Page 43

Floating and spinning, the only things keeping me from drifting away is the weight of his mouth. My hands on his chest, fingers curling into the lapels of his suit jacket. His hand in my hair, his rough fingers tight against my skull, while his other slips to my hip, holding me tight, letting me feel the hard length of his cock between us. I forget about how insulted I am. How much he hurt me. Keeps hurting me. All I can remember is this. How good he felt, moving inside me. How much I wanted him.
Still want him.
The thought sends a rush of heat through me, so hard and fast I feel like I’m spinning. I slip a hand between us, lower and lower until my fingertips are grazing along the length of his rigid cock.
He groans, flexing his hips into my hand, again and again. I tighten my grip, sweeping my thumb over the engorged head of his shaft until I feel pre-cum seep through the fabric of his pants.
“Fuck...” Tearing his mouth away, he glares down at me. “Answer the question—are you getting married?”
I keep giving in to him. I keep letting him in.
Giving him what he wants. Every time.
I feel my jaw set itself in a mutinous jut. “Does it matter?”
He doesn’t even hesitate.
“Nope.” I feel the hand on my hip start to tighten, gathering the fabric of my skirt. “Not even a little bit.”