First Undressing

Stung

When Tara had said she was getting married outside, it had sounded like a good idea. Beautiful garden, pristine white chairs and flowy sky blue bridesmaids dresses. Bucolic. Lovely. Except Hillary had forgotten about one thing.

Fricking bees.

And now, one of the black and yellow striped devils was in her dress. She couldn’t get it out. She tore at the beaded neckline, wrenching the fabric away from her skin.

Fear wound itself around her throat so tight it was almost as terrifying as the last time she’d been stung: her airway had closed up, she hadn’t been able to breathe. The stab of the epi-pen in her thigh had been the most welcome pain of her life.  Today, she hadn’t brought her purse to the ceremony since she wouldn’t have any place to leave it. The clutch, along with her lipstick, cell, and yes, her goddamn epi-pen, were at the reception site, a golf-cart ride away.

She yanked at the billowy fabric, wishing the cinched neckline weren’t quite so sturdy. The bee’s tiny wings beat against her skin, or at least she imagined they did. Something was definitely fluttering against her ribcage and despite the balmy weather, she’d broken into a cold sweat. This was how she was going to die.

She was about to descend into panicked screaming when there was a tearing sound and suddenly more of her skin was exposed to the air. Someone had ripped her dress. Was continuing to rip her dress. A jerk dug the halter into her neck, hard enough to leave a mark, but then she was free. More importantly, so was the bee.

Cool air and relief filled her lungs at the same time realization flooded her brain. The bee was gone, but so was her dress. She was standing in front of three hundred wedding guests in nothing but lacy boycut underwear and really fantastic shoes.

Sinking to her knees, her coral-tipped fingers sifted through the remains of her dress. It was completely unsalvageable. Fiery embarrassment raced from her hairline to her very exposed chest. When Tara had picked the Grecian gowns, Hillary hadn’t worried. One of the benefits of an A-cup was being bra-optional. She was about to curl up into a ball of mortification when thick, warm fabric settled over her shoulders.

A hand appeared in front of her, palm darker than hers, but not as dark as the wrist it was connected to or the creases at the joints.

“Come on.”

The voice seemed to be connected to the jacket that had been tucked around her and the jacket to the hand on offer. She took it. Her gaze traveled up the white dress shirt, finding a blue tie the same color as the scraps formerly known as her dress and a face backlit by the sun.

The hand, the man, the voice, pulled her up and rested a hand between her shoulder blades, steered her away from the gawking crowd. They approached a small outbuilding, a glorified shed.

Safe inside, Hillary leaned against the door, covered her face with her hands and sank to the floor. That really just happened. Not only had hundreds of people seen her almost naked, the whole thing would be on tape. She’d tried to dissuade Tara from having a videographer, but no. Her friend had wanted to preserve memories of this day in any form humanly possible. Well, that’d show her.

“Are you okay?”

That voice again. When she summoned the courage to look up, she realized who it was. One of the groomsmen. Tara had said there was a friend of Dan’s she wanted to fix Hillary up with. Forever attempting to play Cupid, she’d wanted them to meet at the rehearsal dinner, but a canceled flight and lost luggage meant Hillary hadn’t made it. Denied the introduction last night, Hillary’d spent her idle minutes at the makeshift altar perusing the four men in formal wear across the aisle as they waited for Tara to float between the rows of chairs.

They’d all been attractive, but her eye had kept wandering back to one. Tall with short-cropped hair and the darkest skin she’d ever seen, he was striking. Lankier than her usual tastes, but he had a magnetism her body’s internal compass kept returning to. Not to mention the way he’d smiled when he caught her staring. She’d hoped the jolt of attraction was mutual. Now he was crouched in front of her.

“It’s Hillary, right? Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she croaked, a stark contrast to the deep, lilting chime of his voice.

“You didn’t get stung, did you?”

She shook her head. How did he—

A pounding on the door pierced her sticky thoughts.

She scrambled out of the way as the door swung open and bright white fabric billowed through.

“Hill! Are you alright? And you—” Tara shoved the man in the chest. He took a step back, hands in the air.  “What the hell, Peter?”

“Bee,” Hillary managed before Tara decked the guy. Peter. “A bee got in my dress. I couldn’t get it out.”

Tara went as pale as her dress. She’d been there the last time Hillary’d been stung. Now, as she’d done then, Hillary soothed Tara. Yes, she was okay. No, they shouldn’t wait for her. Yes, they should really go on with the ceremony.

“You always wanted to get married at sunset. If you wait for me, you’ll miss it. Go ahead.”

Tara hemmed and hawed but it was for show, her eyes darting to the door with every breath. After a few more reassurances, she was gone.

“You should go, too,” Hillary told Peter. “No need for you to miss it. Dan would want you there.”

Peter grinned, mouth stretching wide over his teeth. “I mostly came for the open bar.”

A hint of a smile fought against the swarm of emotions in her chest and pushed at her lips. “I’m going to need it. I’m never going to live this down. I told Tara not to get a videographer. They better edit the shit out of this.”

Peter offered her a hand. “I’ll walk you up to the resort. We’ll see them at the reception.”

When she pulled herself to stand, she swayed. Nearly fell. Only bracing herself against Peter’s very solid chest kept her upright. Apparently, the adrenaline she’d been running on had fled the scene. The jacket, Peter’s jacket, gaped while she tried to get her bearings. He didn’t look down, but closed his hands above her elbows. Held her up. “Need another minute?”

She nodded, but didn’t sit. Instead, her gaze wandered down his neck to a perfect Windsor knot, continued over the crest of his shoulder. The outline of an undershirt showed through the white sleeve.

She didn’t want to miss Tara’s wedding. Tara’d been her best friend for a long time and Dan not far behind. She wasn’t going to let a tiny little thing like public nudity stop her. “I don’t want to miss this. I’ve known Tara and Dan since before they were Tara and Dan. I’m the one who convinced her to go out with him in the first place.”

“Isn’t it black tie? I don’t think this counts.”

“I don’t think they’ll mind if I take some liberties, but I’ll need your shirt.”

A crease formed between his brows, but he said, “Sure.”

After making sure she was steady on her feet, he reached for the tie, pulling the knot apart. Emboldened by her near death experience, brimming with a need to seize every opportunity, Hillary took the silk ends from him. “Can I? You got to rip my clothes off, it only seems fair that I get to return the favor.”

He dipped his head and his breath caught as she finished what he’d started before smoothing the tails down his chest, his stomach. Through the shirt, he was lean, and she took more time than necessary to skim back up to the top button. She undid them carefully, slowly, until she tugged the ends out of his pants. He was barely breathing by the time she’d finished.

She slid the tie out from behind his neck and draped it around her own before she pushed the shirt off his shoulders, dragging the pads of her thumbs along the swell of his biceps through the thin cotton of his t-shirt, over the soft skin that clung to the ropey muscles of his forearms. The desire to have her hands on him had been so strong, her decision so impetuous, she’d forgotten to undo his cufflinks to slide the sleeves off his wrists.

A few seconds of fumbling later, he was looking at her again. She didn’t tell him to turn around when she dropped the too-big jacket to the ground, pulled his shirt on and cinched the tie around her waist. She handed Peter his jacket and he shrugged it on while she opened the door. “Shall we?”

“I thought for sure Tara was exaggerating when she told me how badass you are, but I guess not.” Peter shook his head, amusement playing over his features as he offered her his arm. “I’ll follow you anywhere.”

I hope you enjoyed my contribution to the #1stundress blog hop. I had so much fun, I made a mini-pinterest board here, if you like that kind of thing. You can check out the full schedule here. Or if you’ve been keeping up, the other posters for today are Piper Vaughn and Gina Fluharty. Thanks for dropping by!