Resisting Rosaleen (18+)

21

Then, I released his thumb from my mouth and trailed his hand down my chest, stopping on my left breast. My nipples were hard because of the cold and his hands sent satisfying warmth to my skin.

There was a sound from the back of his throat. With his free hand, he downed the rest of the alcohol in his glass. Then, Mr. Camillo pulled me to stand in between his legs.

I giggled at Nick. He glared at me as his hands found their way to my sides. He wasn't saying anything, but I could imagine an 'I shouldn't be doing this.'

"You want it," I said a matter-of-factly and wrapped my arms around his neck.

He pouted for a second and in a flash, his lips were on mine.

We could be caught any second. But I didn't want to stop.

He stood from the stool, not breaking the kiss. Nikolas tasted like whiskey and I hated it. I sucked on his lower lip, desperately ridding the taste of alcohol from him.

What that made him do was groan appreciatively. His left hand found my ass and his right wound around my neck. I rubbed my lower stomach against him, feeling hardness underneath his pants.

We had to pull away or else. I planted my hands on his shoulders and started pushing him back. Nikolas fought against it. His lips were still on mine despite his hands retreating.

"Wyatt," I breathed out when I pulled away, "He'll be back in any second."

Mr. Camillo glowered at me. Then, I felt strong fingers roughly grip my ass and I was pulled towards him again.

"Feel it," his voice turned breathy as he led my hand to his crotch, making me stroke him against the thick fabric of his jeans. Holy fuck? He was getting bolder and although it was what I wanted, it freaked me out to actually experience it.

"Where the hell are the robes?" Wyatt yelled from upstairs, making both of us flinch. I hopped back.

Oh, right.

I hid the spare towels and bathrobes.

Wyatt eventually came back with a towel and I thanked him. Even though I wanted to stay, I had to let the men have their time. I also got what I wanted already and took the time after a shower to lay in my bed and prolong what happened by fantasy.

The weekend was busy. I woke up to Ben barking orders downstairs about where the cupcakes should go, how the lights should be, and etc.

I was born to wear Versace. That was the first thought that came to mind when I saw myself in the mirror. The article of clothing hugged my curves graciously, the silk feeling soft and rich against my skin.

The dress was black. A shade of black that screamed expensive, if colors could talk. Although the theme was gold and white, I gave myself the right to stray slightly.

For other people, black is plain black, but for me, I note how black varies. Jet black is my favorite because it's the color of my hair and the color of my dress.

And, if colors could move, my gold eyeshadow would've smacked the guests across their faces.

My hair fell down to my waist in glorious waves. I don't usually say this, seen as dark hair seems default and I grew up having a hard time appreciating it, but I do love my hair. It grew on me. Literally. I love my face. I love my body.

After I slipped on my black stilettos, I grabbed my gold purse and went downstairs where the party had begun. Our mansion was transformed into an events place. The backyard's where the real party's at with white and gold tables and chairs set up and two buffet tables on either side.