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Princess, if you’re gonna send texts like that, expect me to bend you over the first surface I see.
Amelia:
My job here is done.
I fuck her every fucking way to Sunday that night, hoping all that sex will knock some focus back into me for Friday. It doesn’t. At 11 a.m. Friday morning, I tell Lucy to cancel my afternoon and then boss Amelia into blowing off the rest of the day with me. After asking what her idea of the perfect afternoon would be, I take her to the Greenwich library. It turns out my woman’s idea of bliss is cheap and easy to make happen.
I pack pastries, a blanket, and grab coffee on the way, and we block out the world for a few hours. Amelia’s perfect afternoon is reading in a library. We spend some time inside before heading out to the garden where she lies with her head on my stomach and reads one of her romance novels. I read too, but most of my time is spent watching her, thinking about all the things I want to do with her. Making future plans in a way I haven’t done in years.
Neither of us have our girls Friday night, so we spend it at my place. We cook dinner together. Rissotto. She schools me all the way.
When I want to clean as we go, she steps into her creative mess zone. “No. We cook first, clean later. That’s the law.”
I arch a brow. “Gordon Ramsay would not have your back on that.”
When I reach for a thousand-dollar bottle of wine for the risotto, she gives me a horrified look. “Absolutely not. That’s the wine you bring out when a royal comes for dinner. We’re making carbs, not memories.”
When I stir the risotto one time too many for her, she smacks my hand away. “This is risotto, not soup. Back away and let me whisper to it.”
After we eat, I give her what I’m fast learning she needs: time for the carbs to settle. We watch a movie instead. I keep my hands to myself. Barely. But once the credits roll, I’m done waiting. I spend the rest of the night learning more ways to make her mine.
My only goal for Saturday is to spend as much of it inside her as I can. My family ruins that plan when they arrange a last-minute lunch at my parents’ place. I say no. Liv and Kristen keep planning anyway. Ethan and Maddie just got back from their honeymoon, and apparently, it’s now a tradition to hold the family hostage while they narrate footage of their holiday like it’s a nature documentary.
Liv tells me to bring Amelia, and the fact that lands in my gut instead of my head is all I need to know I’m okay taking a woman I’ve been dating for less than a month to a family lunch.
“Okay,” Amelia says, stepping out of my bathroom, smoothing her hands down the dress she’s put on for lunch. “I think I’m ready.”
She’s nervous. I caught that. And I’ll deal with it in a second. But first, I need a minute to rearrange my entire brain, because that dress? That dress is a problem.
It’s long. White. Tight. Knitted. Hits her calves. Comes all the way up to her throat. It’s pretending to be modest as if it doesn’t cling to every inch of her body like it was sewn on by sin. And now she’s walking toward me looking like an elegant problem I want to solve with my mouth.
“Do you have any other dresses here?” No way am I making it through lunch if she’s sitting next to me wearing this one.
Her brows pull together and then she glances down at the dress. “This isn’t suitable for lunch?” She looks at me with worry and I see her nerves flaring.
“Fuck, sorry.” I reach for her waist and pull her in. “That was me being selfish. This dress is good.” I bring my mouth to her ear. “But next time I take you to a family thing, do me a favor and wear a fucking sack.”
Her hands go to my hips and her body presses to mine. “Just so you know,” she says all sex and tease, “I don’t own any sacks. So, you’ll have to spend some of your money and buy me one if that’s what you want.”
Fuck.
I’m claiming her smart mouth and getting my hands all over her before she can catch her breath, and fuck me, we’re going to be late for lunch.
I glide one hand up her body and palm her breast while the other one curves around the back of her neck so I can keep her mouth right where it is. Not that she’s trying to go anywhere. My dirty girl is already in the mood.
I kiss her like I’m trying to teach her a lesson, and when I’m done, I drag my mouth away and find her eyes. “You’re walking out of here filthy,” I growl. “If I have to survive that dress today, I’m doing it knowing my cum is inside you.”
She grinds herself against me while her hands are taking fucking ownership of my ass, andhell. “You ruin my makeup, it’s gonna make us late.”
“I ruin your makeup, you can sit on my dick again while you fix it.”
Her hands practically beg me to just hurry up and fuck her. So, I do.
I slam her up against the wall in my bedroom, yank that fuck-me dress up, unzip myself, and shove her panties aside so I can get the fuck inside her. Thank fuck we did away with condoms last night. I’m not convinced I would have had the patience for finding one right now.
She makes an unholy fucking sound on my first thrust and just keeps on making those noises as I pound into her. The second I realize she’s got her hand to her pussy and is working her clit, my hips snap harder. Jesus fucking Christ, this woman was made for me. Sugar in her voice, sin in her bones.
“You feel that?” I grit out, my fingers gripping her hips so hard they’ll leave marks. “That’s all for you. You’re not getting me out of you anytime soon.”