Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Eager to please, desperate to come, I ask, “What do you want me to do?”
Hayes stares at my mouth, lips quirked in a cocky grin as he fucks me with his fingers till I’m panting again. He lets go of my wrists, grabs the end of his tie, and raises it to my mouth. “Bite down on this.”
He shoves the silk between my lips all while he strokes my clit.
“Now, shut the fuck up and come like a good dirty girl,” he says.
I bite down. The pleasure is so intense I’m afraid I can’t keep my eyes open, but I want to watch…Stefan. His hands are curled around the back of the chair, his knuckles white, and his gaze locked on me. “That’s right, sweetheart. Eyes on me when you come,” Stefan says.
Hayes strokes faster, and I can’t speak. I can only scream silently against the fabric, rocking into his talented hand, seeing stars as an orgasm seizes my body.
When my knees buckle, my temporary husband catches me, holds me steady, then gently takes the tie from my mouth. I tremble in his arms for long, delirious seconds, my world still spiraling away.
When at last I can focus, Hayes says, “To answer your question…I like your lipstick.”
The man I married presses a tender kiss to my mouth. When he breaks it, he glances down at me. I’m a mess—the skirt of my dress hiked up, panties twisted, hair likely wild.
And my world’s been upended by two men. But when I look around for the other one, he’s gone.
17
MY WIFE
Hayes
Adrenaline’s still buzzing under my skin, and my brain has zero real estate for anything but Ivy.
I need to grab a minute to take the temperature with her. That escalated quickly, skyrocketing from hungry kiss to wild tryst. I don’t know if she’s done anything like that before, if she’s going to freak. But I give her some space to change, pacing in the foyer, back and forth for a minute or two, replaying the hottest five minutes of my life.
When she emerges, dressed in her own clothes again, she runs a hand breezily through her waves then says, “Should we get those tacos now?”
My Spidey senses tingle. She sounds too chipper.
Is she out of sorts because we work together and messed around? Or because the three of us messed around? I can’t get a read on her.
We exit the chapel at a rapid clip, and I’m about to ask if she wants to talk when Brady rounds the corner. He holds out his arms, like he’s been searching for us all night long. “There you are.”
“We’re here,” Ivy says brightly. “Took me a few minutes to change.”
“Taco shop’s closed,” Brady says, hanging his head. The lack of tacos is evidently the height of devastation. “But there’s a ramen spot in The Extravagant, and Dev wants to go there, so our Lyft is on the way.”
It’s odd that he came back for us. Most dudes would just text and let you find your own ride. “Kana made me come look for you,” he says, and that explains everything. He’s here on a mission to collect us on behalf of the mom of the group. He hooks his thumb toward the end of the block. “You can join us.”
I’ve no good reason to turn him down, so even though I want a moment with Ivy alone, I find myself piling into an SUV with Dev, Brady, Kana, Ivy, and Stefan.
She’s in the third row, wedged between Stefan and me, but she fiddles with one earring, then the other, then the third one higher up her lobe. As Dev gabs about some Vegas fan who was talking shit to them on the street, Ivy keeps her gaze fixed on the road like the lights of Vegas are the height of fascination.
We turn onto the Strip and my gut churns. This is bad. She regrets it and I don’t know why. But I can’t let her stew alone. I inch closer. “Hey,” I whisper, checking. “You okay?”
She nods, then pastes on a smile, jerking her head toward me in a quick glance. “Yes. Totally. Absolutely.”
My heart sinks with a thud. Three yeses is the kiss of death.
Stefan turns to her and parts his lips to speak.
“—Boom! Eight a.m.,” Dev shouts from the row in front of us, then twists around, waggling his phone as we swing past the Bellagio, its fountains arcing gracefully against the dark night. “Who fucking loves you, Armstrong? Got you an appointment.”
I furrow my brow. “For what?”
“For your annulment. C’mon, man. Keep up with us,” Brady puts in.
Oh, wow. Right. I’m kind of touched they scheduled one.
“Thanks,” I say, and I steal another glance at Ivy, but she’s fixed on the windshield, rotating her earrings once again. If she’s regretting what happened up against the wall in the chapel, I won’t forgive myself.