Masseuse Of Honour

Gal Ritchie paced the bridal suite in her white lace, heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her ears. Maddie Wren slid the door shut with a wink, kicked off her heels, and rolled up her sleeves like she meant business. "Feet on the couch, bride-to-be. Doctor's orders." Her thumbs dug into Gal's shoulders first, working out weeks of tension in small circles that made Gal's head tip forward and a tiny moan slip out. When Maddie knelt to work Gal's arches, Gal's thighs twitched under the satin. Her nipples tightened against the lace cups. A slow heat curled low in her belly. She watched Maddie's fingers glide up her calf, and suddenly nerves were the last thing on her mind. "Maddie," Gal said, voice husky, "if you keep touching me like that I’m gonna need more than a massage to walk down that aisle." Maddie’s hands froze, her eyebrow lifting. "More?" Gal slid her foot up Maddie’s thigh until toes brushed warm skin. "I want you to fuck me," she whispered. "Right here. Make me come so hard I forget my own name for ten whole minutes." Maddie swallowed, color rising, but her best-friend wiring overrode any second thoughts. She grinned, mischief flickering in her eyes. "Well, tradition says the maid of honor handles last-minute emergencies." She leaned in, mouth brushing Gal’s ankle. "And right now your emergency is soaking through that pretty thong." Fingers slid higher, pushing satin aside, and Gal’s gasp turned into a sharp little laugh as Maddie’s tongue found her inner thigh. The bridal suite filled with the soft sounds of lace shifting, wet kisses, and Gal’s increasingly desperate whimpers, each one a promise that her walk down the aisle would be the most relaxed stroll of her life.