The Worst Best Man

by Mia Sosa

  Then he reaches for the door handle. I spring off the bed and place my hand on his, preventing him from opening the door.

  Max waits, but he doesn’t meet my gaze, so I stare at his profile.

  “I’m not interested in anything serious,” I say, my voice breathier than I intended. “You, me, us. It wouldn’t work, Max. Not long-term. There’s just too much baggage to sift through.”

  He raises his head, looking up at the ceiling, and I’m transfixed by the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. Finally, he says, “In other words, you’re not looking for a commitment.”

  “Right. But I am open to companionship. No promises.”

  He turns sideways to study me, his head and shoulder resting against the door. “And what if I told you I could live with that?”

  I reach up and caress his jaw. Max’s eyes shutter closed, then he snuggles into my hand, brushing his lips against it. Warmth gathers in the center of my chest and slowly spreads out like molten lava. My fingers ache to travel over more of his skin, but I force myself to focus on answering his question. “If you can live with that, then I’d tell you my one remaining ‘I Wish You Wouldn’t.’”

  He opens his eyes. “Which is?”

  “I wish you wouldn’t leave this room.”

  His lips curve into a half-smile, as if he thinks the wish is promising but wants to reserve judgment until he hears how the rest of this conversation plays out. “Can I tell you more of my wishes, then?”

  I’m on my toes, leaning in close but no longer touching him, the heady sensation of anticipation coursing through me all the way to my fingertips. “Tell me.”

  He straightens and brushes back a lock of my hair that’s escaped its ponytail. “I wish I could kiss you. I wish I could touch you. I wish I could . . .” He shakes his head and peers at me. “No, you’re not ready.”

  I immediately press him for more, not caring that it betrays how easily I can be baited. “What else? I can handle whatever you’re going to say.”

  With his teeth digging into his bottom lip, he tilts his head and examines me for evidence that I’m speaking the truth. He’s making an obvious effort to appear only faintly interested in the fruits of his inspection, but he’s breathing heavily, and his pupils have hijacked his brown eyes, masking their true color. Max is aroused. Because of me. I don’t even need to hear him say it anymore. Whatever it is, I know I’ll want it, too.

  “All right, then,” he says on a sigh, as though I’ve finally, regrettably, forced it out of him. “I wish I could make you come so hard you’d cry out loud enough to shatter the windows of this ridiculously charming inn.”

  I take much-needed air into my lungs, my chest rising and falling with each gulp. That’s quite a wish. The possibility that I’d reach that level of abandon worries me, but I can’t deny that my hands are now clammy or that I’m purposefully contracting my sex because my need is so strong. If I could be certain it wouldn’t frighten him, I’d rip his T-shirt apart, clear down the middle, and run my hands over his chest so I could see his bare muscles flex as nature intended them to. Oh, yeah, and I want specifics. Does he mean to drive me wild with his mouth? His fingers? His cock? All three? Not at the same time, obviously, but in multiple rounds, maybe?

  “Have I rendered you speechless?” he asks, interrupting my stream of cocksciousness.

  I shake my head. “No, no. It’s just that I doubt that’s even possible.”

  His face falls, as though he was hoping for a different, more meaningful answer.

  “Still, I’d love to see you try,” I add.

  He jerks his head up and whispers my name—not Lina but Carolina—and then there’s a flash of movement that ends with my back pressed against the door and his fingers entwined at the nape of my neck.

  “Oh,” I say. “You’re agile.”

  “Too much?” he asks, his gaze roving over my face for signs that he’s overstepped his bounds.

  I grab onto his waist and pull him even closer, wanting him to crowd me. “No, just right.”

  Too right, in fact. It’s an impressive start to an encounter I’d secretly prefer to be ho-hum. Because that would simplify this whole mess, wouldn’t it? Bad sex is easy to dismiss; good sex is hard to forget.

  Slowly and so carefully that I’m unsure of his intentions, he draws back, lifts my chin with his index finger, and pins me with a heavy gaze that makes me think of lazy Sunday mornings, rumpled sheets, and sunlight pouring in through delicate curtains fluttering in the breeze. Unable to wait any longer, I nip at his lower lip, tugging it until he brushes his mouth over mine, back and forth and up and down. He does this more times than I can count, bringing us to the edge but never tipping us over.

  Just as I’m about to reach my limit and beg for more, he nudges my mouth open and swirls his tongue with mine, his hands sliding up above my head and caging me in. I don’t want this to be good, but damn him, if this preview is any indication, it most certainly will be.

  When we finally pull apart, he raises his head, undisguised need burning in his eyes, and then he examines my face for signs of . . . something. If he’s looking for a reaction to the kiss, that’s not where he’ll find it. But if he lowers his gaze a few inches, he’ll see the outline of my stiff nipples. And if he trailed a finger down my chest, he’d feel my heart racing. And if he slipped his hands between my thighs, he’d feel the heat there. Yes, this body’s on board. My mind, however, is operating a few steps behind. Because there’s no coming back from this. Once it’s done, it’s done. Please let it be mediocre. Please, please, please.

  “What are you thinking?” he asks.

  I shift my head and stare past him. “You don’t want to know.”

  He dips his head and plants a single kiss along my jaw. “Tell me.”

  I shiver at the small contact. Again, damn him. “Honestly, I’m hoping you’ll be epically bad at this. I want this to be the worst sex I’ve ever had. That would solve a mountain of problems.”

  He lifts his head and raises a brow. “Because then you can walk away easily?”

  There’s no point in denying it, so I nod. “Yes.”

  His lips quirk up at the corners. “So what you’re saying is, if the sex between us is incredible, you’ll be disappointed?”

  I bare my teeth sheepishly. “Perverse, right?”

  He raises a brow. “Then there’s just one thing left for you to do.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Prepare to be disappointed.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Max

  Lina’s unknowingly issued a challenge, and I intend to meet it. She’s hoping for bad sex? Not on my watch. But how do I approach the task so that she’s incentivized to work with me toward a common goal?

  I take a step back and stroke my chin as I study her, searching for an angle custom-made to disarm her. She’s still leaning against the door, her chest rising and falling as she waits for me to do or say something. Mentally rewinding through our last few minutes together, I pause at the moment when she initiated our first kiss; the memory gives me an idea that’s either brilliant or witless. “I need you to give me a fair shot here, and I think I can help you do that. You see, I’m a lot like a dog. Not in the ‘all men are dogs’ way you may be thinking, but rather in the sense that I’m eager to please and highly trainable. So, I figure if you tell me how I can screw this up, I’ll just do the opposite.” I give her the thumbs-up equivalent of jazz hands. “What do you say, friend?”

  She works her jaw as she considers my question. “In other words, you’re putting the onus on me.”

  I wave my index finger at her. “No, no, no. I’m making us equal partners in the success of this joint venture.”

  Chuckling, she drops her chin and squeezes her temples. “You talk too much.”

  “True. And some people—otherwise known as the royal me—would argue that you don’t talk enough. So how about it? Help me out here?”

  After several beats of si
lence, she nods. “Okay, we’ll do it your way.”

  I grin. “Which is really your way.”

  “Shut up, Max.”

  “Right.”

  She addresses me as though she’s making a presentation, her hands gesturing for emphasis. “Here’s what doesn’t impress me. When a guy thinks his dick has all the answers. That usually means he’ll rush through sex as though penetration is the ultimate goal. It isn’t. A guy who doesn’t take the time to explore my body is wasting a golden opportunity to bring me the kind of pleasure I’ll daydream about for weeks.”

  “With that in mind, may I approach?” I ask.

  She smiles. “You may.”

  I erase the space between us and slide my hands under her hair, massaging her neck. “How could anyone not want to caress this beautiful skin? It would be a fucking crime.”

  With her eyes closed, she drops her head back and exposes her neck to me. I trail my lips across her collarbone and up the side of her neck, until I press a soft kiss on her jaw. Her skin smells like an intoxicating combination of peaches and vanilla, and if I make it out of this room alive, I’ll be on the hunt for a dessert that reminds me of this scent.

  My hand bunches the fabric of her T-shirt at the waist. “What’s under here? Can I see?”

  In answer, she lowers her head and slowly pulls up the tee, revealing her silky-smooth thighs. I’m primed to devour her with my eyes, but she hesitates.

  “Show me, Lina.”

  She presses her teeth into the corner of her bottom lip and raises the fabric a couple of inches more. Fuck me. She’s not wearing any panties, and seeing her bare pussy is more than my already overtaxed heart can handle. “Well, someone’s efficient.”

  She giggles, and it’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. “That wasn’t planned. It’s a long story.”

  “It begins with the pair of panties I saw in the bathroom, doesn’t it?”

  She drops the T-shirt and covers her eyes. “Yes.”

  “Don’t,” I say, pulling her arms down. “I wrung them dry and brought them back in here. Didn’t want to give any of the guests a heart attack. So now it’s our secret, one I wish I’d been in on about a half hour ago. Would you take it off completely?”

  “Sure,” she says, reaching for the shirt again. In seconds, it’s gone, tossed onto the armchair to her right.

  My first look at her nearly brings me to my knees. “Lina,” I breathe out, unable to say anything profound. With rounded hips and full tits encased in a sheer blue bra, her dark brown nipples erect and her rich brown skin glowing, Lina is everything that could possibly turn me on. My dick presses against the fly of my jeans, and I shift my own hips to alleviate some of the discomfort.

  “I like being on display,” she says, snapping me out of my trance, “but only when the person I’m with is on display, too. Don’t just tell me you want me. Show me.”

  My T-shirt disappears in a flash. Next, I unbutton my jeans and pull the zipper down. Staring at her intently, I tug my pants over my hips, leaving them scrunched at the middle of my thighs, and then I free my erection from the boxers restraining it. It bobs a few times, stiff and high, until it settles in the air, standing at attention and waiting for direction. “Better?”

  She nods, her dark eyes glinting with interest. “Much. With that as part of your arsenal, the chances of winning the war are high. Come here so I can touch it.”

  “Please?” I ask, a hint of a smirk undermining the affronted tone I’m faking.

  “Pretty please,” she says, as she removes her bra, revealing her heavy breasts.

  Distracted by the sight, I step forward—and nearly pitch myself into the wall.

  “You’ll need to take off your pants first,” she says on a laugh.

  Grumbling to cover my gaffe, I strip out of my jeans and kick them out of the way.

  “Another thing that’s sure to make sex unimpressive is a person who doesn’t know how to have fun with it,” Lina says pointedly. “A bit of good-natured self-deprecation isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

  Catching her meaning, I lean over and slap the top of my thigh. “You saw that? Me stumbling in my jeans? Hilarious, wasn’t it?”

  “Get over here, Max,” she says, her expression amused.

  Enjoying her playfully bossy tone, I don’t waste time getting there, taking one giant step forward and placing my hands on her hips as my mouth covers hers. We both moan our approval when our bodies connect again. I’m surrounded by heat and softness and curves, my new happy place in the flesh. Lina slips a hand between us and strokes me, her grip sure and firm. I slide my mouth away, unable to control the hiss that escapes my throat. This is too much. She’s fucking too much. I can already predict that I’ll want to do this with her over and over again. Now I need to ensure she feels the same way by the end of the night.

  I bend my knees and look up at her. “I’d like to spend some time down here.” Leaning forward, I breathe her in and lick my lips. “Any tips before I begin?”

  She grips the doorknob for support, her eyes glazing over. “I don’t enjoy it when men jab their tongue in as though they’re poking a bee’s nest with a stick. Or when they munch on me like a crunchy snack they can find at a concession stand. Cunnilingus is an art. It requires imagination and nuance. Oh, and I love when a person talks dirty to me as they do it—in small doses, of course, because I’d obviously want you to be focused on the task at hand.”

  Does she have any idea that she’s talking dirty to me now? Does she realize what a tempting picture she’s making as she rubs her thighs together in anticipation, her back arched to emphasize her swollen breasts? If I can give her even half the pleasure she’s giving me simply by standing here, the windows in this room will shatter.

  I tap her right leg. “Put this over my shoulder. Grab onto my hair if you need to. I like that a lot.”

  She doesn’t let go of the doorknob, as though it’s her security against collapsing, but she does swing her leg over my shoulder and grip the back of my head. I bury my face between her thighs and lick her folds, groaning at the hint of wetness I find there.

  “Oh God,” she moans. “Yes, Max. Just like that.”

  I lift my head and look up at her. “Tell me what your pussy needs, baby. Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

  “My clit,” she whispers. “I need you to suck on it. Scrape it with your teeth.”

  And so I do. Settling into an unhurried rhythm, I slide the flat of my tongue inside and lap at her with short and long strokes, then I roll my lips across her clit and suck it gently, my fingers separating her flesh so I can get where I need to be.

  Minutes later, her grip on my head falters, but she rights herself, and grasps the back of my head even harder, her hips rolling in time to the slip and slide of my tongue. “Oh, I can’t . . . it’s . . . I need to . . . it feels so good, Max.”

  I can hear her voice rising with each word. In a perfect world, she’d tell me if she was close, because I refuse to leave this slice of heaven I’ve stumbled upon without good cause. Deciding to test her readiness using some of that imagination she asked for, I scrape my teeth against her clit and simultaneously slip two fingers inside her. She cries out as she detonates, her body shaking as if she’s exploding from the center outward and her hand banging against the doorknob until her hold on it slips.

  As she blinks herself back to consciousness, I wipe my mouth and sit on my heels to enjoy the view. She looks languid and disheveled, the band around her ponytail dangling at the ends of her hair and a sheen of sweat kissing the skin of her belly and thighs.

  I could stare at her in this state all day, but not even ten seconds after she trembled under my tongue, someone knocks on the door.

  “The kitchen’s closing down soon, folks, but in the meantime you’re welcome to join us for a nightcap in the parlor if you’re free.”

  Wide-eyed, Lina snorts, then she slaps a hand on her mouth when she realizes her voice may carry beyond the room.


  “Thanks for the invitation,” I call out, “but I think we’re staying in for the night.”

  Lina bends a little and wrinkles her nose at me. “Who needs a nightcap when you can have a night-come.”

  She was irresistible before, but discovering she has a wicked sense of humor and perfect comedic timing seals my fate: This woman’s perfect for me. And that can only mean trouble. Pure, unadulterated, non–genetically modified trouble. But right now? I couldn’t care less.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Lina

  So far, Max is doing a superb job of disappointing me. I should have known he wouldn’t cooperate. For that matter, my body won’t cooperate, either. It thinks Max is a very good boy, indeed. And who could blame it, really? I told Max cunnilingus is an art, and he took it upon himself to create a masterpiece worthy of its own wing in the Louvre.

  Damn him to a world with no cake in it.

  The man who’ll star in my daydreams for the next few weeks rises to his full height, his thick penis pointing to the ceiling. When he moves, more muscles than I thought any single human could possess activate and flex in rapid succession, the way I imagine the gears of a manual clock work together to mark the passage of time. It’s fascinating—and disorienting.

  I’m aware there’s still an opportunity for him to screw up, but the odds are not in my favor, and as he’s already pointed out, I’m just as responsible for the success of this endeavor as he is.

  “Tell me something,” he says. “Do you have a grudge against the bed?”

  “Not at all,” I say, lifting a brow. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because I’m starting to wonder if your back’s going to fuse with the door.”

  I push off said door, my cheeks warming under his amused scrutiny. I glance at the bed, its intricately detailed headboard and elegant drapery beckoning me. The bed’s so . . . intimate. It will eventually lead to sleep, maybe even cuddling if we’re feeling adventurous. And sleep leads to morning afters. Which are often filled with regrets and oh-shit-what-the-fuck-did-I-do’s. But thinking I can put all that off is silly, and I’m glad Max called me on it.