Chapter 9 #2
My cock jumps in my slacks at the idea of inking her smooth, creamy skin.
I dig into the creamy chicken pasta and salad she ordered for me because, clearly, she still remembers what I like too.
The food is fucking fantastic and so is the wine, and I have a nice warmth running through my veins from the tequila and the view.
The one I can’t seem to remove my eyes from.
The one with hair nearly the same color as the wine.
“What would you have me ink?” I ask after a quiet beat, no longer able to hold my curiosity back.
She shrugs, twirling spaghetti around on her fork and shoveling the bite into her mouth. “I have no clue. It’s why I’ve never had anything done.”
Her phone pings, and I don’t have to look to know it’s Alfie. I will have a full night of research and digging ahead of me. She frowns, sipping her wine. “Do I need to check that?”
“Not unless you want to.”
“I don’t. And I don’t want to go back to my townhouse in LA,” she whispers, spinning her glass between her hands and staring sightlessly out the large windows. “Ezra will be able to watch me there, and that makes me sick. Plus, even though my mom is there, I feel isolated. More vulnerable to him.”
“We can have people pack it up for you or remove them from the scene. Whichever you prefer.”
Absently, she shakes her head and returns to her food, going for a piece of shrimp.
“That part of my life might be done, even though I love LA and California. I grew up in Boston and then returned for school. It feels as much like home to me as LA does, and I haven’t had the chance to move back there until now. ”
I squint at her, finishing up the pasta and closing the lid on the to-go container. “Why?”
She shrugs, taking the last sip of her glass of wine. “My family wanted me to stay in LA, but now that doesn’t seem like the best place for me.”
“If it were your choice, where would you go?” I can’t help but ask.
“I don’t know.” She pours herself more wine and leans back in her chair, bringing her glass with her. “That’s part of my problem. It’s difficult to figure out your life when so many people want a piece of it.”
I swirl my glass and then finish it off, declining when she motions to pour me more. I don’t drink a lot, and I think my reasons for that are fairly obvious. “If you go back to Boston, will you stay with Zax or Grey?”
“I doubt it. They’re both about to get married, and I’d be a third wheel. Plus, I like my space and privacy. I’ll likely buy a place or rent. If Ezra is having me followed though…” She gives an exaggerated shudder.
“You’re safe, Georgie,” I promise. “I won’t let him hurt you.”
Her eyes gleam with challenge. “Can you extend the same promise to yourself?”
My breath quickens, even as I say, “I have no intention of crossing lines with you.”
“Hmm.” She stands and walks over to the window. Her head rolls over her shoulder, and her eyes catch mine for a moment before she returns to the view. Mine haven’t left her. “And yet, that’s exactly what I want you to do. It’s my wedding night. Who will believe a marriage that isn’t consummated?”
“Georgia—”
My breath tumbles from my lungs as she reaches up into her hair and starts removing one pin at a time, setting each down on the table beside her. Thick, auburn locks fall in heavy, silky waves one by one until a full mane of red splashes down her back, a stark juxtaposition against her white dress.
And speaking of…
Her arms stretch and her hands search until they find the zipper high up on the back of her neck. My hands grip the table in front of me as she slowly starts to unzip her dress, her body framed perfectly against the window.
“What are you doing?” I grit out.
“Enticing my husband,” she explains without so much as a glance.
“You see, your law on the plane got me thinking, and I realized I haven’t had sex in months.
Well before my father died, actually. I couldn’t stand Ezra touching me, so I rarely let him.
Anyway, I’m in Vegas, and I got married today.
Even though it’s not real”—her head rolls again and she meets my eyes—“I think I want to pretend it is. Just for tonight. Just for now. And then tomorrow, it’ll all go back to whatever it’s supposed to be with us.
Hate or simple antagonism or bland amicability.
But I don’t want to go the next year without having had sex in so long I’ll forget what it feels like to have a man touch me. ”
My throat is dry and raw—likely from overuse since I don’t recall ever talking as much in my thirty-one years as I did today—or more likely it’s from the woman standing in the silhouette of the window.
The glow of the Strip and flash of the fountain lights cascade over her skin as she lets her dress fall to reveal her white lingerie like a delicious invitation.
I need to say no.
I made promises. Serious promises. Promises I cannot go back on.
Does she have any clue how dangerous this is? How it’s so much more than a thrill or a simple fuck? We’re married now, and that immediately complicates this.
I can’t have sex with her. My addiction is barely hanging on—a thin, fraying thread—and it’s been one day. One fucking day. I promised I wouldn’t do this. I swore I wouldn’t cross this line. I need to be honorable. Worthy.
And I cannot betray my best friends—not again.
The dress is pooled at her feet, and she steps out of it and bends forward, treating me to a stunningly unholy view of her perfect ass in her tiny thong, the barest hint of her pussy peeking through beneath the lace.
And speaking of lace, she’s wearing a goddamn garter on her upper thigh.
Something I want to snag with my teeth and pull roughly from her.
Her body… motherfuck. Her body is my living fantasy. Long lines and gorgeous curves in all the right places have my hands and mouth desperate to feel and taste them.
She sets the dress over a chair, and then, still in her heels, with her red hair flowing all around her and her green eyes deadly and locked on me, she saunters in my direction.
Her full breasts overflow the confines of her minimal white lace bra, bouncing and enticing, fucking mouthwatering as she reaches the space between my legs.
Using her heeled foot, she kicks them wider and inserts herself between them.
“Help me out of these?” she whispers, hiking up one foot and planting it on the bench seat beside me, her knee spread wide, putting her pussy right fucking here in front of me.
Fucking temptress.
I take her foot in my hand, and with my eyes on hers, I unhook the clasp on her shoe, removing the heel and setting it aside.
She switches feet, and I repeat the motion.
And once she’s barefoot, so small and delicate, my hands run up the backs of her legs, and I watch as goosebumps erupt across her skin.
“You can keep going. You can go all the way.”
Was she ever this bold before? Yes, she was. Just in a different way. A more timid way. A way that was asking instead of taking but offering all the same .
I shake my head at her, and she smiles, her fingers running through my hair, her nails scraping my scalp, and I hum from the pleasure of it.
She’s not the only one who hasn’t had sex in a while.
When you don’t talk a lot or trust people, or hell, even like people all that much, and live on the fringes of right versus wrong, sex is dangerous.
I think the last time I fucked someone was in the club Zax is still a member of because Aurelia likes to go there and play with him sometimes. But it was masked and anonymous, and this is not that. This is Georgia, and I need to say no.
But I want her too fucking badly. Even if it’s just for tonight.
“No.” I shake my head. “No, Georgia, we can’t.”
“Are you hard for me, Lenox?” she asks as she slips herself onto my lap and sets her pussy in her sheer thong straight over my throbbing cock.
“Mmmm. Feels like you are.” She rocks forward, pressing against me, and I die right here with her in my lap.
Her body shifts around on me until her tits are right up against my chin, her head angled playfully, and her cherry lips smiling, because I’m not just hard for her, I’m fucking stone, and she likes it.
I reach up and cup her tits, lifting their swell and dipping my mouth down to them. “Was this your plan all along?”
She emits a breathy laugh as I sink my teeth into her lace-covered nipples, my hands sliding to her hips, holding her steady so she can’t grind on my cock the way she’s trying to.
“Not even close. Tell me you don’t want it though.”
I can’t. I’ve wanted her every minute of every day for the last eight years. Even after I walked away from her, I wanted her. But that doesn’t make it right, and it certainly doesn’t mean I’m entitled to it after what I did to her.
“We shouldn’t.”
“It’s just this one time,” she whispers breathily, her head falling back and her hands going to my shoulders as I nip and lick and eat at her tits still partially kept from me in her bra. “Just to make the marriage official.”
God. I can’t say no. Not with her like this .
I grasp her wrists and yank them behind her back, thrusting her tits toward my face. “Did you forget how I do this?”
She shakes her head, her red tresses falling over her shoulders and framing her face, making her look like an angel ready to sin. “It’s exactly what I want. Can you give me this, Lenox? Can you fuck me like a bride and a whore all at once?”
Christ. I’m so fucked now.