Tell Me Why It's Wrong

by B. Celeste

  “Oh, it was very legal,” he muses, bending down and kissing me. “However, I know our families are still hoping to have a ceremony to celebrate. Maybe now would be a good time. The weather is decent, my schedule has opened up. We can do it here, New York, wherever you want.”

  I consider it, tightening my hold on him. “I think that’s a great idea. But would everyone we’d want to come be able to make it?”

  He knows who I’m talking about.

  “He’s going through a lot right now,” he comments, raising his shoulders in a loose shrug. “But Zayne’s always there when it matters.”

  “And you don’t think it’d upset him?”

  He shakes his head. “I really don’t.”

  “And Cannon can come too?” I bat my lashes, making him laugh.

  “Should have known you’d pull that.” He tugs on my ponytail to tilt my head further back and kiss me again, this one lasting longer than our others. “We can make it as big or as intimate as you’d like. But I want to celebrate this. Us.”

  A shiver rolls down my spine. “I like the sound of that.”

  “Yeah?”

  I nod, gripping his shirt and pulling him toward me again. He backs us up until I’m pressed against the counter with him blocking me in with his body. “What are you doing?”

  His hands grip my hips and lift me to sit on the edge of the counter, ignoring the mess I made and focusing only on me. “We have some time to kill before the food is done.”

  “And what do you want to do with it?” I smile innocently while his hands go to the hem of my leggings and begin tugging them down. I lift my hips enough for him to pull them past my knees before spreading my thighs and settling himself between them.

  With a wicked grin and a gleam lighting up his baby blues, he purrs, “Keep your legs open and let me show you, baby girl.”

  And like all the other times, he does exactly as he promises. With one flick of the finger, the button of his jeans pops open quickly followed by the sound of his zipper gliding down. It only takes a few strokes of his fingers dancing along my inner thigh to get me squirming, and a few sensual passes to part me and circle my aching clit until I’m more than ready for him to be inside me fully.

  We’ve done this plenty of places in plenty of positions, most that I’ve loved, but the spontaneous need that radiates from him as he lines himself up and enters me in one full thrust is a favorite of mine.

  There’s nothing soft or slow about the way he jackknifes into me with urgency, holding onto my hips while I grip the edges of the counter so I don’t fall. It almost matches the time he came home from a meeting with Gordon and bent me over the island after seeing me in the white dress we’d gotten married in. He’d lifted the skirt, pulled down my panties, and told me to hold on while he appreciated every inch of me.

  I still think about that day.

  Often.

  But this. The noises he makes only makes me wetter as he pulls me into him and fucks me harder. One of my arms goes from the counter to his neck, winding around him and pressing our bodies as close together as they can get. Looking down, I watch him enter me and withdraw until he buries his face in my neck and bites down the same moment he goes hilt-deep and lets out a long drown-out groan as he empties himself.

  “I love you,” he whispers against my clammy skin, peppering kisses upward until he meets me lips. “How about we take off the rest of our clothes and go for round two? I promise I’ll go slower this time and pay extra attention to that pretty pussy of yours.”

  I smile against his lips. “The food is almost done.”

  His tongue drags across my bottom lip as he arches into me where he’s still planted, causing me to clench around him. “We can eat after. Replenish our calories.”

  “Garrick,” I giggle, playfully swatting his shoulder.

  He relents, pulling out and cleaning both of us up. And after my leggings are back on, and the food is out of the fryer, he doesn’t even let me try a piece before he kneels on the floor and makes sure I come twice with his head between my thighs before we’re sprawled across the tile completely naked and making noises that I wouldn’t be surprised if the neighbors can hear.

  “Marry me, love?” he asks again after laying beside me where we’re lounging sweaty on the floor. He pulls me into his side. “For real this time. No conditions. No two years. I’ll need far more than that.”

  I smile.

  Feel my heart pull toward him.

  And say, “Yes.”

  Bonus Scene

  Rylee

  Age 22

  The club is ear piercingly loud and packed so tightly that it’s hard to breathe past the mixture of perfume, cologne, alcohol, and sweat all lingering in the air as people dance. I wish I’d accepted the drink at the bar for some liquid courage but know better than to take things from strangers, which is ironic considering I’m practically here with one.

  The text I’d sent earlier to my best friend is plastered in the back of my mind.

  Rylee: Tonight is the night.

  I put on my best dress, a little black number that shows off my semi-slim legs, the slightest curves of my hips and the small incline of my chest while still leaving something to the imagination.

  When Zayne saw me in it, he’d gotten that look—the same one that other guys are giving me right now since the Violet Wonders drummer disappeared to the bathroom with a promise to be back.

  That was ten minutes ago.

  Elbowing my way through the crowd, I migrate to toward the RESTROOM signs and see a long line near the woman’s room, unsurprised that the men’s line is nothing in comparison.

  Looking around, I wipe my clammy hands against my hips. Moffie told me we could brainstorm other ideas, and I almost took her up on that offer until my rent check bounced, and Claudio told me he could only give me two weeks to pay him. With a late fee, of course.

  And since I’m almost out of my medication, the time for brainstorming is over.

  Desperation has sunk its claws into me, leading me here to meet the man who insisted he wouldn’t let me out of his sight.

  Someone bumps into me, knocking me into a group of girls who all scowl as their drinks slosh over the sides of their cups. I apologize despite them all turning away from me before I can even finish what I’m saying, not that they probably could hear me anyway over the techno music blaring.

  A headache forms in the back of my skull and I can’t decide if it’s stress, the music, side effects from my medicine, or all of the above. I fumble my way toward a clearing by the men’s room when Zayne suddenly appears through the swinging door.

  As soon as he sees me, he straightens and glances at his phone. “Shit. Was I gone that long?” I don’t comment, letting him drop an arm over my shoulders and yank me into his side a little too forcefully. “I think we’ll be more comfortable upstairs. My buddies are there. You’ll like them.”

  He doesn’t give me an option before guiding us in the direction of the spiral staircase that’s guarded by two huge guys who have muscles on their arms larger than my head. They instantly let Zayne pass, not sparing me a second glance. I wonder how often this happens.

  It doesn’t matter, I remind myself.

  And it doesn’t.

  It’s hardly jealousy that spreads through my veins as we make it to the landing that leads to a huge open space that has booths along the edges and waitresses serving the well-off people in even tighter and shorter outfits than the one I’m wearing.

  “Welcome to the perks,” he says in my ear, his lips trailing a little too long until I shiver in discomfort.

  I pull back, offering him a timid smile. “I can honestly say I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  He tips his chin toward the right, flicking his nose a few times and walking us toward the big booth in the corner. “Stick with me and you’ll see more than this. You haven’t been to my place yet, but I know you’ll love it.”

  His voice is off and his grip on my side
is a little too tight as we stop at the edge of the table where a few different guys sit with women on their laps. There’s only one who isn’t indulging in the same attention.

  I know those eyes. That face. And I’m surprised they’re on me.

  “Rylee, this is the band.” He names each member with a point of his finger, skipping the women who are too busy paying a little too much attention to the various men. When he stops on the man sitting alone, he laughs. “Scare off the blonde already?”

  “She annoyed me,” Garrick Matthews states with a shrug. His eyes only last on Zayne for a moment before trailing to me again. Locking. Studying.

  I have no clue what he sees. Looking away, I shift my gaze to the man who invited me along. He’s scratching his nose and watching something over the railing that looks out over the dancefloor. “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  I’m not convinced but take a seat at the end of the booth when he gestures toward the open spot next to the lead singer of his band. Zayne slides in beside me, sandwiching me in between them. I keep my hands on my lap, interwoven together with a stiff spine because I don’t want to touch either, especially not the Australian whose eyes are burning into the side of my head.

  I’m about to say something when one of the guys across the table says, “Who’s the new chick? She with you, Gray?”

  “Yeah,” the man next to me states. “So back off, huh?”

  I blush, keeping my eyes trained on the table and keeping to myself.

  A drink is pushed in front of me that I definitely didn’t order and when I glance over at Zayne, he smiles. “It’s safe, don’t worry.”

  I told him earlier I don’t drink, but I feel bad repeating myself. Wrapping my fingers around the glass, I keep it in my hold but don’t make a move to sip any.

  It’s a few minutes of back and forth between most of the guys before a different voice quietly asks, “You going to drink that?”

  The accent gives away the speaker, so I peek to the right of me and see blue eyes staring back intently. All I do is shake my head.

  His eyes move from me for a few seconds to look around the table before he reaches over, takes the glass from my hands, and tosses the contents out in the plant behind the booth. When he passes it back, he shoots me a wink that sends my heart into overdrive and looks back to one of his bandmates as if nothing happened.

  Someone tries pulling me into the conversation, but my tongue feels like lead in my mouth. I know I don’t belong here and so do they.

  It’s the man to my left, the one who keeps fidgeting and bumping our legs together, who draws my attention. “Want to leave?”

  Knowing what that implicates, two vastly different outcomes based on the lust in his eyes and the shame I bury behind mine, I hesitate.

  Tonight is the night.

  Tight smile, I nod. “Let’s go.”

  Someone cat calls.

  A girl lets out a high-pitch giggle.

  And I swear I hear a small growl.

  But I accept the hand offered to me as I slide out of the booth, readjust my dress’s hem, and let Zayne take me away from his friends as they all call out things behind us as we disappear.

  He says, “Need to head to bathroom quick.”

  I simply nod and stand by the door to the men’s room while he disappears behind it. And when I look through my lashes at the VIP lounge above me, I notice that Garrick Matthews is watching me back.

  I knock on the men’s door after another few minutes pass without a trace of Zayne.

  When I hear nothing from the other side, I crack it open and stare at the sight before me.

  “Oh my God,” I whisper.

  Tonight is the night.

  Tonight is the night.

  Tonight is the night.

  If I didn’t know that my bank account had a negative balance in it right now, maybe I would have backed up and left without looking back at the man bent over the counter covered in powder.

  But that’s not what I did at all.

  And when I dig out my phone from my bag and raise it to the scene in front of me, I wonder if the Australian with lingering eyes will magically appear and stop me.

  When he doesn’t, I take it as a sign.

  …and take the picture.

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  Acknowledgments

  This book is the kind of faster-paced, light-hearted story I needed after my last release. I knew Garrick Matthews and his witty charm was the perfect character to cleanse my palate with.

  A big shout out to my regular team for helping me put this baby together. Whenever I think I’m two steps ahead, I somehow manage to move five steps backward and always need a village to keep me moving forward.

  To my beta readers, Aliana and Melissa, thank you for helping me make Garrick and Rylee’s story the best it can be!

  To my PA Jessica, thank you for continuously running my ARC and Street Teams and helping me with final read throughs.

  To Rachel Brookes, thank you for helping me make Garrick Matthews a little more realistic since I know nothing about Australia.

  To my cover designer Letitia Hasser, you always pull through! Sorry for the last-minute changes.

  To my readers who always give my books a chance even if they’re not what they usually read, THANK YOU.

  Because of all of you, I can continue doing what I love and bringing stories to life.

  xx B

  About the Author

  B. Celeste’s obsession with forbidden novels enabled her to pave a path into a new world of raw, real, emotional romance.

  Her debut novel is The Truth about Heartbreak.

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