Chapter 1: The Confession
The air in her bedroom was thick with the scent of jasmine perfume and summer heat. Alyssa sat on the edge of her lace-covered bed, the wedding dress hanging on the closet door a silent, expensive ghost. It was beautiful. It was perfect. It felt like a costume for someone else.
She’d been sitting there for twenty minutes, just staring at it, a cold knot of dread tightening in her stomach. The fan in the corner whirred, pushing damp air around but doing nothing to cool the panic pricking at her skin.
A soft knock at the door made her jump.
“Aly? You in there?” Scott’s voice, warm and familiar, came through the wood. “Your dad sent me up. Said you’re hiding from your mom.”
She let out a shaky breath. “It’s open.”
The door swung inward and Scott stepped in, a sympathetic smile on his face. “The field general is on the warpath about centerpieces. I thought I’d…” His words died in his throat.
Alyssa wasn’t hiding. She was on display.
She sat completely still, wearing nothing but a tiny white thong. The afternoon light from the window washed over her, painting her skin in gold. She saw his eyes, wide with shock, travel over her body in one swift, involuntary sweep. Over the full, heavy breasts that needed no bra, their tips tight and pink in the cool air of the room. Down the flat plane of her stomach, over the curve of her hips, the strong, toned legs she’d earned on the soccer field, now folded nervously beneath her.
Time stretched, thin and silent.
Scott’s face flushed a deep red. He jerked his gaze up to the ceiling, then to the wall, anywhere but at her. “Jesus Christ, Alyssa. I’m sorry. I’ll just…”
“Don’t go.”
Her voice was small, but it stopped him. He kept his eyes fixed on the wedding dress. “Put something on, kid. This isn’t…”
“I’m scared, Scott.”
The raw fear in her voice made him look back. He tried to keep his focus on her face, but it was a battle. Her nakedness was a physical force in the room. “It’s normal. Wedding jitters. Everyone gets them.”
“Not like this.” She swallowed, her throat working. “I’m getting married in two days. And Cody… he expects… you know. The wedding night. And I’ve never… I don’t know what to do.”
“That’s between you and Cody,” Scott said, his voice strained. He could smell her perfume, something sweet and young. He could see the rapid beat of her pulse at the base of her throat. “You’ll figure it out.”
“I won’t.” A tear traced a path down her cheek. “We’ve made out. That’s it. He’s tried, but I always stop him. I’ve never even seen one. A… you know.”
Scott’s mind went blank. He was her father’s best friend. He’d watched her grow up. He’d pushed her on swings. This was wrong. This was so profoundly wrong his brain screamed at him to leave.
But his feet were rooted to the floor.
“You need to talk to him,” Scott managed to say. “Not me.”
“I can’t talk to him about this. He’ll think I’m a child. He’ll be disappointed.” She stood up suddenly, and the movement was breathtaking. She was all smooth skin and gentle curves, strength and softness. She took a step toward him. “I trust you.”
“Alyssa, no.” He took a step back, hitting the door frame. “This is a bad idea. A terrible idea.”
“Please.” Another step. She was close now. He could feel the heat coming off her body. “I just… I need to not be scared for one second. I need to know what it’s supposed to feel like. With someone I’m not afraid of.”
Her hand came up, trembling, and her fingertips brushed the front of his shirt. The contact jolted through him like a live wire. Every rule, every boundary, shattered.
He caught her wrist, but he didn’t push it away. His own breathing was ragged. “Do you have any idea what you’re asking?”
“Yes.” Her eyes were huge, earnest, terrified. “I’m asking you to show me.”
A low groan escaped him. It was a sound of surrender. His control, held so tightly for so long, snapped.
He pulled her to him, his mouth crashing down on hers. It wasn’t gentle. It was hungry, desperate, a release of a tension he’d never allowed himself to acknowledge. She gasped against his lips, her body melting into his. Her skin was so soft. So impossibly soft.
His hands slid down her back, over the swell of her ass, gripping her through the flimsy fabric of her thong. He lifted her easily and she wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms locking around his neck. He carried her the few steps to the bed, falling with her onto the lace coverlet, his weight pressing her down.
He broke the kiss, staring down at her. Her lips were swollen, her cheeks flushed. “Last chance,” he growled, his voice rough. “Tell me to stop.”
Her answer was to arch her hips beneath him, a clumsy, innocent motion that sent a bolt of pure lust straight to his cock. He reached between them, fumbling with his belt and zipper. He shoved his jeans and boxers down just enough to free himself.
Her eyes dropped. She went completely still, her breath catching. “Oh,” she whispered, a mix of awe and fear.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, though nothing was okay. He was so hard it hurt. He guided himself, the head of his cock nudging against her. She was warm. Wet. Her readiness, despite her fear, destroyed the last of his hesitation.
He pushed inside.
A sharp cry tore from her throat. Her eyes flew wide, filling with tears. He stopped, buried to the hilt, his whole body trembling with the effort not to move. “Breathe, Aly. Just breathe.”
She nodded, a tiny, frantic motion, her nails digging into his shoulders. The pain on her face was fading, replaced by a dazed wonder. She shifted her hips, a tiny experimental rock, and her mouth formed a silent ‘O’.
That was all the encouragement he needed.
He began to move. Slowly at first, a long, deep withdrawal followed by a smooth, rolling thrust. Her tightness was unbelievable, a hot, silken fist squeezing him. He set a rhythm, each stroke stoking a fire in his gut.
“Look at me,” he commanded, and her glassy eyes focused on his. “This is what it feels like.”
He drove into her harder, deeper. The bed began to creak in time with their movement. Her little gasps turned into moans. She was learning fast, her hips rising to meet his, her legs wrapping tighter around him. He could feel her inner muscles beginning to flutter, to clutch at him.
“Scott… I feel… something’s…”
“Let it happen,” he grunted. He slid a hand between them, his thumb finding the sensitive nub at the apex of her sex. He circled it, pressed it, his thrusts becoming harder, more urgent. The slap of skin on skin filled the perfumed air.
Her back arched off the bed. A broken, sobbing cry erupted from her as she came, her body seizing around him in rhythmic pulses. The sight of it, the feel of it, tore his own climax from him. He slammed into her one last, deep time, holding himself there as he spilled into her with a ragged shout, his vision whiting out at the edges.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their harsh breathing and the hum of the fan.
Reality returned in a cold, sickening wave.
He collapsed beside her, pulling out. A wet, warm stain spread on the lace beneath them. He stared at it, then at the perfect curve of her bare hip, the wedding dress still hanging like a sentinel on the door.
What had he done?
Alyssa turned onto her side, curling against him, a contented, sleepy sigh escaping her lips. She traced a finger over his chest. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Scott said nothing. He stared at the ceiling, the weight of his betrayal settling onto his chest, heavy and final. The wedding was in two days. And he had just ruined everything.