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CHAPTER THIRTY

JAKE

“I love this song…”

Amelia shuts her eyes and sways, mouthing the lyrics. Or tries to, anyway.

I’m two seconds from kissing her, but I know better—barely. We’ve already danced on that tightrope too many times tonight. Instead, I tuck a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear, careful not to disturb the veil hanging off-kilter. My fingers linger on her cheek, seeming to think they belong there. I shove them into my pocket, because clearly, they need supervision.

Then she stumbles, nearly falling over, and I grab her.

“How drunk are you, exactly?” I ask, suppressing a grin. Not that it matters—I’m not letting her out of my sight.

“Totally sotted,” she chirps, sounding way too proud of herself.

I navigate us back to the bar. As soon as I lean against it, she presses herself to me, chin on my chest. When her hand trails up my shirt, my pulse jumps, and so does my cock.

She flashes me a cheeky smile. “Drink?”

“Not sure that’s the best idea,” I murmur.

“Rubbish.” She waves me off, peeking around my shoulder. “I’m ready for another.”

She signals the bartender and points to a bottle of tequila. Of course, now’s when he decides to pay attention.

I catch his eye and subtly shake my head, and he vanishes.

Amelia swivels to me, lips pursed. “You’re a wanker, Wonka.”

I smirk at her petulant pout. “What do you say we leave?”

“I’m having fun,” she counters.

“Come on, you’ll love my surprise…”

“A golden ticket?” Her expression transforms into gleeful anticipation that has me snort-laughing.

“Absolutely. Let’s go check out my workshop,” I agree. Hope she won’t be too let down when tonight’s prize ends up being nothing more than aspirin and water.

Her nose wrinkles, and she casts a pointed look at my crotch. “I’ve already been on the factory tour.”

Somehow, I manage to keep a straight face. “Yeah, but this is going to be a private tasting. I guarantee an experience that’s truly out of this world.” Her eyes spark with curiosity, and I link our pinkies together, sealing the deal.

As I steer through the crowd, Amelia hollers, “We’re off. Jake’s offering me a taste of his Milky Way.”

I wince but keep moving, ignoring the chuckles that trail us to the exit and help her into one of the waiting SUVs, tucking her poofy dress in behind her, praying she doesn’t hurl. Before we’re even halfway down the block, she’s curled up against me, fast asleep.

I glance down at her smudged makeup, messy hair, and tangled veil. She’s a beautiful disaster, and somehow, she’s still the most adorable wreck I’ve seen.

Once we’re at her building in the Financial District, she wakes and stumbles out of the car, punching in the entry code. I grab the door before it can slam in my face and rush to catch up as she starts up the stairwell, keeping a hand on her lower back so she doesn’t stumble into a broken neck.

Halfway up, I scoop her into my arms. She dazedly fiddles with the buttons on my shirt, and by the time we get to her apartment, she’s got three undone. The feel of her fingers has me reconsidering my aspirin-and-water plan, but one look at her drooping eyelids is enough to know she’ll be out cold the second her head hits the pillow.

“Keys?”

“In my garter.” She pats her skirt over the left leg, and I suppress a groan. Tonight will be an exercise in self-control.

Gritting my teeth, I reach under the layers of her bloody bridal gown, grazing the silky smoothness of her thighs, and my skin tightens. I feel around for the lace, not letting my fingers wander any more than necessary. At last, I find the warm metal of the key. I slip it from her garter and the material falls back into place. Somehow, I’m sweating. The stairs? Easy. Reaching up her dress? Apparently, I’m not built for that level of self-control.

When I have the door unlocked, I get her inside, veil dragging behind us like some weird, twisted version of “happily ever after.” The whole bride-over-the-threshold thing feels like a cosmic joke, considering we’ve both sworn off anything serious.

Once we’re in her room, I head for her bed. “Sweets,” I whisper, “I’m going to put you down.”

“No…” Her arms tighten around my neck.

“Just for a minute, gotta check that there hasn’t been an Oompa Loompa insurrection.” I coax. My dick protests.

“Mmkay.”

I lower her onto the mattress and straighten, instantly missing the warmth of her in my arms. I watch her for a moment, almost tempted to scoop her back up and hold on tight. But I settle for huffing in a breath and slipping off her shoes instead.

My gaze runs over the rest of her, taking in the slow rise and fall of her chest. Her lips are parted, and all I can think about is how soft they feel against mine.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to calm down. I head to the bathroom, brace my hands on the sink, and press my forehead against the mirror. Now where does she keep the Advil? A quick search through the cabinet, and bingo—Panadol. Same difference. After another stern talk with my cock about polite behavior, I step out with the pills and fill a glass of water.

Amelia’s hiked up the skirt of her dress, bunching it around her thighs, exposing the garter and a tiny white thong. Aaand I’m hard as a rock again. She’s now wrestling with a sleeve, muttering under her breath.

I snag a soft gray Death Cab for Cutie T-shirt from the dresser and then ease her up to unzip the gown, and peel it off before she rips it. Doing my best not to get sidetracked by all the skin, I slip the shirt over her head and urge her to take the pills. As I settle her back down, her lids flutter open.

“Coming?” She pats the space next to her, eyes hazy but full of promise. I lean in, one knee sinking into the mattress. She wraps her arms around me as I fiddle with the pins, trying to get her veil off, taking care not to yank at her hair.

With a burst of energy, she flips us, straddling me, her goofy smile making my chest ache in the best possible way. I grin back at her, helpless to resist. I like her like this. Silly. Cheeky. Without a care in the world. And I want more of it.

I want more of how she scrunches her nose at football plays she doesn’t get, more of that side-eye she gives me when I throw out some stupid comment just to wind her up. More candy, more tea, and more endless banter.

And yeah, more of those mind-blowing orgasms. Because the sex? Unreal. As if I’m discovering a new favorite flavor of ice cream over and over, and somehow it keeps leveling up.

I love the way she looks when she comes on my dick, and afterward, for those few minutes when I get to hold her close before the world crashes back in and I have to let her go.

She pushes my hands over my head. “Now I have you.”

You have no idea, Sweets.

“Time to free willy,” she mutters on a yawn as she reaches for my pants.

Flipping us, it’s my turn to hover over her. “I’ll take an IOU.” I can’t resist stroking the little crease that appears between her brows before dropping a peck on her nose and get off the bed. I kick off my shoes, strip down to my boxers, and toss my shirt aside. I don’t usually stay over, not since that first night at her hotel. Not part of the damned rules, though it’s harder and harder to give a shit about them.

A small snore escapes her, blowing a strand of hair off her face. I tuck it behind her ear and slide in beside her, knitting our fingers together.

A smile floats to my lips remembering how she danced earlier, weaving around the floor like a bowling pin about to go down. Drunk Amelia is cute as a button, this one. I blink. Being with this woman has transformed me into a grandma who spouts shit like “cute as a button.” Next, I’ll be knitting scarves and baking cookies.

“You know, we haven’t done anything crazy yet,” she murmurs in the darkness.

“Crazy?” I ask, right as she rolls onto her side and slings a bare leg over mine. My dick twitches. Idiot expects something to happen. Down, boy .

“Anal. Bondage. You like bondage.” She pokes me in the chest for emphasis, and I yelp. “And choking. It’s supposed to be a thing. Yvonne said so.”

Boom. Boner gone. Nothing like a picture of your sister’s sex life and choking to kill an erection. I croak out, “I didn’t know you were into that.”

“I’m not, but you are.” She snuggles into me and purrs. I can’t help but laugh and press a kiss to her hair. It’s past three and practice is early, but my body’s in full rebellion. I will my cock into submission.

“I was going to lick you off like a lollipop, you know,” she mumbles against my skin.

Damn it, the uprising in my boxers is back.

I swallow. “Oh yeah?”

“And now I won’t get to do that,” she says petulantly.

I hug her tighter to me. “Aww, my poor little Chicklet.”

Right before she lets out another snore, she corrects me with a slurred, “Sweets. I’m your sweets.”

“Yes, you are…”