13. Anne
13
ANNE
I stare at Lennox as he walks away, wondering how the hell I’m going to survive the night. Like being at your ex’s wedding isn’t bad enough, I have to spend it being scrutinized by Kaitlyn and keep my body in check when it comes to Lennox. The latter is the hardest. In his tux, he belongs on a cover of a mafia romance novel, all long limbs and broad shoulders. His beard is neatly trimmed and every glance at his thick, tattooed fingers is an exercise in self-control.
Not that I can imagine something happening between us, but with his attention on me in his role of my fake boyfriend, my lady parts get confused.
I manage to turn my head back to the table, but quickly regret it.
“Really, Annie? That guy?” Brad basically snorts.
“It’s Anne. Not Annie,” I murmur.
“Oh, come on. Not this again.” My sister waves me off. “And Brad’s right. That guy?” She glances at the bar, her face scrunching as much as her fillers allow.
“What do you mean?” I act stupid, though I know exactly what she means.
“Bringing a tattooed mechanic to a sophisticated wedding? Might as well brought a delinquent.” She huffs.
“What’s wrong with Lennox?” No surprise, she’s a judgmental wench. She always was, but I was too far under her thumb to notice it.
“Come on. I know this is some sort of a teenage rebellion for you. But be realistic,” she scolds.
“I’m far from a teenager.” I won’t let her get in my head.
“You know what I’m saying. Men like that are not the men you marry,” she’s full-on whisper-yelling now.
“Maybe I’m not looking for someone to marry. Maybe I just want to have some fun.” I shrug.
“He’ll just use you before he finds someone better,” she spits out.
Her words are like a punch to the sternum, knocking my breath out. Even Brad’s brows raise in shock, but he would never tell her she crossed a line.
Using what Bryce did to me is foul, but what hurts even more is that Lennox isn’t even interested in me.
Here she is, acting concerned while she has absolutely nothing to worry about. I’m not enough to even spark his interest, let alone keep it.
Lennox returns with a satisfied smirk, but it quickly disappears when he notices my expression.
“Let’s drink this and head to the dance floor.” It’s not a question, it’s a demand, and I’m too out of it to protest. We clink our glasses and down the whiskey he brought. The amber liquid slides down my throat, the taste strong but soothing, reminding me of the time we drank it at my place.
He takes my glass and sets it on the table before taking my hand and leading me to the dance floor. There are enough people to get lost in the crowd and he brings us into the middle of it.
One of his hands slides over my lower back, pulling me flush to him.
“What happened?” he asks, staring into my eyes as we start to sway in sync with the slow music. We’re so close my barely covered nipples are grazing his chest, and I feel it more than appropriate.
“My sister. Nothing new.” I look away, but he turns my chin back around, his touch burning my skin.
“What did she say?”
“That you’ll only use me before finding someone better.” My voice is barely audible, but I swear I see the hairs on his neck stand up.
“Fuck. You know she’s not right, don’t you?” His deep blue eyes are almost pleading, so unlike the typical, confident look he has.
“Of course.” I play it off. “You won’t even use me.” I shoot him a half-smile, but the taste in my mouth turns sour. I’m not a flirty, ‘keep things close to my chest’ girl, I’m the ‘wear my heart on my sleeve’ one, no matter how bad it hurt me in the past.
“What does that mean?” He looks taken aback, almost hurt.
“Nothing, forget I said anything.” I don’t want to talk about it, and I really don’t want to talk about it on the dance floor of my ex’s wedding.
He doesn’t take the hint. Rather, he brings his mouth to my neck, inhaling my scent before whispering so only I can hear.
“If you think for a second that the image of me taking this fucking dress off you hasn’t been playing in my mind the whole night, you’re gravely mistaken. But it’s not a good idea.” He clenches his jaw, like the thought of staying away is painful.
“Oh,” I say, because what else is there to say? He’s right. My ego’s hurt, I’m probably a little drunk and a lot emotional. It’s not a good time to be making rash decisions. Especially ones that are so unlike me.
He doesn’t answer. We sway some more until fatigue sets in. These heels aren’t my friends and with all the stress tonight, I’m drained.
“Can we go?” I ask quietly.
“Come on.”
On our way out of the ballroom, we run into Bryce again.
“Leaving so soon?” he asks.
Lennox pulls me to him. “Yup, I think I’ve been patient enough tonight.” His gaze never leaves mine, not sparing a glance at Bryce.
“Sure,” Bryce stammers, obviously uncomfortable.
I’d probably chuckle if my body wasn’t too focused on the way Lennox’s body is pressed to mine. He lifts a finger and traces it down my cheek.
“He’s still watching,” he says quietly, his lips barely moving.
My mind’s too slow to figure out what that means before his soft lips brush gently against mine. He breathes me in, and though the kiss is only a peck, it’s the dirtiest peck I’ve ever participated in. His tongue darts out to snake a taste of my lips before retrieving.
My legs quiver as my body buzzes with electricity.
Shoot, this was a good fake kiss.
His hand doesn’t leave my back the whole way to our room. I know it’s fake, but Bryce never used to touch me much. Not in a way that made me feel his .
Lennox slides the key card and opens the door to the room, reminding me that there’s no way to sleep other than in the same bed.
“You can use the bathroom first. I’ll shower before bed,” he says, but I need some time to myself.
My head is still clouded with lust, lust that has no place being there.
“No, it’s OK. You can go first.” I smile, taking my heels off. The floor, despite being marble, is warm to my tired feet.
He heads to the bathroom while I walk up to the Juliet balcony, opening the drapes. Though it’s winter, I open the balcony doors to get some air inside.
A cool draft enters the room, prickling my skin with goosebumps. The only sound in the room is the shower running. I take a deep breath.
Tonight was a whirlwind of emotions, and I need to get myself in check. The lust is purely physiological, I know that. It will go away. But this feeling of being done—with other’s expectations, with forcing romance obviously not meant for me—it's here to stay.
I’ve been stuck for so long, doing what everyone else thought I should be doing. Trying to make everyone happy. Everyone except for me.
When I come home, things will be different. It’s time to figure out what I want. It’s time to take chances I want.
Closing the doors before it gets too cold, I turn around, gasping immediately.
There’s a glass partition wall between the shower and the bedroom, one that can be frosted with a single button. A button Lennox obviously forgot to press.
His back is to me, and I have a front row peep show to him taking a shower.
What if he turns around and sees me watching him?
I never turned on the lights in the room so maybe he won’t notice.
I should probably tell him to frost it, or at least not stare at him like a creep. But my feet are stuck to the floor, unable to move as my breath quickens from both panic and arousal.
His whole back is covered in intricate tattoos, all the way down to his ass. Fudge, that’s a good ass. His back muscles strain as his veiny arms travel all over his body, lathering it in soap.
I hold my breath as he turns halfway. His thick thighs flex as his manhood bobs proudly between them.
Holly hell. He wasn’t joking that first night when I mentioned nine-inch wieners. He turns his back to me again, but the image is engraved into my mind.
It’s like a myth. You read about it in great detail, imagining what it would be like encountering it in person, but the image doesn’t come close to the real thing. The image will surely upgrade my future reading experiences greatly.
Click or scan for a NSFW visual of this scene
Eventually, he wraps a towel around his waist and exits the bathroom. I’m still glued to the same spot, in the dark.
Turning on the lights in the bedroom, his head turns toward me and his brows scrunch.
“What happened?”
“What do you mean?” My ears are burning as heat rises to my face.
“You’re standing here, in the dark. And you look flushed.” The poor man is concerned, unaware I violated his privacy.
I glance to the glass wall, involuntarily and he follows my gaze. Seeing everything, and I mean everything inside the shower.
Can earth please open and swallow me whole?
The pause stretches longer than comfortable before his nostrils flare and he swallows. “Did you like what you saw?” His voice is deep, his eyes no longer concerned.
“What are you talking about?” Great save, Anne.
“There’s guilt written all over your face in bright red, and there’s a clear view of the shower exactly from where you’re standing. So let me ask again, Firecracker. Did you like what you saw?”
Firecracker. The word courses my bloodstream like a drug. He called me that the first night we met. And I loved it.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have looked.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Remember what you said, Anne. Stay true to yourself, don’t care what others think.
“Yes. I liked it! OK?” A devastating smirk appears on his face.
“Good girl for admitting that.”
The gasp that escapes me is almost a whimper. My nipples are probably piercing out of my dress, my panties soaking wet. I wasn’t even touched, and yet this was the best foreplay of my life.
“This was a stressful night for you. I wouldn’t dream of using that to my own gain. But if you want me to make you feel good, you just need to say it.”
Another breath lodges in my throat. My first instinct is to say ‘no, of course not’, because I don’t do things like this. But what happened to taking chances?
“I want you to make me feel good.” The words sound breathy and foreign, escaping sooner than my mind came to a conclusion.
He dips his head, his eyes darkening. “I know you’re probably used to gentle, so you’re going to have to tell me if I cross a line.”
I lick my desert-dry lips, unable to form a response.
“Is that clear?” His low voice sends another set of shivers down my spine.
Taking chances, Anne. You got a chance to be a freaking book character—use it wisely.
“Yes,” I whisper.
He crosses his arms over his chest, his biceps bulging. “Take off the dress.”
I audibly gulp, turning an even darker shade of red.
“Th-the lights are on,” I whine, disappointed with my own insecurities.
He approaches the home station and dims the lights. I let out a relieved breath.
“This is for your comfort, Firecracker. I’d much rather worship every inch of your body in full lights.” His voice turns even lower. “Now, take the damn dress off.”
My hesitant fingers slowly lower the zipper underneath my left arm before I pull down the straps from my shoulders and let the dress pool at my feet.
He locks his jaw as he swallows. My nipples are standing proudly, anticipating his next move while my insides swirl with nerves and excitement.
“Those too,” he states, motioning to my panties.
This is so foreign to me, doing things for the sake of gratification—just sex, nothing else. But I crave it, need it more than I’ve ever needed anything. I inhale a deep breath, trying to project an FMC from the books I read. My fingers wrap around the lace and pull them down, leaving me completely naked if you don’t count the flush now covering my entire body.
“Get on the bed and spread your legs.” Each command sends another rush of butterflies to my stomach, but I’m determined to see this through.
After everything tonight, don’t I deserve a reward?
I get on the bed and slowly spread my legs. I’m already soaked and he can probably see it, which makes my ears burn.
“You have no idea how crazy you made me the entire night. Your fucking dress teasing me, showing me just enough to make it hard to keep my sanity.” He breathes cool air on my slit and my rib cage raises as I draw in a sharp breath. “But this is just for tonight. I’ll enjoy my fake boyfriend role to the fullest and tomorrow , we’re back to being friends. Understand?”
“Y-yes.” My voice is desperate. It’s exactly what I need, to relieve the giant knot of tension coiled up inside of me.
His hands find their footing on the backs of my knees as he spreads me even wider.
“Ahhh,” I moan, as his mouth connects to my core.
“Fuck, you taste good,” he murmurs between licks.
He sucks, licks, and nips at my core as I writhe on the bed, my blood pumping wildly. It feels so freaking good, better than it has ever felt.
But as the minutes go by, another feeling appears, overpowering the arousal. He’s been doing this for a while, and not getting anything from it. What if he thinks he’s doing something wrong? It always takes me long to come, so I usually fake it as to not ruin the mood. As guilt and paranoia overtake me, my mind quickly comes to a decision.
My moans get louder, my core tightening as my inner muscles flex. Even my legs shake slightly as I reach the point of no return. The point where I groan out, with my well-practiced impression of an orgasm.
His licks get slower as relief engulfs me, a small smile appearing on my face.
A smile that is wiped out when he raises his head, his eyes a stormy blue sea.
“What the fuck was that?” His voice is so low my skin prickles with the danger.
“Wh-what do you mean?” My smile returns, as fake as my orgasm.
“You just faked it.” Blood drains from my face.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My gaze drops to my side, but he climbs on top of me, the towel long forgotten, his thick member jutting out, long and hard. It distracts me for a second, but he takes my chin with his hand, turning me to look at him.
“I know you faked it. What I want to know is why?” There’s no anger behind his words, only genuine curiosity.
My head falls to the side once more, but he doesn’t let it, bringing my eyes back to his. I guess there’s no way of escaping this.
“It always takes me ages to come. And as grateful as I am for what you did, you don’t have to keep doing it forever. I know it’s not a favorite for you guys.” My gaze travels his face, avoiding his eyes because this is too uncomfortable, too vulnerable.
“Firecracker.” The word is like a tether, pulling me back to his eyes, staring at me intently. “There’s nothing I’d rather do than eat this pretty little pussy until the sun comes up.” I whimper at the dirty words. “And you know I don’t say things I don’t mean.” He doesn’t.
“You have no idea how good you taste. Maybe I should show you.” He pauses, checking for my response before he captures my lips with his.
This kiss isn’t soft and gentle like the first one, it’s primal and demanding. His tongue enters my mouth, making me cry out in pleasure as I taste myself. One hand is in my hair, holding me by the scalp as our tongues battle, all thoughts of guilt long forgotten.
His other hand travels my neck, my collarbone, down to my breast, where he grabs it roughly, moaning into my mouth.
“So, let’s try this again. I’m going to eat this soaking wet pussy for however long I want to, and you’re going to take it.”
I nod eagerly, not caring about anything other than having him on top of me.
He lowers his head down to my breast, closing his lips around a stiff nipple. Licking a couple circles around it, he bites into it before repeating the process on the other side.
I try to whimper and moan appropriately, but it’s too good, too much to control the noises that come out of me.
And as he bites into my other nipple while pinching the first one with his fingers, I can’t help but let out a, “Fuuuuuck.”