by Lush, Tamara
This might be my most ridiculous moment, but seeing the genuine and happy grins on the audience, I realize everything will be okay. I can look like a fool and still be pretty. I think.
And then, a breakthrough: this isn’t about me. It’s not my day. This is Kate’s day. I love her and would do anything for her. Even roll down the aisle in front of several dozen people with an air cast and a black scooter while wearing a chiffon bridesmaid dress.
I feel my face getting hot as I glimpse a few people holding cell phones in our direction. Shit. Will people put this on social media? It’s the last thing I need.
By the time we get to the altar, I push aside my hesitation and rest the weight of my injured leg on the little padded area of the scooter. No one here knows me, or who I am, much less what I do for a living. Everyone looks pretty chill. They’re dressed informally, some in Hawaiian shirts and shorts, others in sundresses. No one here cares about my “brand.”
I grin at Damien, who wraps Max in a hug. Tate and Remy join in and they’re like a pile of man-bears. It’s sweet to see how much the Hastings brothers love each other.
And when Kate walks down the aisle alone, all thoughts of my stupid problems vanish, because my best friend looks like a diminutive, lovely angel, and she’s getting married.
Without me saying a word, Max passes me his hankie. I drench it with my tears.
* * *
Who knew partying with a scooter could be so fun?
After the ceremony, I sail down the aisle with a huge grin on my face. It’s hard not to be giddy after that ceremony—the way I see it, Damien’s as much in love with Kate as she is with him. Maybe more. I think they murmured like a dozen I love yous after the vows, and I started blubbering.
It’s all so incredibly sweet, even for my dark heart.
I get a few claps as I scoot around the reception hall. Max laughs, and when I stop, he kisses me on the cheek.
During the party, the scooter stays with me, and I zoom around, talking with people, laughing, joking. The twinges of pain are ever-present, but manageable.
Max and I are never far from each other, and we always seem to be touching—either he’s steadying me with his hand on my back, or I’m leaning into him so I can catch another whiff of his delicious scent.
Eating’s no problem, of course, because I can stay in my seat. And because Max is next to me, flirting. Feeding me appetizers. Caressing my thigh under the table. He found a stool so I can prop up my foot, and like yesterday, secured an ice pack, which eases the pain.
He gives the funniest toast about Damien, something about when they were kids and how Damien is the most honorable man he knows, and that’s when I start getting misty-eyed again.
What is wrong with me? It’s like I’ve become a different woman overnight.
Damien is so honorable in caring for Kate. Sniffling, I give a toast for her.
“I can’t top Max’s storytelling ability,” I say, “But all I know is that Kate is the hardest working, most lovable, kindest person on the planet, and Damien is marrying an absolute angel made flesh.”
Jesus, this whole night makes me hope Damien and Kate stay together for eternity.
The DJ begins playing, and Kate and Damien sway to their first song—“At Last”—and then everyone floods the dance floor.
Of course, I can’t dance, but Max fixes that. During one slow song, he lifts me off the ground and twirls me around a few times. That’s when he plants a big, hard kiss on my lips. We’re in the middle of the dance floor, and I’m positive pretty much everyone in the reception notices. Okay, there’s a smattering of applause.
“You don’t mind the entire wedding sees that?” I ask, breathless. “I’m not used to men wanting to do anything but show me off on Instagram.”
He scowls. “Why would I? I don’t give a damn what people think or say. And my family wants me to be happy, and right now you’re making me really fucking happy. And I’d prefer to show you off in real life, not on social media, cupcake.”
My stomach fills with butterflies whenever he calls me cupcake.
He hoists me in his arms while telling Remy to set my scooter aside, and he’ll return to grab it in a little while.
“Are we going somewhere?” I ask, slinging my arm around his shoulders.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to have a word with you in private.”
“Ooh, a serious talk so soon, Mr. Hastings.”
He practically runs up the one flight of stairs in the resort, then with a deft hand, uses his card key to open the door to his suite. The chiffon of my dress floats around my body when he lies me on the bed.
“I’m afraid we’re not going to be doing a lot of talking.” He undoes his bowtie and allows it to drop on the floor.
“Oh no?” I say, propping myself on my elbows.
He climbs on top of me, carefully avoiding my bad leg. “Is that a problem? Would you prefer to talk? Or maybe play a few more wedding games? You already caught the bouquet.”
“They let me catch it because of my leg,” I murmur, tracing the skin of his neck. “And it’s more like Kate hurled it right at me.”
“Suuure.” He dips his head to kiss me. “Seriously. If you’re not on board with this, if I’m misreading your signals and our tension, or if you’re in pain…”
I grab him by the lapels and pull him close. The ankle is throbbing, but so are other parts of my body. I’m good at dissociating, so I’m choosing to focus on the pleasurable pulsing between my legs. “My ankle’s even better now that I’m in bed.”
He grabs a pillow and carefully props my boot-covered foot on top.
“I’ll be gentle and stay away from that part of your body,” he murmurs, and I swear a flood of wetness rushes to my core at his tone. “Your other parts, though, are mine for tonight.”
How I love the sound of that. “The only thing I want you to do is take off your clothes. Then help me take mine off. And then fuck me.”
His chuckle is low and wicked. “I love the way you think, Ms. Spencer. Or should I say, Ms. Right. Because you are so fucking perfect.”
And as I watch him shuck his coat and unbutton his shirt—revealing a beautiful muscular chest—I think he’s Mr. Right Now.
Fourteen
Max
I want to kiss every inch of her body, but for a few delicious moments, I allow my nose to linger on her neck so I can take in her coconut-jasmine smell.
“I don’t think I’ve ever smelled such a delicious human being. I’ll never be able to smell coconut again without getting a raging hard-on. So, thanks for that.”
She laughs, a little crystalline sound, and I press a kiss to the part of her graceful throat where a vein throbs. Then she squirms and groans. Crap. Her ankle.
“You okay?” I sit up, checking on the position of her foot and ankle.
She nods and reaches for me. “I made a sudden move, and it gave me a twinge of pain. I’m good now.”
“I’m going to have to be gentle with you.” I slide my hands over the silky fabric covering her torso, cupping her breasts. Her curves are insane.
She lets out another moan, but this isn’t one of pain. It’s of impatience and heat.
“You don’t want gentle?” I lean down to kiss her softly.
“Nope,” she whispers fiercely.
Oh, fuck, this woman. She’s like a dream come true.
“In fact, help me get this dress off.” She wriggles underneath me, struggling to sit up. Clouds of light blue fabric surround us. With her messy hair that’s broken free of her up-do, she looks like a beautiful fallen angel. One with a cast on her foot.
The entire package is goddamn irresistible.
“Easy, cupcake. I don’t want you getting re-injured. Allow me.”
While sliding my tongue into her mouth, I sweep her hair over one shoulder, reach around and unzip her dress, then slowly ease it down her body. I’m as anxious as she is, but it’s hilariously sexy to watch her impatience. Also
a huge fucking turn-on. I’m careful to slide the dress up her body and over head, taking my time so it doesn’t snag on the Velcro of her cast.
“Eyes up here,” she says, laughing and pointing at her chest. “I’d rather you look at the rest of my body than my bad ankle.”
I glance up. She’s wearing a matching pale blue bra and panty set, and it makes me chuckle.
“Do you even have an ankle? I don’t see an ankle at all.”
She giggles and pulls me in for a kiss, but I get waylaid by her tits and kiss and nibble on her cleavage. She mewls a little. “I love that,” she says in her sexy kitten voice.
I peel her bra away and run my bottom lip over the puckered skin of her nipple. She gasps. Fuck. Yes.
“I love how you’re eager. That you’re not pretending to not want sex or playing games, trying to make me guess whether to have sex,” I say in between bites of her bottom lip.
“I’m pro-sex. And I’m not going to pretend to be something I’m not. Not with you, at least.”
Well, this seems like a moment of truth. I raise my head from her breasts—reluctantly, because they’re so damned gorgeous and edible—and cock an eyebrow.
“What do you mean by that?”
Fifteen
Lauren
I shouldn’t have said anything because I want his mouth back on my skin, but my mind had short-circuited, and I’d started to babble.
“I mean,” I run my fingers through his hair, “that I live my life showing people the pretend version of me. The beautiful me.”
“You’re not showing the beautiful you? Could’ve fooled me.” He unhooks the front clasp of my bra, and my breasts spring free, his hands and mouth on them. “All of you is incredibly beautiful.”
“No, I show people the fake beautiful me. Not the real Lauren who has a broken ankle and who falls off rocks and who uses a scooter while in a wedding party.”
He moves up my body and captures my mouth in another scorching kiss while pressing his erection into my core. “Which Lauren is underneath me right now?”
“The awkward one who falls off rocks.”
Another press into me, and I respond by grinding into him. My clit is pulsing from the contact.
He looks up as if considering something. “Hmm. Falling off rocks…scooter…that’s the Lauren I want. You good with that?”
I nod, and he skims his hand down my body, over my breasts that ache with need, and down my stomach. He pauses when his fingers reach the lace waistband of my panties, then teases me by slipping a finger under the band, a couple of inches south of my belly button. God, why won’t he touch all of me now? My clit’s throbbing in time with my pulse, seeking his touch. I arch my hips into his hand.
“How wet are you?” he murmurs.
“That’s for you to find out. Hopefully sooner rather than later. So you can hurry up. Anytime, Mr. Hastings. I’m kind of getting off on the older guy thing here.”
He chuckles—I adore his laugh—and slips his fingers into my panties. Into my folds. Slides his fingers right into my wetness, so slick and insistent I gasp when he makes contact with my clit.
“Works for me. Fuck, you are wet.” His voice is hoarse and sounds a little out of control, and I’m glad I’m the one making him that way. “And you’re getting wetter as I finger you.”
I whimper a mmm-hhmmm, and he sucks on my nipple as he circles my clit. It’s been so long since anyone has touched me like this, and no one with this level of expertise. Is he super-experienced with women, or does he somehow magically know where to touch me?
Does it matter? No, not really. It feels so damned good, his fingers dipping and circling. He is thorough, which goes with his commanding, Type A personality.
With a growl, he pulls his hand out of my panties and then strips them off. I’m fully naked now—well, except for the foolish boot, but I’m trying not to pay attention to that—and I spread my legs wide, keeping the boot on the pillow and hopefully out of our line of sight.
He sits up and runs a hand through his hair as if he’s not quite sure what to do with me. The outline of his erection is evident in his tuxedo pants, and I sit up and reach for his belt.
“I was gonna continue what I was doing but…hey. Okay, yes. Let’s do this first.” His voice trails off when I manage to get his pants off, and he slides them over his hips.
Oh, his cock is beautiful. Just long enough, straight, and thick.
“You like?” He grins, holding it.
“Grabby hands,” I whisper. And so I grab.
And he grabs. We both grab and paw at each other, him finger-fucking me while I stroke him. I love this feeling between us. It’s hot and playful. Respectful and filthy. Sweetly dirty. Lots of grinning and gasping.
I’ve never experienced all of these things at once, and it’s a huge, heady turn-on.
I’m about to come when he looks up from my breasts, which he’d been biting softly. “Condom. I need a condom. Wallet. Pants. Need.”
“Don’t bother speaking in complete sentences, though.”
We both laugh, and he circles my clit some more while I squirm into his touch.
“Inside you.”
“Uh,” I groan, also unable to speak because a delicious warmth is spreading from my pussy into the rest of my body. “Almost…”
“Ready to come?” He’s panting.
I nod. “Please?”
He slowly lifts his fingers from my clit and gives them a long lick, sucking my wetness. He closes his eyes, like he’s savoring the taste. Dear God, I’ve never seen anything so sexy.
“I want to fuck but I also want to taste. Your pussy’s like heaven.”
“Heaven?” I grin.
He positions himself between my legs and slides his hands under my ass. I’m already spread for him, and he lifts my hips, and my pussy, into his mouth.
“Definite heaven. Clouds and pearly gates and shit,” he mumbles in between licks.
And if Max Hastings can nearly bring me to orgasm with a few strokes of his fingers, his tongue is absolute magic. The sex endorphins are sure taking my mind off my ankle.
“This should’ve been part of my hospital discharge orders. Oral from Max Hastings.”
Max laughs and kisses my thigh, then continues his soft assault of my clit.
I scream his name—actually scream, something I’ve never done with any other guy—and as I’m throbbing from my orgasm, he’s fumbling for his pants and sheathing himself with a condom.
“Need you right now, cupcake.” He plunges into me, and I gasp.
“Take me.” I bend my bad leg and am instinctually about to wrap it around him when I realize I don’t want to press my inflatable boot into his hip, so I let my knee splay open. As he’d indicated before, he seems to have forgotten I have an ankle, broken or otherwise.
His eyes are half closed, he’s biting his bottom lip, and he’s totally into fucking me. Like grinding. It’s dirty and hot and absolutely perfect how he’s moving in and out of me. Filling me with his thick cock, making me feel adored and worshipped.
“How’s that? Good?” he growls.
Hashtag: #perfect.
All I can do is laugh wickedly. “Max.”
He dips his head to kiss me. “I like when you say my name. I want to come while listening to you say my name.”
I reach for him, drawing him into my body so his full weight is on top of me, and my mouth is next to his ear.
“Max,” I whisper. “I love how you fuck me. Will you come for me, Max? Please, Max? Keep filling me up with your cock.”
He grabs a fistful of my hair and groans, and when I say his name again, he explodes, hard. He lies on top of me for a few panting breaths, then pushes himself up with his arms.
“That, cupcake, was the best fuck I’ve had in years.”
I don’t tell him it was the best fuck I’ve had, ever. All I can do is grin from ear-to-ear.
* * *
We do it twice more. Slow. Like a full ho
ur of nothing but slow grinding and languid kissing. I come twice. Then for our encore, we ravage each other. He pulls my hair; I claw at his back. Well, we do for about thirty seconds, until my ankle makes me yelp.
“Can’t wait until you’re able to be on top,” he murmurs, fluttering a kiss to my knee in an attempt to soothe the pain.
“Awww,” I whisper. Both of us will probably be long gone from Paradise Beach when that’s possible. But I love the sentimen, and how into this—us—he is.
“Is it possible for a thirty-five-year-old man to die from sex?” He’s on his back, hand over his heart. “I don’t think I’ve ever had this kind of chemistry with someone.”
Me neither.
I snuggle up to him. “You’re going to have to keep up, dude. I’m twenty-eight and rolling into my prime.”
He grins and rolls over. “How is it I didn’t know your age until now?”
I trace his bicep. “Hmm. Because we were either kissing or in the emergency room, and we didn’t have time to share the important details?”
“Perhaps.” He presses his lips to my forehead. “You’re going to have to tell me more.”
“About me?”
His eyes close, and he nods. “I’m extremely intrigued by you. Digital nomad, social media star, woman of mystery.”
I highly doubt he’ll be interested when he finds out that the real me is filled with worry, anxiety, and angst. That I’m a lower middle-class girl from Ohio with a wicked case of imposter syndrome. But at least I can continue the charade while I’m here and with him. Although, Max has already seen too much of the real me. Everyone here on Paradise Beach has.
“Maybe tomorrow I’ll tell you more.”
“Mmm. I’d like that. Jesus, I’m sleepy.”
I kiss his beautiful mouth. A few more days. That’s all I have with Max, right?
Then again, where am I going to go? It’s not like I can travel much, not with this foot.
Max lets out a little snore, and I kiss his cheek. The sex god side of him is satisfying, but the older, responsible adult man is also achingly alluring.