogled his bum.

  Now please don’t mark us down as lushes—and me as a perv. It probably wasn’t much more than a double and heavy on the tonic, but oh boy, it and the ogle—after all it was a remarkably fine ass—helped restore my happier frame of mind. So what if I still had the hots for him? It didn’t mean I had to act on it, did it?

  Well knowing me…

  And him…

  This could be a bit problematic to say the least. But I consoled myself that we weren’t going to jump each other’s bones in the middle of the reception. We’d just have to be careful not to find a spare room or a folly or something. A folly would be folly.

  “One. Two. Three.” The bouquet sailed through the air. I tried to duck, but Quinn, the bugger, grabbed me around the waist and lifted me high in the air.

  What appeared to be half a flower shop of blooms and greenery headed toward my face. I put up my hands to ward it off.

  Big mistake. On automatic I caught the darned thing.

  The cheers, jeers, and innuendos were long, loud, and only just on the right side of polite.

  “Now what does that mean, I wonder?” Quinn asked me as I thrust it at him. “Do you wish you’d had this sort of stuff and not three agave karatoos?”

  “Nope.” I loved that native flower, and although I had no intention of telling him, I’d saved one and it was pressed in my memory book.

  “If you say so.”

  Damn it he knew me too well.

  Chapter Three

  With that in mind, I took his arm gracefully and walked, or rather teetered across the lawn to the ballroom of the house Sandy and Alistair had rented for their weekend of celebration. One we reached it, I tugged Quinn to one side into an alcove screened by a potted fern and some semitransparent curtains. Private enough to be mainly unseen, but not too private for us to get up to anything we shouldn’t at a wedding reception. Or anywhere else public, if it comes to that.

  “I need to get out of these bloody shoes,” I said. “Torture instruments.”

  He wiggled his foot. “You can say that again. My instep will never be the same. What the heck are they?”

  I lifted the hem of my skirts to show the OTT silver and diamante straps that anchored the sole and dagger-like heel to my foot, and he blinked.

  “No bloody wonder it hurt. You could maim a rhinoceros with that. Yeah, kick ‘em off and let me stamp on them.”

  There was just one problem with that scenario. I couldn’t bend over far enough to reach the strap. This contraption Sandy’s got me into is a tad too constricting. In fact, it’s a wonder I could even breathe. “I can’t reach them.”

  “You what?’ He stared at me in amazement, and then patted my bum again. “Hmm.”

  “Hmm, what?” I distrusted the mischievous look in his eyes. It usually preceded something naughty.

  “Hmm, hold on a sec.” He moved his hand from my ass to my waist and then walked his fingers up to the nape of my neck. “It’s a bloody straightjacket. She’s got you in a compression suit. No wonder you’re getting red in the face. Poor sweet. Let’s get you out of it and comfy.” He swung me into his arms. “Now how best to do it unseen?”

  “Not like this, you idiot. Put me down.” The tabloids would have a field day if they got hold of that.

  “Must I?” He did, with what I decided was considerable reluctance. “So what next?”

  “Help me hobble to a seat somewhere where I can flop, and you can undo the buckle without looking as if you’re doing the hand in marriage thing again. Actually, scrub the ‘again’. You never did it the first time.”

  “I didn’t, did I? Poor sweet pea, did you feel cheated?”

  “Nope.” Of course I had, but I wasn’t going to admit it.

  “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

  He really had the knack of getting under my skin.

  “Go take a hike.”

  He bowed
and winked. “As you wish.” Then the bugger turned on his heel and left me there.

  In the end, it wasn’t as bad as I feared. I stuck my head around the potted fern, and spotted Rhonda and Sandie, that’s Sandie with an “ie” not Sandy the bride, which when we speak can be confusing, along with Lou, another friend, nipping outside, no doubt for Lou to have a crafty fag.

  “Psst.” I waved my hand to attract their attention. “I need your help.”

  Rhonda stopped dead. “What the?” She turned to Sandie and Lou. “You two go on. We’ll be with you in a sec. Okay, Dedeannie, what have you been up to?”

  I hate that nickname. It’s so, so…

  Oh, ignore me. It just reminds me of when I broke up with a boy, when I was aged about eleven and he went around singing “DedeAnnie is a fanny”.

  Sadly, I couldn’t think of anything to rhyme with his name, Arthur.

  “Nothing.” More’s the pity. “I need to get out of these shoes, so I don’t break my neck.” I’d like to get out of my underwear as well, but that might be too much information where anyone else could hear us.

  “Oh gawd, yes. I’ve ditched mine. So why don’t you?”

  “Holdy in knickers.”

  “Oh fuck, I forgot about them.” She grasped what I meant straight away. “I waited ‘til you and her went for the bride and maid—matron of honor pics and hid mine behind the loo. I must remember to grab them later. Right come on. Hobble with me.” We made our way, smiling through our teeth to various guests, until we came to a door with a sign “bride and bridesmaids only”. It was the bathroom for us to use and not get our dresses stuck in the door or whatever. We both got inside, even though it was a tight fit, and then with a lot of sniggering she sat on the floor and managed to get my sandals off.

  “So, what is it with you and Quinn?” she asked, oh so casually. You know the tone. Where someone pretends it’s of no consequence whether you answer or not, but you know if you don’t they will grind their teeth, and diss you. “Are you thinking of getting back together, or…”

  I’d never really told anyone why we’d split, except saying his job meant we couldn’t sustain our relationship. A load of cobblers but it seemed to work. But Rhonda was my mate and as closed mouthed as the zipper on a tight-fisted bloke’s wallet. If I couldn’t confide in her, who could I share my worries—and hopes—with?

  “I doubt it,” I said. “So probably it’s the or. It’s been so long, and as with most things something not so big, now seems insurmountable.” I paused. “And when it all kicked off it was a mountain to me. I thought, with a lot of help from several bitches, he was playing away.”

  “Quinn? Not in a million years,” Rhonda said with certainty. “He only had eyes for you.”

  She was one of the few around in those days. “Well muggins here couldn’t believe it, and things conspired to increase my uncertainty. God, I was a twerp. Then he was away for a while, and well … I decided he didn’t want me. I wasn’t going to hang around to become discarded like a holey sock or sommat. I went. Now…” I sighed with pleasure as those damned shoes were shoved in a corner. “Now I’d demand to know what the fuck was going on, and blast those bitches out of the water. Then I just got whiny and pathetic. But they were so bloody plausible, and I was so bloody gullible.”

  “So, you don’t believe it now?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Then what are you gonna do about it?” Rhonda sat back on her knees and twisted around until her dress wasn’t a straightjacket. “Seems it’s up to you.”

  “No idea,” I said truthfully. “Apologize and then see?”

  “All you can do, I guess. Good luck. Now what?”

  I wriggled my toes and didn’t get them caught behind a rhinestone or something. Bliss. Now if only I could get the underwear off as well… I judged the space. Maybe?

  “Rhonda, if you unzip me so I can wriggle out of this dress, then leave and give me space, I reckon I’ll get out of the ‘hold it all in crap’ and be able to enjoy my food. Once I can breathe without restriction, I’ll give you a shout to come back and rezip me. Okay?”

  “Sure, no probs.” She struggled to her feet—there really wasn’t space for two people with boobs above an A cup, and we were both, shall I say, shapely. We shuffled around until she could reach the zipper.

  “Right, I’ll wait outside.” She opened the door, left the tiny room, which wasn’t a lot bigger than my airing cupboard at home and closed it behind her. Actually, I reckon it was an airing cupboard as well, because there was a large water tank on one wall, shelves and a sink on the other, and the loo in the middle. The fourth wall was door and mirror.

  I got out of the dress and unpopped the poppers of the thingy—I honestly have no idea what you call them—with a satisfying loud snapping noise. Now to wriggle out of it, without messing my hair.

  It wasn’t easy, and oh boy, was I sweating when I finished, but at least me and my girls were unconfined and enjoying it. Yes, I hoped I—or rather Rhonda—could get it done up again, but at that moment it was sheer unfettered joy all the way.

  After pulling the dress up, I opened the door to call Rhonda back in.

  Just in time to see her walking down the corridor and looking over her shoulder with an agonized expression. Beatrix the photographer’s stentorian tones floated back to me.

  “Now go to the foyer and do not move. I’m rounding up the others for a bridesmaid shoot. Are you sure you don’t know where DeAnne is?”

  “Not a clue.”

  Thank God for friends, but what could I do now?

  “Why are you skulking behind a cupboard door like a burglar?”

  “Argh.” I turned ‘round in a hurry, banged my elbow, and swore as the pain shot up to my shoulder and brought tears to my eyes. “Do not creep up on me like that.”

  Quinn stood there with a hurt expression. “I didn’t creep. I don’t have brothel creepers on, just shoes without a heavy tread.”

  Lord I’d forgotten he called soft soled shoes by that rather descriptive title.

  “Sorry, I’m in a bit of a fix.” Though why I was apologizing when he was the one who startled me, heaven only knows.

  He raised one eyebrow. “Can I help?”

  Resigned, I opened the door wider.

  “Come in.”

  “Said the spider to the fly?” he asked as we stood boobs to chest. “Why are you standing hunched up like that? Ah.” He stared at the floor behind me where I’d dropped and not picked up the torture costume. “Need to be stuffed back into your dress?”

  “Well I’d have preferred it to be phrased with a little more finesse, but yes, that’s the essence of it.”

  He nodded, all serious now. “Then turn around and let me see what I can do.”

  That involved another body to body experience, and boy, by the time my ass was rubbing his cock, his very wide awake and up for anything cock, my pussy was tingling and my thighs damp.

  “Now let’s see.” He began to tug the two sides of my dress together. “I think this is what’s needed.”

  Darn it.

  Then it seemed he changed his mind, as within a second my top half was bare, my arms pinned to the side by the sash I hadn’t noticed him taking off me, and his hands caressed my boobs.

  My all of a sudden oh so sensitive with nipples standing to attention boobs.

  “No, I was wrong,” he said in a matter of fact way. “This is.”

  “Wh—ahh…”

  He pinched my nipples and began to rub them between thumb and forefinger. Sheesh.

  “More…”

  “Oh, there’s a lot more. Play with your gorgeous breasts, Dee, whilst I get my zipper down and my cock into you.”

  There was an invitation I had no intention of refusing.

  This wedding was looking up.

  How lucky I’d ended up facing the mirror. It was such a bloody turn-on as I watched myself play with my boobs, saw his hands move, and then there was the sound of a zipper being
unzipped—well, I hoped it was undone, not sure if there’s difference between up and down—with care. Then his fingers touched my back oh so softly.

  “I want to lick you, suck you, make you scream. Fill you, spill into you, and over your soft skin. Come with you, tremble with you, and relax with you. Sleep with you and wake up next to you. But…” He nipped my shoulder, not hard but hard enough to register.

  “But for now…”

  I hardly dared breathe as he inched the skirt up around my waist.

  “For now, I want us to make love. To be as one.”

  Damned if that wasn’t one of the most romantic things I’d heard in ages. Time for me to get involved. I bent forward and opened my legs for ease of his access.

  “That’s my girl. Bloody gorgeous, you wide open all for me. Now then let me see.” Slowly his cock nudged the entrance to my pussy.

  “It’s like coming home,” Quinn breathed as he thrust into me like a knife though soft butter.

  And just like that I knew I’d never stopped loving him.

  Then he moved, and I knew I wanted us to be together again.

  Sadly, life’s not that neat, eh?

  Just as we both began to pant—we’d always been in tune like that—there was a hammering on the door.

  “Dee? You still in there? Beatrix the dominatrix is shouting for you and Sandie. The woman is getting awfully hot under the collar.”

  “Thought they didn’t wear the collar,” Quinn said. “The subs did.” We weren’t into kink but knew some of our friends were.

  I choked on a giggle.

  “She’s sent me to find you both,” Rhonda said. “Is he with you?”

  Quinn groaned into my hair and slumped onto my back. Still hard in me I noted as I tried to unscramble my brain.

  “No, just me, I’ll be out in a sec.”

  “Did you sort the dress and so on? Do you need me to come in?”

  Er? Shit… “Nah, I’m fine. Yeah, just about sorted.” Quinn the bugger began to move again, fucking me faster and faster until I was sure Rhonda would notice the slap-slap of him drilling into me, and my boobs hitting the door. “See you where?”