Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
He locks both my hands with one of his. “Not until I get my kiss.” A naughty gleam lights his eyes.
“My lips are up here, asshole.”
The curve of his mouth widens, his smile becoming filthier and filthier. “You said a kiss, honey. But you never specified where.”
And then that wicked mouth lands on my aching core, and an even wickeder tongue sweeps out for a long, lazy lick.
Oh. My. God.
A shock wave of pleasure darts from my clit to my breasts to…well, to everywhere. I feel that one lick in every inch of my body, and it’s so good I don’t have the strength to push him away. I do the opposite, actually—I grab the back of his head and pull him closer while my traitorous legs part even farther.
“Yeah, that’s what I want,” Blake mumbles against my sensitive flesh. “Open up for me, honey.”
I hate him.
I hate his warm lips and his wet, talented tongue.
I hate the sting of his fingers on my inner thigh and the blunt tip of his finger as he drags it toward my opening.
I hate—
No, I don’t. I love it. I love every damn thing he’s doing to me. Every flick of the tongue against my clit. Every growled noise that leaves his throat as he wraps his lips around that swollen bud and sucks. But there’s no release. No cure for the knot of tension coiling low in my belly.
“I need to come,” I almost wail.
His laughter vibrates between my legs, male and husky and smug as fuck. Then he works his tongue over me again while his finger travels lower, dips into my embarrassingly obvious arousal, and slips inside me.
That’s all it takes to detonate the pressure in my core. I gasp as the orgasm rips through me, pulsing in my blood and making my knees shake. My fist tightens in Blake’s hair as I rock my hips and ride out the wave of sensation.
When I finally grow limp, Blake raises his head and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I love kissing you,” he says solemnly.
I’m too sated and mindless to reply, but somewhere in the haze of pleasure still fogging up my brain, I’m pretty sure I want to punch him.
Chapter 7
Like a Rock
Jess
No matter what crazy things happened between Blake and I a couple of hours ago, there’s no rest for the wicked.
The party is winding down around me. Jamie and Wes have already turned in; at midnight, a limo took them to our family home so they could get some sleep (or alone time) before their honeymoon. Meanwhile, I’m starting the cleanup process. While the caterers and rental company will do most of the heavy lifting, there are centerpieces to save and borrowed items to collect and return. There are DJs to tip and taxis to call.
I’m way too busy to think about Blake or to scan the crowd for his big head. And I’m way too busy to wonder what’s going to happen later tonight in my bed…
“Jess, can I see you for a moment?”
The chair I’d been folding clatters to the ground in my haste to face my mom. “Um, sure?” Do I look guilty? Mom is the most intuitive woman in the world. Can she tell I recently had my bush patrolled by the best man?
But she just smiles and offers me one of the bite-size lemon cookies on the little plate she’s been passing around. “I have a little favor to ask. Would you mind taking your brother and Wes to the airport at five in the morning? I thought I could manage it, but it will be two o’clock before we leave here, and your grandmother expects a hot breakfast when she gets up at six thirty. I can’t handle her in a zombielike state.”
“Sure,” I say quickly, leaning down to yank the chair upright again. God, I hope there isn’t a wet spot on the back of my dress. “I’ll do it.”
Mom puts a hand on my shoulder. “I really appreciate it. You’ve been like a rock through all this. Anyone who hires you to plan their big day is getting a bargain at any price.”
I actually flinch when she says that. Planning a stranger’s wedding would be easier, but I still have no urge to do it again.
“What’s the matter, sweetie?” my mother asks, missing nothing.
Maybe it’s the champagne, but the truth comes spilling out. “Planning weddings isn’t really my thing.”
Her response is swift, and it’s precisely what I expected: Her face drops.
“Listen,” I add in a hurry, “it’s not because I can’t handle it or I’m bored. But there’s something more important I’m supposed to be doing. Something that does more for the world than choosing color schemes.”
Mom sighs, and the sound of it grates on me, because I’m the child she saves her sighs for. “But it’s been just three months since you announced to us that this was your future.”