I inch a little closer, my hands tightening on her hips as her arms loop around my neck. “You look good enough to eat.”
She offers me a smile, like my words have unlocked her. “You always look good enough to eat.”
This woman. Her appetite. Her naughty mouth. “And you say I’m relentless.”
“I guess it takes one to know one.”
“I like this mood you’re in tonight,” I tell her as I finger a strand of her hair.
She tilts her head. “What mood do you think I’m in?”
I whisper in her ear. “The same one I’m in.”
She shudders against me, and my bones crackle. My mind floods with filthy images of her. I’m dangerously close to overheating. I pull back slightly, trying to clear the haze so I don’t take her, toss her over my shoulder, and stalk into the inn to fuck her, forgetting my client, forgetting the job I’ve been paid to do.
I glance around the reception, tipping my chin toward the guests swaying under the lights, others laughing and chatting at the tables and the deejay swaying in place as he plays pop songs I despise, but I can’t find the energy to loathe anything right now. “What do you think of the wedding?”
“It feels like it’s real.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “Like we’re not here as fake friends of the groom.”
“I know what you mean. It’s not like I think I’m going to hang out with Chip when this is done, but there’s something about him I like.”
“He’s authentic,” she says.
“He is. All he wants is to make her happy.”
“I think he’s succeeded.” The couple is on the dance floor too, practically sealed together. You’d need a butter knife to wedge them apart, but who would want to? The way they hang on to each other, the way they maul each other’s mouth, says they both chose well.
I turn my full attention back to Truly, cataloging her face, her midnight-blue eyes, the sweep of her hair off her neck, and those glasses. She fits perfectly in my arms, and I let myself imagine what it would be like to have more of her.
She doesn’t feel like a fake date. “I’m glad you’re here.”
She lifts her chin, meeting my gaze. “How glad?”
I laugh, pressing against her. “Incredibly glad. Isn’t that obvious?”
“Maybe it is now,” she says, sliding against the outline of my length.
I groan appreciatively. “Are you trying to send me a message?”
She shrugs, her eyes a little glossy, her voice a little rough. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Jason.”
I curl my fingers around her hip, squeezing, loving her frankness. “Really? It seems like you know exactly.”
She plays with the ends of my hair, sending sparks down my spine. “Do I?”
My entire body is lit up, charged by her touch. “I think we both know what we’re doing.”
She tangos her fingers across my shoulders, playing with the lapels on my jacket. “But we said it was a bad idea. You and me. We said it made no sense.”
“I know. And yet here we are.” My gaze drifts down to her fingers, now toying with my bow tie. “And you’re trying to undress me in front of everyone.”
“I’m finding it a little hard to keep my hands off you.”
“I know that feeling well. It’s always that way with you. It’s a constant battle not to touch you, kiss you, or steal you away to a dark corner.”
“And how’s the battle going tonight?”
“Let’s see. I’m dancing with you. Pretending you’re mine. Yeah, I think I’m losing the battle for control.” I slide my palm over the top of her ass, and she gasps then sucks in a breath. “All I can think about is how to get this dress off you.”
“And have you figured it out?”
“Oh, I absolutely have. I’ve mapped out the fastest way to undress you. In my head, you’re already naked.”
She smiles naughtily. “And how is it with me naked in your head?”
I meet her gaze, holding it as electricity radiates down my skin. “Dirty. Wild. Sweaty. Carnal.”
She shudders, pressing her breasts against my chest. “Sounds about right.”
I dip my face close to her, brushing my jaw across her cheek, letting her feel my stubble. “Wet. I left that out. You’re so fucking wet in my head.”
She trembles, her voice barely a whisper. “It’s not only in your head, Jason.”
I can barely contain my desire for her. I drag a finger down her spine. “You mean I could take off this dress, strip you down to nothing, and find out how much you want me?”
“Yes, and that’s why you need to stop.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re not ready to leave yet, and I don’t want to walk around the rest of this wedding a hot, wet mess.”
I glance toward the inn, then back at her. “I could take you inside, find a room, and fuck you right now up against the door. Would you like that?”
“You know I’d like it, but you can’t do that. You’re on the job.”
“Look at you, being so thoughtful and considering when I can and can’t fuck you,” I say.
“I think about you a lot. I think about you fucking me a lot.”
A groan rips from my throat. I’m on fire for her. Every square inch of me is sizzling. “Do you have any idea how much I want to make you call out my name right now?”
“Wilbur?”
I laugh, then the laughter fades when I give her my answer. “Like I said, you can call me anything while I’m fucking you hard.”
She seems to let my last words roll around her tongue like she’s tasting them, biting the juice from them. “Fucking me hard. Is that what you’re going to do to me tonight?”
“You and I both know how this night is ending.”
But when the song finishes a second later and turns into a faster one, we stop the dirty talk, the flirting. If we don’t, it’s going to be perfectly obvious to everyone that we want this wedding to end right now, and there are two more hours on the clock.
Instead, we dance, fast and hot, moving and grooving. We dance together, we dance with others, and we toast again to the couple. I knock fists with the groomsmen, I listen as Chip tells a joke, we talk to Ashley, we pet the pugs, and then finally, mercifully, it’s over.
Even though it’s been wonderful in its own way, I’m desperate for it to end.
I take her to the limo that Chip reserved for me and open the door for her, this woman I want.
Once inside, we lunge at each other.
24
From the pages of Truly’s Drink Recipe Book
Water, Ice Cold
When you’re parched, when you’re so damn thirsty, when your mouth is a desert of longing, you grab a glass of ice water and down it. That is your true liquid courage. You don’t need any liquor. You don’t need to be buzzed. Hell, you’re not even tipsy. That last champagne you had was hours ago. You have a clear head and a crystal-clear mind. You know exactly what you’re doing.
What you want.
You want one thing, one person, and you’re going to get him. Get in the car and go.
25
Jason
Our lips crash together. Hands dive into hair. Our bodies collide in lust and dirty desire as the car pulls away, the partition separating us from the driver and the tinted windows separating us from the world.
I unclip her hair, slide my hand through it, pulling hard. She groans into my mouth but never lets go. So fierce. So hungry.
Just like me.
We stop for a brief second as she removes her glasses and tucks them into her purse.
I pull her onto my lap, and she straddles me, grinding as she kisses. I kiss her back just as hard, just as greedily. We were soft and slow outside the pub the other night, and now we’re frenzied. Two animals unleashed, devouring each other’s mouth. She tastes spectacular, smells divine, and I need to be inside her right the fuck now.
Grabbing her ass, I make her grind faster. My br
ain goes haywire, my senses amped all the way up. She rocks against my length, her hips going wild, her pace frantic.
I grab at the hem of her dress. “As good as this looks on, I bet it looks even better gone.”
“Take it off.”
I do as instructed, pulling up her dress to her waist as she reaches for my zipper.
She slides it down. “I need you inside me. Need you to fuck me hard. Now, please, now.”
“As if I can wait any longer.”
I unzip my trousers the rest of the way, reach into my pocket for my wallet, and fish around for a condom. As I find it, I groan. Because holy hell. She has my dick in her hands, and she feels spectacular. Her soft fingers wrap around my hard length, and she squeezes and tugs, stroking up, running her thumb over the head, then back down.
“Your dick is prettier than I remembered.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You think my dick is pretty? Not macho? Or hot? Or handsome?”
She shakes her head and licks her lips. “‘Pretty’ is good. I want this pretty cock inside me. I want this hot, hard, fantastic, pretty cock inside me. Does that work for you?”
My dick twitches against her hand, answering for me.
“Seems your dick agrees, Wilbur.”
“‘Pretty’ works, it turns out. Hell, you can even call me cute if it means you’re coming on my cock.” I slide the condom on as she wriggles out of her knickers. “I’ve missed this sight. You, hot, wet, and bothered.”
“Aching. Don’t forget aching.”
“Let me ease it for you,” I tell her, sliding my fingers between her legs. My head falls back, and I groan my appreciation for all this fantastic slippery wetness. “Look at you. So fucking turned on. So aroused.”
“Told you I was.”
“I feel so awful that you were walking around all night like this,” I say, teasing her, stroking her, feeling her rub against my fingers.
“So awful you’ll get your cock inside me now?”
“Sure. That awful.”
She positions herself over me and sinks down. This must be what a Beatles concert was like—magnificent. All my synapses fire at once and nearly fry. Because this is sensational. Pleasure ricochets through my every cell, runs over every bit of my skin.
She gasps, and I groan, and then we fuck.
There is no prelude. No moment to adjust or slow down. This is pure pent-up screwing. Desperate and determined, she rises up and slides down, using my hard-on for her pleasure, finding just the right speed, just the right friction. I grip her ass tighter, squeezing the firm flesh as she rides me.
Her hands curl over my shoulders, digging in. Her jaw tightens, and she lets her head fall in the crook of my neck.
“I have to tell you something.” Her voice is filthy and seductive.
“Tell me. Tell me as you ride my cock.”
“I thought about you naked all night too.”
“Did it drive you crazy? Because I’ve wanted to fuck you so badly tonight, I thought I’d go insane.” I punch up my hips, thrusting deeper to prove my point.
“I’m already there.”
“Good, now go crazy on me, my naughty minx, because I know how you like it. I know you want to fuck hard and be fucked even harder.”
She likes it hard, she likes it rough, and she likes it fast and frenzied. So I give it to her that way, fucking her from beneath, thrusting up into her, bringing her down hard on my cock. Threading my hand into her hair, I tug her head back, and the sound she makes is carnal and so fucking passionate. It sends shock waves of white-hot desire through me.
My breath comes faster. Her hips move at a wild pace. We are raw nerve endings, lust, and crackling electricity. She grips me tighter, her moans stuttering with her ragged breath.
Her mouth falls open, and she lets out the longest, most delicious moan as she starts to lose control. “Yes, like that, just like that.”
I slide a hand between her legs, where she wants me most. And she detonates. She cries out, loud and tortured and exquisitely erotic, as she comes undone on me.
And that’s all I need. Her pleasure, her noises, her desire—they flip the switch in me. Pleasure barrels down my spine like a tsunami careening toward the shore, washing away everything—common sense, loyalty, goals.
None of that matters as I give in to the utter oblivion of release in this woman.
This woman I want again and again.
Hell, she can even call me Wilbur out of bed if I can just have her one more time.
But when she opens her eyes and sighs deeply, contentedly, it’s not my name she says.
It’s someone else’s.
26
Jason
The music comes from within her purse.
It sounds like a cartoon’s about to start, as the opening music for Looney Tunes blares loudly.
“Darren.” She snaps to attention, slides off me, scoots next to me, and grapples for her purse. “That’s the investor.” Furiously, she rips the zipper open, snags her phone, and slams it to her ear. “Hi, Darren, how are you?”
She rearranges her voice as if she’s stripped the post-coital glow off it with paint thinner. It’s impressive the way she can go from minx to mogul in seconds flat.
There’s a pause as he chats, then she answers.
“Yes, it’s great. I’ve been running through some options, testing various concepts.”
Another beat.
“Definitely. Sure. Yeah. I can check out that place.” She scrambles for a pen in her purse, and I spot a box of tissues on the console. I reach for one, remove the condom, and put it in the rubbish bag hidden on the side of the door. A good limo driver truly thinks of everything. Maybe I’ll even mention that in my next blog: be sure to tip handsomely any driver who accommodates discreet disposal of prophylactics.
Truly cradles the phone against her head as she tugs down her dress. “Absolutely. When are you leaving? Sure, let’s get it done sooner.”
I zip my trousers and straighten my clothes, then find her knickers on the leather seat. I hand them to her as a small knot of frustration in me tightens. But I’m not sure why the knot is here, so I ignore it.
“Don’t think twice about it. You can call anytime. It’s not late at all. I work all hours.” One more beat. “Yes, the crowd is great tonight, as always. Thanks, Darren.”
She ends the call, heaving a relieved breath, as if she escaped from the boulder in the nick of time, grabbing her trusty hat before it was too late. “Glad I was able to answer that.”
“Why? Does he need you straightaway?”
She slides the lacy fabric back up her long, toned legs. “No, but still . . . I want to impress him, and I need to get my presentation and pitch ready a little sooner.”
“Is that why you told him you were at work? To impress him?”
She gestures from me to her, indicating our rumpled appearance. “He doesn’t need to know where I am or what I’m doing.”
“Well, of course. I wasn’t suggesting you tell him you just had the best sex of your life,” I say, a little more sharply than I intended, and then I understand my own annoyance—I wish the best sex of her life had rattled her so thoroughly that she’d ignored the call. I wanted her to be so blissed out she couldn’t remember her name, let alone that of the caller or the ringtone she’d assigned him.
Her eyes twinkle at my remark, and there—that look. It’s hard to be annoyed when she’s looking at me like she wants another round or three. “Is that so?” she asks. “Is that what it was?”
“Uh, yeah.”
She laughs, smooths a hand down her skirt, then looks at me from beneath her bangs, too seductive for words. Her voice is all soft and breathy. “Yeah, it was, Jason.”
No more annoyance.
This’ll do. This will do just fine, since I’m instantly drunk on pure masculine pride, courtesy of the injection she just gave me.
But there’s no time to indulge, since she zips right back to the topic. “Also,
I said it because it’s better if he thinks I’m obsessed with work. He’s obsessed with work. He’ll be more inclined to sign off if he feels I’m the same way.”
“But you are obsessed with work,” I point out, since it’s clear she wants to talk about it. And that’s fine. It has to be fine.
“True.” Her acknowledgment sounds a little sad.
“It’s not a bad thing. I mean, no judgment. I’m the same. Business is what I need to survive, it seems.”
“Same here,” she says. “I get a little crazy when I don’t work. Like I’m a junkie who needs a fix.”
“I know exactly how you feel. I love the rush of hustling for new clients and new options. It’s like you’re coming down from a high when you’ve been away from it. Strange in a way, isn’t it?”
“It is. It becomes a need. A deep and powerful one. You know that saying? Work to live, don’t live to work? I don’t entirely see why that’s such a bad thing. Sometimes work is the thing that makes me happiest. It gives me a rush. That’s what I need it for. Do you know what I mean?”
Do I ever. She’s talking my language. “Like the thrill you get when you see your numbers grow, or you hear from someone who changed his behavior or attitude because of one of your columns, or when you get another chance to appear on a show you like being on,” I say with a wink, dropping that little nugget of good news into the conversational stew.
Her eyes widen with admiration. “That’s awesome. I’ll have to tune in. You’ll let me know when?”
“Absolutely. And thanks, I was pretty psyched when Ryder asked me to come back. So yes, I do get what you’re saying. It fulfills you.”
“Exactly. Work makes me happy. It’s gratifying to build a business, to nurture it, to see it grow. It’s reliable too. But I know that my mind-set isn’t something that usually meshes with other people’s.”
“Meshes? What do you mean?”
She shoots me a look like it ought to be obvious. “I’m thirty-five and single. I’m married to work at this point.”
Instant Gratification (Always Satisfied Book 2) Page 12