Make Me Yours (Bayshore Book 3)

by Ember Leigh

  I could care less about the rooms or the lipstick. I just care about getting London wrapped around me. “We’ll be finding out…and leaving our review.”

  “About the rooms or about the sex?”

  I can’t fight the silly grin that takes over as I ease out of my parking space to join the light downtown flow of traffic. “Only one of those will be made public. I’ll leave the choice to you.”

  It takes approximately one minute to reach our destination from the parking lot of the Bayshore Theatre. We could have walked, but they might have towed my car, and I’m not sure I should flaunt this hard-on if I don’t have to. London doesn’t help by fondling the crotch of my pants before undoing her seatbelt.

  “I love what you’re doing, but you’re making it real hard to get out of this car.”

  She snorts. “Real hard is an understatement.”

  “I’m going to imagine Mrs. Krantz from senior year giving a very boring lecture on Chaucer while we slowly get out of the car,” I tell her. “And in the meantime, you’re going to need to avoid bending over, touching your hair, your neck, your mouth, or basically any other part of your body.”

  Her sharp laugh pierces the crisp air as she tugs a faux fur jacket over her shoulders. As we start a slow walk from the side lot to the main doors of the four-story, brick-front boutique hotel, I realize I overlooked one important thing.

  “Oh, and you can’t walk in front of me.” My cock is like iron, and there’s no coaxing it down while I’m staring at the luscious apples of her ass in that dress.

  She snickers. “How about we toss a burlap sack over me, and you can just roll me up to the room like I’m part of your luggage?”

  “Excellent idea.” Contrary to all my own requirements, I wrap my arm around her waist and bring her against me. She fits like a glove, and we fall into step easily, grinning at each other like a couple of teenagers in love. I recognize the look on her face. It was the look I saw on Hazel’s face tonight. The same warmth pouring out of Grayson.

  If the last couple of weeks apart didn’t seal the deal for me, then this evening has.

  I need this woman in my life. Even though it was the last thing I wanted to do, I fell in love with her.

  My throat catches as we stroll into the white-tiled foyer. Ferns and exotic knotted trees line the walls in enormous pots, and a sleek reception desk awaits us in the middle of the greenery. I give my name and soon we have our keys. The moment the elevator doors close, I have her backed up against the wall, claiming her mouth with my own, coaxing one kiss after another from that pretty pout.

  When the doors open, London is laughing, and she leads me down the hallway. She can barely finish a sentence. I can only imagine what the lipstick situation is on my face.

  But once the door swings open, my primal side takes over. I sweep her into my arms, kicking the door shut behind me as I cup her face in my hands and kiss her like I’ve been meaning to. Deep, thorough kisses, our tongues plunging and seeking, moans slipping out between the cracks. I kiss her so hard, I stop breathing.

  A bed appears behind her. I ease her down onto it and hurry to undo my belt. With kiss-bitten lips and a drugged haze in her eyes, she begins shimmying out of her own clothes. Her heels come off first, then her panties. Normally I’d protest, but I can’t do anything but get the fuck out of my clothes right now. The urgency is too great.

  I stumble as I’m taking my pants off. I catch myself on the edge of the bed, laughing.

  “Don’t hurt yourself, doc,” she says, finding the secret zipper on the side of her dress. She stands a moment later and steps out of the dress, then—totally naked, save her sparkling, silver and gold necklace—sinks to her knees in front of me.

  “Look who wants to say hi,” she purrs, nuzzling my cock through my briefs. My cockhead is poking out from beneath the waistband of my underwear. “Your dick is perpetually escaping.”

  I shuck my dress shirt and toss it somewhere. I don’t give a fuck about any of my possessions right now.

  “Don’t worry, he won’t go far,” I murmur, raking my fingers across the top of her head. She swipes her tongue over the escapee tip, and the sensation is so glorious that I almost stumble again. London tugs my briefs down, my cock bobbing before she engulfs the length of me in her mouth.

  She moans as she takes long, measured pulls at me, slobbering and sucking at my cock like it’s the best thing she’s ever tasted. I fist the top of her hair without realizing.

  “Fuck.” My chest heaves as she disconnects from my dick with a loud pop. “Your mouth feels so amazing, beautiful. God, I love it when you suck me off.”

  “I love doing it,” she purrs, dragging her tongue from ball sack to cockhead. “The way you look at me when I do this…”

  My eyes flutter shut. If she knew what was circulating inside me right now—not just the white-hot precursor to my orgasm, but all the other things—then she’d know that the look means I’m not letting her go after tonight. That I’m going to make sure we start spending our free time together. That I’m going to start making free time—for her.

  But I can’t say shit because she dives down for another pull at me, and everything inside me dissolves into a hot buzz.

  I stop her when I come too close to the edge. I want my release to happen inside of her for our first time back together. While she’s looking up at me like a messy-haired sex goddess, I urge her onto the bed, covering her body with my own.

  “London,” I say, my voice coming out gruffer than anticipated, “I’m so fucking close to the edge right now that you could actually blow on my dick and I’d come.”

  She giggles, her legs splaying open as my hips fill the space there. “I’ll be sure to hold my breath.”

  “Mmm, that’s kind of kinky. Asphyxiation stuff. I’d rather have you moaning my name.”

  “You always want me moaning your name,” London says, grinning ear to ear. Her skin is hot silk against mine, and when our bodies form a delicious seal, I can’t remember a time not being here, pressed up against her, feeling her heartbeat against mine. I scoop my hands beneath the wings of her shoulder blades, mashing her breasts to my chest.

  “But it sounds best when you say it,” I murmur, trailing kisses along her collarbone. My cock is throbbing at the slick entrance of her pussy, but I don’t push inside yet. Even though it’s killing me. “And even better if it’s the only name on your lips.”

  Clarity creases her face, and we share an intense look, something that makes every inch of my body draw tense.

  “Are you coming back with the marriage proposal again?” She says it lightheartedly, but I catch the whiff of seriousness behind her smile.

  “Maybe.” I flex my hips, my cockhead pushing into the slick velvet of her pussy. “But only if you’ll accept. Otherwise I’ll pretend it’s a joke.”

  Her eyes flutter shut as I push myself deeper inside. A low moan escapes her. “Dooommmm.”

  “Yes, beautiful.” My own voice wavers as I sink inside her. Electricity sparks across the tops of my shoulders, something deep and powerful churning inside me. My lips find hers for another kiss, our mouths pressed together as I bury myself inside her.

  There’s no other way to describe it except to say the world falls away. All that I can see, touch, taste, and smell is London. Every flinch and flex of her around me translates into intensity and feeling. I want to live here forever. With London wrapped around me, drowning in this giddy sense of maybe you are who I’ve been too scared to hope for.

  I didn’t want to love again, but then London happened.

  The knowledge is bone deep, which is why my attempts to ignore it, ignore her, haven’t worked. She feels right for me in a way that I thought was a red flag after getting cheated on. But being here again, at the doorstep of love, reminds me that maybe love can really have a space in my life. In my heart, of all places.

  London’s little moans as I work myself in and out of her are enough to push me over the edge. I’ve
been beating back this orgasm since the second I laid eyes on her, and I hold out until the sweat is dripping off my temples. London’s thighs go rock hard around my waist as I bury myself in her for the last time. We come together, her pussy a vice clamp around my pulsating cock, and I release my rounds inside of her.

  She is languid and all smiles as we collapse onto the bed. Spent and sated. I can barely move myself off her, but I make sure to pull her into my arms.

  Because now that London’s back in my life, she’s not leaving again.

  Chapter 28

  LONDON

  My walk of shame back to my parent’s house the next morning is epic. Not only is my face the human representation of Fifty Shades of Bronze Eyeshadow, my dress is hilariously inappropriate for the nine a.m. return I muster.

  It’s not like anybody cares. I’m almost thirty; I can do what I want. At least I tell myself this as my mom lifts her brow as I slink through the kitchen, the smell of turkey already filling the air. Dad is outside doing something with the back landscaping, so luckily he doesn’t notice.

  Just like how nobody will notice that I spent the night with Dom Daly in the boutique hotel downtown…and that we’re planning on repeating the event every night until we both drive back to Cleveland.

  I smile to myself as I work on formally removing my makeup from last night’s gala. What a night before Thanksgiving. Honestly the best one yet. A text message arrives while I’m moisturizing.

  DOM: Miss you already.

  I bite my bottom lip. This man is too romantic for claiming to be such a curmudgeon. I’m loving every second of it.

  LONDON: Same here. Is it too early for doing joint T-giving? Just so we can play footsie under the table.

  DOM: Your parents cool if all 10 of us show up?

  LONDON: Ten? You have some other brothers I don’t know about?

  DOM: Daly relatives. You’d like them. Do you want to come over later?

  I’m touched by the offer. I truly am. I’m just not sure how I want to drop this bomb on Hazel yet—or what my explanation will even sound like.

  LONDON: To the hotel? Yes.

  DOM: I meant to my mom & dad’s.

  LONDON: I don’t know if I’m ready for all that. What would we say?

  His silence is enough of an answer. He doesn’t know. And honestly, I’m riding too much of a high to want to dive into the technicalities of it all. I just want to enjoy this, while we’re vacationing in Bayshore.

  Truth is, I joked about marrying his ass last night, and he joked right back with me. Which means that the offer is still technically on the table. And if that’s the only way I can keep our boutique hotel vibe going, then…I think I’ve finally come to my decision.

  I should do it. Even if it involves a pretend-wife appearance and a staged wedding and an eventual divorce when we decide we don’t want to do this…

  My throat clamps at that—maybe I’m not as okay with it as I claim.

  It just seems inevitable. As inevitable as my continued, undeniable attraction to Dom. If I can’t beat it, join it—right?

  My logic doesn’t seem particularly sound, but I don’t have time to figure out a better workaround. It’s Thanksgiving, after all. And then it’s back to the hotel.

  Once I’ve cleaned myself up, I start helping my mom in the kitchen. Johnny Cash music fills the house. It’s our Thanksgiving tradition—has been since I was a little girl. Back then, Willow and I would dance around while popping the biscuit cans and giggling hysterically. Now, it’s just me, quietly chopping carrots for the stuffing while Mom hums Ring of Fire behind a tired smile.

  An enormous framed portrait of Willow hangs in the dining room. Her senior picture. I grin at her every time I pass the photo while I spread the tablecloth and set the table. My parent’s house, like mine, is filled with vases of different shapes and sizes. We are constantly feeling Willow around us.

  My dad comes into the dining room while I’m laying out the silverware. “Mom says you came home at nine this morning.”

  I struggle not to roll my eyes. My dad is a chronic worrywart. “Yes, Dad.”

  “On Thanksgiving morning?”

  “Well, I was out late last night,” I tell him, fiddling with a fork. “It was the smart thing to do. Spending the night.”

  He grunts in a way that only men over sixty can. Like a warthog mixed with a deeply dissatisfied grandfather. “You should have been here for the basting. You know your mother loves to do the basting with you.”

  I grin. Even though he’s harping on me, I relish it. Because he’s my dad, and it’s Thanksgiving, and these are the small moments I’ll look back on in ten or fifteen years and cry and laugh about. I’m living it. I’m in it now.

  We finally eat around one and are in a turkey-induced coma by two. After zoning out to enough football, I finally drag myself into the bathroom for a long bath with a glass of chardonnay. Because fuck it, it’s Thanksgiving.

  Dom is ready to meet around seven. As soon as I get the text, my body is filled with pins and needles. The way it has been since laying eyes on this man. He is my bona fide man crush, even though at this point, what I feel for Dom is way beyond crush level.

  I tell my mom that I’ll be out with friends and probably won’t be home that night. There’s no drama. She just kisses my forehead thirteen times, hugs me extra tight—like it might be her last ever, because for her, once, it was—and sends me on my way.

  I drive downtown feeling a lot like I’m on a secret mission. But what’s the goal here? Get laid, obviously. But there’s more to it than that. I need to quiet this raucous voice inside of me demanding more Dom. It’s a feisty, needy presence, like a toddler demanding more snacks. Sometimes, I think I won’t ever get enough. God knows how traumatic ignoring him these past weeks has been.

  He’s waiting in the room for me when I get there, dressed in black sweats and a red OSU hoodie. I blink a few times as he pulls me into his arms.

  “Hey, beautiful.” His baritone at my ear is a reassurance. But I push him away and hold him at arm’s length.

  “Hang on,” I say. “Look at you.”

  He smirks. “What?”

  “I’ve never seen you…dressed down.” And somehow, it’s the hottest of all. Dr. Daly, off duty. God, fuck me now. He wears a hoodie better than anyone.

  “It’s football Thursday,” he says. “You’ve seen me in workout clothes before.”

  “Yeah, but this is like…hotter.” I slip my hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. “This is the type of shit I want to steal from you.”

  His grin is heartbreaking, the type to nudge me into marrying him. He cups my face in his hands and presses a soft, minty kiss to my lips. And then another. We kiss slowly, thoroughly, as if this is part of a science experiment and we’ll be tasked with naming every sensation afterward. Tickles in my belly. Heat radiating outward from my heart. A clenching, ravenous sensation in the groin.

  The bed hits the back of my knees. Instead of tossing me onto it like he did yesterday, he breaks the kiss, swiping his thumb across my jawline.

  “This place has a TV, you know,” he says, in a sultry voice that is hilariously at odds with his words. A laugh bursts out of me.

  “Are you telling me you want to watch Skin-a-max?”

  He places soft kisses along my cheeks, down the bridge of my nose. “No. Well, maybe later, but just to laugh at how bad it is. But until then…I want to watch a movie.”

  I lift a brow as he breaks away to grab the remote and arrange pillows on the bed. The bed is extra comfy, a king with about fifty throw pillows. I help him form a nest before we sink back into the comfort.

  “You say ‘watch a movie’ like it’s a big deal,” I tease.

  “It is. I sort of only do it once a year.”

  The deeper meaning of his suggestion hits me. I am truly seeing Dr. Dom on his downtime. The man beneath the white coat. And he’s chosen me to spend his sacred off time with.

  “We don’t
have to, though, if you don’t want to,” he says. I think I catch a tinge of nervousness.

  “I think it’s perfect.” I clasp his big hand in both of mine, bringing his knobby knuckles to my lips. “And you have to pick.”

  “Fine. But when we get hungry later, you have to order the delivery while I’m eating you out,” he teases, pulling me into his arms while he scans the guide channel.

  Warmth creeps through me, blissfully slow and sweet. “I suppose that’s only fair.”

  I nuzzle into his soft hoodie, cozying up to him as if we’ve done it a thousand times before. And oh, lord—I hope it happens a thousand times more.

  Tucked into my favorite small town, with the view of the lake slowly fading into darkness as the last rays of sunlight disappear beyond the horizon, buried in the arms of a man that I thought was the worst but has turned out to be the best.

  I need to figure out a way to make this be the norm.

  And maybe it means forfeiting my dream wedding and my dream marriage.

  As long as I can make those things as meaningless as Dom believes them to be, we’re golden.

  I swear I can hear Willow laughing hysterically inside my head.

  Chapter 29

  DOM

  I’m ready to order the wedding invitations by the time we wake up on Friday. These past two nights with London have been heaven, and I’m already dreading my return to the hospital tomorrow morning.

  I don’t want to be away from London for even a second.

  Which is why when I get a call from one of my old frat brothers from OSU, I don’t hesitate to take the call in front of her. I might even call her the g-word, if the conversation goes there.

  “Hey, buddy.” I answer the phone easily, even though we haven’t spoken in over a year. His name is Carl. He’s in public relations in Columbus and was a junior to my freshman in college. I always meant to ask London if she knew him in the industry, but I hate the question that inevitably comes from patients—Do you know my doctor friend so-and-so from Washington? He did med school there too, so clearly you probably know him. I won’t prompt the same eye roll from London if I don’t have to.