Champagne Before Nine

The champagne was flowing before nine in the morning, and nobody saw anything wrong with that.

"Why the hell not?" Charlotte said, lifting her flute toward the ceiling of the hotel suite while bubbles tickled her nose. "It's not every day your best friend gets married."

Hannah spun around in front of the full-length mirror, her wedding dress catching light like it had been spun from sugar glass. The gown was fitted through the bodice, ivory lace climbing her collarbones, then flaring into a skirt that moved like water when she walked. Her makeup was done — soft bronze on the lids, a nude lip, individual lashes that made her brown eyes look enormous and slightly dangerous.

"Stop fidgeting," Charlotte said, stepping closer to adjust the thin lace strap on Hannah's shoulder. Her fingers brushed bare skin. Hannah shivered.

"You're the one who told me to spin."

"I told you to admire yourself. There's a difference." Charlotte's voice dropped half a register. She was wearing a pale blush bridesmaid dress, simple and elegant, her dark hair swept to one side. She looked beautiful, but she knew — everyone in the room knew — that today belonged to Hannah.

James stood near the window with his own glass, watching the two women. He was Hannah's older brother, and he'd been volunteered into service as the "champagne wrangler," which was a title he'd invented twenty minutes ago and took very seriously. He topped off Charlotte's glass, then Hannah's, then his own.

"You look incredible," he said to Hannah, and his voice was genuine enough that Hannah's eyes got a little shiny.

"Don't you dare make me cry before I've even got to the venue," Hannah said, pointing a manicured nail at him. "This concealer was forty dollars."

Charlotte moved to the vanity table where a second bottle of champagne sat chilling in a silver bucket. She poured more into her own glass, then caught her own reflection and paused. Behind her, reflected in the mirror, Hannah was adjusting the small pearl buttons at the back of her dress, her fingers struggling with the highest one near her neck.

"Here," Charlotte said, crossing the room. "Let me."

She stood behind Hannah and reached up, her fingers finding the tiny button and looping it through the corresponding thread. The task required her to stand close — close enough that her breath moved the small hairs at the nape of Hannah's neck. She smelled like jasmine and something warmer underneath, vanilla maybe, or just skin.

Hannah went still.

Charlotte fastened the button. Then didn't move.

"You smell good," Charlotte murmured. It was the kind of thing a friend could say, but the way her lips barely moved and the way her eyes stayed fixed on the curve of Hannah's neck made it something else entirely.

"It's the perfume you bought me," Hannah said. Her voice had a slight wobble in it.

"I know." Charlotte's fingertips rested on Hannah's shoulder, just where the lace met bare skin. She traced a slow line along the edge of the fabric, following it down to where it narrowed at Hannah's waist. Goosebumps trailed in the wake of her touch, visible on Hannah's arms.

James cleared his throat from the window. Neither woman turned around.

"I'm going to go check on the car," he said, setting his glass down. "You two have... whatever this is... under control?"

"We're fine," Charlotte said, not looking away from Hannah's reflection.

"Five minutes," Hannah added quickly, a little breathless.

James grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair and slipped out the door. The latch clicked shut. The room got very quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioning and the faint clink of condensation dripping off the champagne bottle into the bucket.

Charlotte's hand was still on Hannah's waist.

"I've wanted to tell you something," Charlotte said. Her thumb moved in a tiny circle against the lace. "For about two years now, if I'm being honest."

Hannah turned around. They were close — Charlotte's chin was level with Hannah's collarbone, and she had to tilt her face up. Their eyes met. Hannah's lips were slightly parted, the nude lipstick catching light.

"Tell me," Hannah whispered.

Charlotte reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind Hannah's ear. Her fingers lingered there, tracing the shell of cartilage, then trailing down along her jaw.

"I think you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen," Charlotte said. "And watching you in this dress is making it very hard for me to be a good bridesmaid."

Hannah's breath caught. She could feel the warmth of Charlotte's body through the thin fabric of the dress, could see the flush creeping up Charlotte's chest, above the neckline of her blush dress.

"You've been staring at me all morning," Hannah said. It wasn't an accusation.

"You noticed?"

"I noticed."

Charlotte's hand moved from Hannah's jaw to the side of her neck, her fingers curling gently into the soft skin there. Hannah's eyes fluttered. She could feel herself getting warm — not just her face, but lower, deeper, the kind of heat that had no business making an appearance while she was wearing a wedding dress.

"Charlotte," Hannah said, and her voice was barely a sound.

"I know you're getting married today. I know this is — I know." Charlotte's other hand found Hannah's hip, pulling her slightly closer. "But I've never been good at keeping things bottled up, and you're standing there looking like that, and I just..."

Hannah kissed her.

It wasn't a hesitant kiss. Hannah's hand came up and gripped the back of Charlotte's neck, pulling her in, and their mouths met with a soft, wet heat that made Charlotte's knees buckle slightly. Hannah's lips tasted like champagne and the faint sweetness of her lip balm. Charlotte opened her mouth and felt Hannah's tongue slide against hers, slow and deliberate, and a sound escaped her that she didn't plan — a small, hungry moan that vibrated between them.

Hannah pulled back just enough to speak, their foreheads touching.

"I've thought about you," Hannah admitted. "More than I should have. Especially lately."

"When?" Charlotte's voice was rough.

"Late nights. When I couldn't sleep. When I was thinking about what I was about to do — marry him — and whether I was being honest with myself about what I actually wanted."

Charlotte kissed her again, harder this time, her hands moving to Hannah's waist and gripping the fabric of the dress. She walked Hannah backward until the backs of Hannah's knees hit the edge of the bed, and then they were falling — not roughly, but slowly, Charlotte's hands cradling Hannah as she sank onto the white duvet, the wedding dress spreading around her like a flower.

Charlotte climbed over her, one knee between Hannah's thighs, and looked down. Hannah's makeup was still perfect. Her hair was still pinned. The dress was bunched slightly at the hips, and Charlotte could see — could feel, against her thigh — the unmistakable shape of Hannah's cock, half hard beneath the layers of silk and lace.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Charlotte said, and the swear word felt right in her mouth, felt earned.

Hannah's hips shifted upward, pressing herself against Charlotte's thigh. The friction sent a pulse of heat through her belly. She reached for Charlotte's face and pulled her down into another kiss, deeper, messier, their tongues sliding together while Charlotte's hand traveled down the front of the dress, fingers finding the slit in the skirt and slipping beneath it.

Her hand brushed Hannah's inner thigh — bare, warm, smooth — and then higher, until her fingers met the edge of lacy underwear. Hannah groaned into Charlotte's mouth.

"Can I?" Charlotte whispered against Hannah's lips.

"Yes. Please."

Charlotte's fingers slipped beneath the waistband and found Hannah's cock, fully hard now, thick and warm against her palm. She wrapped her hand around it and stroked slowly, feeling the weight of it, the softness of the skin over the rigid shaft. Hannah broke the kiss and let her head fall back against the pillows, her lips swollen, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

Charlotte slid down the bed, parting the layers of the wedding dress until she could see — Hannah's cock, flushed and curved upward, the tip already slick. She looked up at Hannah, holding eye contact as she lowered her mouth.

The first touch of her tongue was slow, a flat broad stroke from base to tip that made Hannah's hips jerk. Charlotte smiled, then took the head into her mouth, sealing her lips around it and sucking gently. Hannah's hand found Charlotte's hair and gripped — not pushing, just holding on.

Charlotte worked her way down, taking more of Hannah's cock into her mouth, her tongue swirling along the underside. She could taste the salt of pre-cum and the clean faint scent of Hannah's body. She pulled back, then sank down again, establishing a rhythm, her hand wrapped around the base where her mouth couldn't reach.

"Oh god," Hannah breathed. Her fingers tightened in Charlotte's hair. "Charlotte, that's — fuck, that feels so good."

Charlotte hummed around her, and the vibration made Hannah's back arch off the bed. She continued, relentless, her head bobbing in a steady tempo, saliva wetting the shaft and making everything slick. Her free hand traveled up Hannah's body, over the lace bodice, finding one of Hannah's breasts through the fabric and squeezing.

Hannah was trembling. She could feel the orgasm building, a tightening low in her belly, pressure gathering at the base of her spine. But she didn't want to come yet — not like this, not alone.

"Stop," she gasped, tugging gently on Charlotte's hair. "I want to be inside you."

Charlotte pulled off with a wet pop, her lips swollen and pink, her eyes dark. She stood up from the bed and reached behind herself, unzipping her bridesmaid dress and letting it fall to the floor. Underneath she wore a simple matching set — pale pink bra and thong, her skin flushed from her chest to her cheeks.

Hannah sat up on the edge of the bed, her wedding dress pooling around her, her cock jutting obscenely from the parted slit in the skirt. She looked like something out of a painting — obscene and sacred at the same time.

"Come here," Hannah said.

Charlotte stepped out of her thong and moved to stand between Hannah's knees. Hannah reached up and unclasped Charlotte's bra, letting it fall, then leaned forward and pressed her mouth to Charlotte's stomach, kissing the soft skin just below her navel. Charlotte's hands came to rest on Hannah's shoulders, her nails digging in slightly.

Hannah's hand slid between Charlotte's thighs, fingers finding her pussy — wet, swollen, ready. She slid two fingers along the length of her slit, gathering the slickness, then circled Charlotte's clit with her thumb. Charlotte's legs shook.

"I need you," Charlotte said. "Right now. I can't wait."

Hannah pulled her hand back and gripped her own cock, angling it upward. Charlotte climbed onto the bed, straddling Hannah's lap, the wedding dress bunched between them. She reached down and positioned Hannah's cock at her entrance, then sank down.

They both made a sound — Hannah a low groan, Charlotte a sharp gasp. Charlotte took her time, lowering herself inch by inch, feeling the stretch, the fullness, the deep pressure of Hannah inside her. When she was fully seated, she paused, her forehead against Hannah's, both of them breathing hard.

"Move," Hannah whispered.

Charlotte lifted her hips and dropped back down, setting a slow, grinding pace. Hannah's hands gripped her waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips. The angle was perfect — each thrust dragged Hannah's cock against the front wall of Charlotte's pussy, and Charlotte could feel her clit pressing against Hannah's lower belly with every downstroke.

"Fuck," Charlotte hissed. "You feel so deep."

Hannah kissed her, swallowing her moans, then thrust her hips upward to meet Charlotte's rhythm. The pace increased — Charlotte bouncing faster, the bed creaking beneath them, the wedding dress rustling and shifting. Hannah could feel the orgasm building again, could feel Charlotte tightening around her.

"I'm close," Charlotte panted. "Don't stop, don't stop —"

Hannah drove upward, hard, holding Charlotte's hips in place while she fucked up into her. Charlotte's head fell back, her breasts bouncing, her mouth open. She came with a cry that she tried to muffle against her own hand — her whole body clenching, her pussy gripping Hannah's cock like a fist, wave after wave of pleasure rolling through her.

Hannah kept thrusting through Charlotte's orgasm, prolonging it, until Charlotte was shaking and oversensitive. Then Hannah lifted her — carefully, an arm under her thighs — and flipped her onto her back on the bed.

Charlotte lay sprawled on the white duvet, her legs spread, her pussy glistening. Hannah climbed over her, wedding dress and all, and pushed back inside with one long stroke.

This time Hannah set the pace — slow, deep, relentless. She braced herself on her forearms and fucked Charlotte with long measured thrusts, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in to the hilt. Charlotte wrapped her legs around Hannah's waist, her heels digging into the back of Hannah's thighs.

"Harder," Charlotte whispered. "Give me everything."

Hannah obliged. She sped up, her hips snapping forward, the sound of their bodies meeting sharp and wet in the quiet room. Charlotte was building again — she could feel a second orgasm gathering, deeper than the first, a pressure that made her toes curl.

"You're going to make me come again," Charlotte gasped.

"Come for me," Hannah said, her voice strained. She was close too, could feel the edge approaching. "Come on my cock."

Charlotte's second orgasm hit her like a wave crashing — her back arched, her nails raked down Hannah's back through the lace, and she sobbed Hannah's name into the pillow. Her pussy clamped down, pulsing, and Hannah felt the climax tear through Charlotte's body around her.

Hannah pulled out at the last second, gripping her cock and stroking twice, three times. She came with a groan, thick ropes of cum shooting across Charlotte's stomach, her chest, her chin — the final pulse landing on Charlotte's cheek and lips.

They stayed like that for a long moment, breathing hard, Hannah braced above Charlotte, cum cooling on Charlotte's skin.

Then Charlotte laughed — a breathless, incredulous laugh.

"Your makeup is still perfect," she said.

Hannah looked at herself in the mirror across the room. Her lipstick was smudged and her hair was wrecked, but somehow the foundation and eye makeup had held.

"Yours, on the other hand," Hannah said, grinning.

Charlotte wiped her face with the back of her hand, looked at the cum on her fingers, and then — holding Hannah's gaze — brought her fingers to her mouth and licked them clean. Hannah felt a twitch of renewed interest between her thighs.

Charlotte sat up and reached for Hannah's cock, still half hard and glistening with both of them. She leaned forward and took it in her mouth again, cleaning it thoroughly, her tongue swirling over every inch, sucking gently until Hannah was clean and trembling from overstimulation.

"Okay," Charlotte said, finally releasing her with a soft kiss to the tip. "Now I really need to fix my makeup."

They scrambled — champagne-fueled and giddy — to repair the damage. Charlotte wiped down with a hotel towel, reapplied her lipstick, repinned a few stray pieces of hair. Hannah straightened her dress, fixed the pearl buttons, and did a hasty repair on her hair with bobby pins from the vanity.

By the time James knocked on the door — "Car's here, you two alive in there?" — they looked presentable. Almost.

Charlotte's cheeks were flushed. Hannah's smile was a little too wide. They exchanged a glance as they walked out of the suite, a look that said everything and nothing at the same time.

The ceremony was beautiful. Hannah walked down the aisle to string music, her dress trailing behind her, her eyes locked on her groom. Charlotte stood at the altar holding a bouquet of peonies, her heart hammering against her ribs.

When Hannah reached the front and turned to face her groom, she glanced sideways at Charlotte. Just for a second. A flicker of something warm and secret passed between them.

Charlotte smiled and looked down at her bouquet.

The officiant spoke. Vows were exchanged. Rings were placed on fingers. When the groom kissed the bride, Charlotte cheered with everyone else, champagne in hand, her lips still tingling.

At the reception, she found James at the bar.

"So," James said, sliding her a fresh glass. "What did I miss in that hotel room?"

Charlotte took a long sip.

"Nothing," she said. "Just bridesmaid stuff."

James raised an eyebrow. "Bridesmaid stuff."

"Girl things. You wouldn't understand."

He studied her face for a moment, then shrugged. "Whatever you say. You look like you just had the best morning of your life, though."

Charlotte glanced across the room to where Hannah was dancing with her new husband, the wedding dress spinning and catching light. Hannah looked over her husband's shoulder and caught Charlotte's eye.

That look again. Warm. Knowing. A little bit hungry.

Charlotte raised her glass toward the bride.

"To the most beautiful person I've ever seen," she murmured, and drank.

James clinked his glass against hers. "I'll drink to that."

The band played on. The champagne flowed. And somewhere between the first dance and the cake cutting, Charlotte slipped away to the bridal suite, where she found a note tucked into her clutch — Hannah's handwriting, slightly smudged.

"Room 814. Midnight. Bring the champagne."

Charlotte folded the note, slid it into her bra, and went back to the party with a smile that she couldn't have wiped off her face for all the concealer in the world.