Page 42 of Mr. Brightside
Jake’s head drops back on a groan, then he tucks his chin and scorches me with his gaze and his liquid hot words.
“Put me in your mouth and put me out of my misery before I shove you against the tiles and do it myself.”
I clench my ass cheeks together and try to ignore the way his words have my cock in a proverbial chokehold. Right now, I want to be choking on him. I don’t need to be told twice.
My eyes flare in wanting as my heart thrums against my chest cavity in anticipation. I follow his commands and shove his dick in my mouth, taking him as deep as I can go, swallowing around his length in rapid succession until he’s gasping for breath.
“Yes, baby,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Make me yours.”
His words spur me on. I’ll make him mine, all right. I’m about to blow the memory of every partner he’s ever had right out of his mind and give Jake Whitely the best fucking head of his life.
Chapter 19
Jake
We’redrivingnorthonRoute 8 with the top down in my dad’s yellow 1969 Pontiac GTO. It feels goddamn poetic to be behind the wheel of one of Joe Whitely’s most prized possessions as life comes full circle and I fulfill his dying wish.
I smirk at the thought—my awful excuse for a father got what he deserved for everything he did, and didn’t do, over the years. His bisexual son and biggest disappointment is officially married, just like he wanted. I just happen to be married to a man.
A gorgeous, complex, intelligent, possessive man who surprises me at every turn.
I sneak a glance at my husband sitting in the passenger seat beside me. He’s grinning from ear to ear, wearing the Ray-Bans I bought him that match mine, his arm resting on the side of the car as he caresses the air tunnel created by going seventy-five miles an hour in a convertible.
He’s so freaking adorable. I can’t believe how wrapped up in him I am. After all the ups and downs of this week, and despite everything that felt uncertain, Cory just feels right.
I’ve been so engrossed in the logistics of pulling off this plan that I haven’t spent nearly enough time appreciating the perfect specimen of a man who’s making my wildest dreams come true. Thankfully that’s about to change. If he likes the idea, that is.
I reach across the console and take his hand, clasping it in mine and grinning when he looks back at me. The wind is too loud for words. That’s okay: my heart feels too full to come up with anything worth saying anyway. I pour my gratitude into my gaze and squeeze his hand even harder before turning my attention back to the road.
I pull off the highway four exits before Hampton. He looks at me quizzically as I ease the car to a full stop at a red light.
“What are we doing?”
“We’re celebrating.”
Two minutes later, I’m cruising into a specially marked reserved parking spot at Swenson’s. Almost immediately, a young kid jogs out with the order I placed in advance.
Cory beams at me, his grin lighting me up in the best way.
“How did you… wait, did you know?”
He hasn’t actually asked a question, but I give him the answer he’s seeking.
“I heard it’s your favorite. I may have had a little help getting the order right…” I hand him the peanut butter milkshake and a Galley Boy, plus a pile of napkins. I don’t give a shit about making a mess. I’m half-tempted to grind some potato teasers into the seats and leave them for my brother Joey to deal with when he gets the car out for the next Hampton Days vintage car show.
But Cory does care about the brand-new dove gray suit he’s wearing. The one I rush-ordered from Nordstrom and surprised him with today. I almost gave the surprise away when I texted him earlier this week to ask his shirt and suit size. But damn, was it worth it to see the way he lit up when I unzipped our matching garment bags.
I like spoiling him. I love seeing his delight when I put him first or plan a surprise like this. There’s something about taking care of him that feels utterly satisfying in a way I’ve never felt before.
“I have one more surprise for you,” I confess as I turn to face him. I watch as he dips a French fry into a white crinkle carton of ranch dressing—gross—then eyes me skeptically while he chews.
“I know this isn’tthedream, but I promised I’d make this good for you.”
He looks like he wants to interject, so I rush to finish.
“The businesses aren’t officially mine until September first, and your classes don’t start until next week. I want to spend more time with you before we both get super busy and have crazy schedules to maintain… so I booked us a honeymoon.”
He balks and says nothing. I squirm through the silence as I realize maybe I should have run this past him first. Asked his opinion? Confirmed he was free?