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
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 brain 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?”
