by Alina Jacobs
“Is this some sort of ham-fisted attempt to bring the conversation around to covering your dick in chocolate?” I asked, eyebrow raised.
“Me?” Evan asked in mock indignation. “Never!”
The elevator dinged, and I stepped off to ring the doorbell. Evan stood behind me. His breath was hot on the back of my neck. “I bet I could make you lose your cool, make you let go of that professional demeanor. I just have to put my tongue in your—Hi, Mika!” he said loudly when his sister opened the door.
“You’re in luck,” Mika whispered to us as she ushered us inside. “Imogen just had a shot glass of a probiotic drink, so her blood sugar’s up, and she’s fairly well-tempered.”
After greeting everyone, I handed out copies of the proposed ceremony program. Imogen read through it. If she hadn’t just had her Botox redone, she’d probably be scowling.
“You at least got this program correct,” Imogen said begrudgingly.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
I was trying to concentrate on the job, but Evan was making bedroom eyes at me from across the table. I kicked him in the shin.
He mouthed, Kinky.
Teddy frowned as he read through the ceremony plan. “I don’t see anything in here that’s about me.”
“Of course not,” Imogen scoffed. “This wedding is my day and about me.”
“We’re both getting married,” Teddy said stubbornly.
“What is it you want then?” Imogen asked, tapping her nails on the table.
“The man wants the ceremony to reflects his heritage, Imogen,” Evan said, a shit-eating grin on his face.
I tried to give him my best I will fucking kill you and bury your body in little pieces all around New York if you derail this wedding look, but Evan smirked at me and winked.
“He doesn’t have a heritage,” Imogen retorted.
“He’s Scottish,” Evan told her.
“Five percent!” Teddy said proudly as he sipped his whisky.
I did not like the ditch Evan seemed hell-bent on driving this conversation into, and I desperately tried to head it off.
“We could do the traditional Scottish wedding walk and have a fiddler or piper precede you two out of the venue,” I offered.
Evan was shaking his head slowly.
“Or,” I said desperately, cutting him off before he could speak, “you both could learn a traditional dance.”
“No,” Evan said loudly, clapping Teddy on the shoulder. “The man needs to truly reflect his heritage. He needs…” Evan paused for dramatic effect, “… a kilt.”
“Honestly, Evan,” his stepmother admonished.
“You cannot wear a kilt to my wedding!” Imogen yelled at Teddy.
“It’s my culture,” he insisted.
“You’re not Scottish!” Imogen shrieked. Then she turned on me. “Don’t you dare let this happen. I will fire you if that man turns up in a kilt.”
Another day, another bridal crisis. Except this one had been manufactured by Evan. The billionaire was silently laughing across the table from me, and I gave him my best death glare.
“What kind of tartan is it?” I asked diplomatically. “Some kilts look nice.”
Evan pulled out his phone. “Behold! The Sutherland family tartan.”
He showed us a swatch of red, orange, and yellow tartan. Mika made a barfing noise.
“My whole family can wear it,” Teddy said proudly. “We’ll all be dressed up in formal kilts.”
“That’s going to clash with the color scheme,” I said delicately. Understatement of the freaking century. Grace was going to kill me. The pictures were going to look atrocious if all of the groom’s side showed up in that tartan pattern.
Imogen’s face was icy. She slowly rose out of her seat. Outside, it had begun to rain, and thunder sounded as she leaned over the table toward Teddy’s face.
“You will not wear a kilt to my wedding.”
Teddy looked up at her mulishly and opened his mouth. Just then, there was a flash of lightning and an unholy clap of thunder.
“Is that understood?” Imogen stated.
After the meeting was over, I was finally, and unfortunately, alone with Evan.
“I can’t believe you,” I said sharply. “I can’t believe I ever wanted anything to do with you.”
“I was just messing with her. Teddy will wear his kilt. Imogen will deal. You can’t keep tiptoeing around people like that,” he said, leaning back in his chair.
“You can’t antagonize them either.”
“So sue me,” he said, standing up. “Let me get you a drink; that will calm you down.” He poured a glass from the bottle of whisky Teddy had left on the table.
“You’re so entitled and awful,” I told him, gathering my things.
Evan came around the table to me, extending the glass of expensive liquor. I ignored it. “I have to work.”
He shrugged and drank it.
“Don’t you?”
“I work nights and weekends. Shockingly, now that Camilla isn’t in my life, I have so much more free time, though I think it’s quickly filling up with you,” Evan said, eyes heavy lidded.
“We have a professional relationship,” I reminded him.
“It’s not that professional,” he said in that deliciously low voice, advancing on me.
I backed up against the table.
See, this is why you need an office: so that you aren’t put in compromising positions in some uber-sexy billionaire’s condo.
“Do you want to engage in some unprofessional activity,” Evan rasped, “or some professional activities?”
“I—”
Unprofessional! My libido screeched. Normally content with the odd romance novel, my sex drive had been completely unleashed by Evan.
“We should keep it professional,” I said hoarsely, trying to fight down the part of me that wanted to rip my clothes off.
“I can oblige that.”
“Good, because—”
He crushed our mouths together. Evan’s hand tangled in my hair, tipping my head back to give him better access to my mouth. I moaned low against his lips as his tongue tangled with mine. His other hand roamed over my body to unbutton my blouse. Evan pressed hot kisses down my chest and sucked on my nipple through my bra.
My legs trembled, my nipples pebbled hard as he sucked me. When his hand slipped down lower, my brain finally caught up to the magical unicorn that my libido was riding into the sunset and dropped that bitch to the ground.
“We were supposed to engage in professional activities,” I gasped, shoving Evan away and hastily buttoning my blouse.
Evan regarded me like a lion before its first meal of the week. “That was professional,” he said, deep voice rumbling around me. “If you had chosen unprofessional, I would have bent you over the table and rammed my cock into that tight, hot, wet pussy of yours.”
28
Evan
As much fun as it was annoying Imogen and engaging in unprofessional behavior with Ivy, I did have a business to attend to. Unfortunately, that meant I didn’t see Ivy for the next couple of weeks. I skipped several wedding-planning events, including the redux of the flower bouquets, a five-hour meeting about the seating chart that Mika had relayed to me that evening over drinks with a thousand-yard stare, and Ivy’s new gift box sample. Mika also relayed to me that Imogen had not in fact dropped the puppy-as-a-gift item.
I didn’t see Ivy until she showed up at my apartment with a large portfolio.
“I’m a bit early,” she said, looking at me a little warily. But her lips parted, and she melted when I grabbed her hips, drew her to me, and kissed her hard.
“I think you’re right on time,” I said against her mouth. Her full tits strained against her blouse, and I freed them, sucking on them, letting the nipple turn pebble hard in my mouth.
“Your family will be here soon,” she said then gasped when my hand pushed under her skirt.
“Too bad,” I murmured. �
�I could fuck you hard and fast, but the first time I put my cock in that tight little pussy, I want to take my time.”
Ivy moaned against my mouth as I rubbed her pussy through the fabric of her lacy panties.
“I knew you wanted unprofessional activities,” I murmured. “Your pussy is so wet for me right now.”
My home automation system blared with a message that someone was coming up on the private elevator. I swore then leaned over to kiss Ivy once more. “I missed you,” I told her.
“Why, because no one else calls you out on your shit?” she replied, hastily fixing her shirt.
“Your tone sounds mean,” I said, “but the way you moaned when my hand stroked your—”
The doorbell rang.
“We are excited to see the invitations,” my stepmother said when I opened the door.
“Yes,” I said, “Ivy was just commenting on my handwriting.”
“Or lack thereof,” Ivy said under her breath.
“Don’t kick me,” I whispered to Ivy as we followed my family to the dining room. “You don’t want to give people ideas about what we’re doing.”
“We’re not doing anything,” she hissed back.
My stepmother took a seat next to Imogen and Mika, while Teddy sat at the end of the table so he could eat the large Italian sandwich he’d brought with him.
“As discussed, I have several options for the invitations,” Ivy said, laying out rows of heavy stationery.
Teddy got up to hover over them. Ivy winced as a glob of mayo fell onto one of the invitations.
“They all look the same to me,” I said, inspecting them.
“As if we would expect you to notice a difference,” Ivy said tartly.
“They just look like every other wedding invitation I’ve seen,” I remarked. Then I grinned. “You know what you should do? Round cards.”
“Yes!” Teddy said.
Ivy was horrified.
“You can’t do round wedding invitations.”
“Why not?” Teddy complained.
“It’s just a bit tacky,” Ivy said.
“But it’s original,” I said. “Didn’t you say you wanted something different, Imogen? We could put corgis on them.”
Ivy visibly shuddered.
“I think we should use one of these square cards,” Imogen said. “They have a nice minimalist aesthetic.”
“I want the round cards,” Teddy told Ivy. “I should have some say in this wedding.”
“You can put the invitation in a round envelope with a wax seal of Teddy’s Scottish clan,” I continued.
“Stop trying to hijack my wedding,” Imogen snapped.
“But Immie, none of our friends had round invites,” Teddy said, waving the sandwich around. A wet slice of tomato fell out onto the table.
“Probably because they have better sense,” Mika said.
“I have an even better idea,” I said, earning me another annoyed look from Ivy. “The wedding invitations should include a drink coaster with the information.”
“We already sent out save the dates,” Ivy said. “And due to the guest list discussions, we are very behind on sending these invitations out.”
“I’m not signing off on them unless they’re round and include a beer coaster,” Teddy said defiantly. “Evan, don’t pay for them if they aren’t what I want.”
And lo, a groomzilla was born.
“You’re my brother, Evan!” Imogen complained. “You have to do what I want!”
“It’s Teddy’s day too!”
29
Ivy
“You are such an awful person,” I said, turning on Evan after his family left.
“I don’t understand why you have to be so emotionally invested,” he retorted.
“It’s literally my job,” I snapped at Evan, stacking the invitations back into the carrying case.
“I just don’t think weddings are that serious,” he said. “They’re just a reason for people to spend a bunch of money to act snotty.”
“They are a declaration of love and a joining together of families,” I told him, pausing to look him in the eye. “They’re beautiful.”
“I just don’t think it’s honest,” Evan replied with a scowl. “People just marry because that’s the thing to do. They force a casual sexual relationship into something more serious, something it’s not meant to be.”
“Look at you being all smart and philosophical,” I said. “I never would have thought.”
“And yet you respected me enough to make out with me,” Evan replied, wiping the mayo off of two of the invitations and handing them to me.
“No, I found you attractive enough to make out with you. Everyone knows there’s an inverse correlation between attractiveness and intelligence. It’s shocking you’re even able to form a coherent sentence,” I shot back.
“Because I’m so hot?” he said with that stupid-sexy crooked grin.
“I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”
“You know you want me to fuck you.” The casual way Evan said it, as if it was an inevitability, as if he could read all my dirty thoughts about him, was loosening the bonds I had strapped down over my desire for him.
“I’m not sleeping with a client, especially not after a wedding-planning meeting.”
“Yes, because we don’t want to disrupt the sanctity of Imogen’s wedding.” Evan rolled his eyes.
“Hey, I need people to believe in marriage. That’s literally my livelihood! And I’ll appreciate it if you stop throwing wrenches in the wedding-planning operation,” I retorted.
Evan quirked an eyebrow. “Look at you manipulating people into weddings just for your own financial gain.”
“It’s not the same thing as what you’re doing!” I protested. “I’m doing this because I care about the brides!”
Evan smirked. “You can’t fool me. You’re a ruthless capitalist at heart. If I had one of the bridal magazines my company owns do an exposé on your firm, you’d throw off your clothes and beg me to fuck you in exchange.”
I tried to keep my expression neutral. “We are quite busy as it is,” I told him. “So no thank you.”
In my head, I was thinking, Holy shit! Where do I sign? We could raise prices, maybe rent office space, and I could actually get laid.
I cleared my throat. “Besides, I don’t particularly like what you’re implying. I’m not going to sleep with you in exchange for a magazine spread.”
Exactly! Because I’ll sleep with you for freeee!
“And I would never ask that of you,” Evan said, his face serious. He rested his hands on my hips. “Because I fully expect you to give yourself to me because you want to.”
Crap! How was he reading my sex-starved mind?
I tried to remain stoic in front of him. “As if I’m going to just throw myself at you!” I scoffed.
I would, of course, take my clothes off first.
“Perhaps if I give you a preview?” Evan said. That stupid-sexy smirk was back.
“A preview of what?” I squawked.
Evan hooked two fingers in the low-cut collar of my blouse and pulled me toward him.
“We should probably take this off before I rip it,” he commented.
“I’m not sleeping with you.” Except that my inner sex goddess was getting ready to sacrifice a chicken if it meant the planets would align and let her ride Evan’s cock.
Evan smirked as if he could read all of my dirty thoughts.
“I wasn’t going to sleep with you,” he whispered. Then he leaned over and kissed me hard. “I have a meeting after this. I don’t have time to get all hot and sweaty.”
“And I do?” I countered, though it came out as more of a moan as Evan unbuttoned my blouse to take one of my tits out. He rolled the nipple between his fingers, making me whimper.
“I think you’re already hot and wet.”
“You don’t know that,” I said hoarsely, though my panties were, admittedly, soaked.
/> Evan’s hand pushed under my skirt, and I moaned, automatically spreading my legs for him as he touched me there.
Evan made a pleased noise. “You are wet for me. I think I can get you soaked though.” He kissed me hard then dropped to his knees in front of me and pushed my pencil skirt up around my waist.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I gasped.
“I told you I’m not fucking you.” His tone was irritatingly mild. He grabbed my hips and pressed his mouth against my pussy through the fabric of my panties. The surge of delight ripped through my body.
“You can’t just, like, do things like this,” I gasped.
“Are you telling me no, Ivy?” Evan said, his tone muffled from below me. His breath was hot through the panties. I bucked against him, and he licked me through the fabric. “You’re going to scream my name when you come, by the way. Just thought I’d give you a heads-up. You will also then realize that I have completely ruined you for any other man.”
“Fuck you,” I gasped. But my pussy was aching for him to fuck me. I wanted to push Evan away, tell him off, but I didn’t want to stop him either. How long had it been since a man had even thought about spreading my legs and licking me until I screamed? How about six months since Nevuary.
“Still not hearing no.” He continued to tease me, fingers pushing my panties to the side to give him full access to my aching pussy. His fingers slid over, coming to my opening, pushing in. “I can’t wait to put my cock in here,” he said, his fingers slipping in and out of me.
I moaned loudly, trying to scrape together the last scraps of my rational brain and push Evan away. But my rational brain had joined forces with my inner sex goddess, taken off her clothes, and gone wild.
It’s not like it’s really sex; it’s a hot guy, eating you out—no strings attached. In the immortal words of Ina Garten, “How bad can that be?”
Evan licked my clit, and the shock went straight through me.
Not bad at all. In fact, probably really good.
I braced myself on the table as Evan gave me another lick, his tongue dragging against the sensitive pink flesh. I moaned loudly.