Playing Mr. Perfect (The Bradens at Ridgeport #1)

Pepper

Wakefulness comes with a faint throb in my temple, eased by the luxurious feel of soft sheets, the scent of something sweet and spicy, and the blissfulness of being completely and utterly sexually satisfied. Panic flares in my chest, and my eyes fly open. I lie stock-still for fear of waking Clay as last night comes reeling back in vivid color and surround sound. Images flash in my mind of Clay’s face buried between my legs, his eyes gleaming with lust as he made me moan and writhe and beg . Beg! Nonononono . I don’t beg for sex! I squeeze my eyes shut against that mortifying reality, and his voice traipses through my mind— Spread your legs for me, baby . Now watch me pleasure you —sending my traitorous body into a heated shudder with the memory of his talented mouth, hands, and body giving me the best orgasms of my life.

Shitshitshit .

How could I let this happen? This is all my sisters’ fault with their stupid drinking games and flaunting their happy coupledom. All that kissing, cuddling, and whispering with their men!