“Oh my God, this will be so great,” Maggie says as she claps her hands together, far too excited about a wedding I don’t want.
When I came into The Almond Store to talk to Hattie about stocking up on honey this week, I forgot about Maggie coming in. I blame the commotion from yesterday . . . that kiss, and the awkward night I had of trying not to breathe too heavily while Wyatt held me last night. I considered kicking him away, telling him not to curl into me, but every time I got the courage to say something, I remembered how well I sleep when he’s snuggled into me. And I really value my sleep. So I didn’t kick him away. But I sure as hell booked it out of the guest house this morning and went straight to work. On a Sunday. I did everything I could think of, which included scouring the potato fields for any wayward trash that seemed to be dragged in by the wind from careless litterers.
And my avoidance served me well up until the point when I was starving. Wyatt texted me if I wanted him to make me lunch, and I politely declined, hightailed it out of the farm, and came into town. I was going to grab a chicken salad sandwich and discuss honey, in case Wyatt asked.
But instead, I ran into an overzealous Maggie and her new boyfriend.
“I really don’t want to make a big deal out of this wedding,” I say. “Seriously, we’re probably just going to find a courthouse and do it that way.”
“I refuse to let that happen.” Maggie caps the pen she was using to outline a—what she calls—simplistic yet chic wedding. “It will be in the barn, the family will sit on hay bales covered in lace—”
The doorbell rings above the front door, and I thank the high heavens for the distraction until I hear Mac’s voice yell, “Maggie!”
Then her little feet patter across the floor, and she leaps into Maggie’s arms.
“Hey there, Mac. How are you?”
“Good.” Mac looks over at Brody, Maggie’s boyfriend, and asks, “Who is this?”
“This is my boyfriend. His name is Brody.”
Mac looks him up and down but ignores him and says, “Aunt Aubree has a boyfriend, and they’re getting married.”
“So I heard,” Maggie says in an evil tone as if she just realized her key to making her barn wedding dreams come true. “I was just talking to your aunt Aubree about her wedding.”
“Maggie,” I warn, seeing where she’s going with this.
“And you know what she told me?”
“Maggie, I swear.”
She just smiles at me and says, “That she doesn’t want a wedding.”
Mac’s head whips around to me, and those big eyes that grow three times their size in seconds stare back at me. “You don’t want a wedding?”
Yup, Maggie did it all right.
“I just don’t want a big one,” I answer gently.
“But . . . that means I can’t be your flower girl, and Uncle Ry Ry said I could be your flower girl.”
Ryland, who leans against one of the islands in the store, arms crossed, just smiles back at me as if he knows exactly what he did.
You know what? It’s not fair to use a child to get what you want. There should be a law against that. Just because you have a child in your life doesn’t mean you can use them to your advantage. Although I would say many parents would disagree with that statement. It’s probably one of the benefits of having a child, besides the whole fulfilling part of raising a human and the unconditional love thing.
“You would be the most beautiful flower girl,” Maggie says.
“And Chewy Charles could be the ring bearer. I told him last night. He would be so sad, Aunt Aubree.”
Dear God.
Sighing, I say, “Fine.” The bell rings above the door again as I finish, “We can skip the courthouse wedding and have it here.”
“Oh really?” Ethel chimes in from the entrance.
No.
Noooooooo.
I turn around to find Ethel and Wyatt standing at the door, their faces lit up with smiles.
And Wyatt is with her?
How did a simple chicken salad sandwich turn into this?
“We’re going to have a big wedding?” Ethel asks. “I meet with the Peach Society tonight. We can discuss everything.”
I hold up my hand. “Not necessary. Maggie here is going to be planning it.”
“But I’d love to join the meeting to discuss,” Maggie says. “But tonight won’t work. We’re supposed to go out to the burlesque club for dinner.”
“Oh, they do a lovely job,” Ethel says. “Have you been?”
“No,” Maggie says. “But we were going to go with Hayes and Hattie . . .” Her head swivels to me. “And you guys should come too. You and Wyatt. On the way there, we can talk all the wedding things, and then, Ethel, I can meet up with you tomorrow.”
“That would be perfect.” Ethel clasps her hands together.
“Uh, hold up a second,” I say.
“Burlesque club, huh?” Wyatt chimes in before I can strike the meetup between Ethel and Maggie. “Sounds great. We’ll be there.”
“Wait,” I say. “Hold on a second.”
“Perfect,” Hattie says. “Now all of you need to leave so I can close up and get ready. Ryland, you good if we all take off tonight?”
“Fine by me. I have a date with Mac and the Paw Patrol movie.”
“We’re going to have gummy worms in our popcorn,” Mac says excitedly.
The group starts discussing what kind of candy they like in their popcorn. I feel like I just got run over by a semi-truck. How did this go from me attempting to avoid Wyatt to us having a town wedding, planned by Maggie, with Chewy Charles involved, and a road trip to the burlesque club to talk about it?
I don’t understand what just happened.
“WOULD YOU LIKE A DRINK?” Wyatt asks me as we take a seat on a two-person couch behind Hattie, Hayes, Maggie, and Brody.
“Uh, it’s a requirement for me,” I say, my mood less than excited.
I’ve been to the burlesque club before, and it’s a lot of fun. Dinner, drinks, and a live show with crowd interaction. But I’ve only been with friends, never with a man, let alone my soon-to-be fake husband. Red velvet couches all face the center stage with bistro tables in front, providing little space for food and drinks. Large red and gold curtains are draped in front of the stage while lights from the floor and the ceiling are all angled down, waiting for the performers.
I’m just glad we’re not in the front row like the rest of our party because I’m not up for any interactions. I barely got dressed. I’m only wearing a high-waisted skirt and skintight cropped top because I knew Hattie and Maggie would dress up, and I always succumb to peer pressure when it comes to going-out clothes.
I didn’t even bother to gather Wyatt’s reaction to the outfit. I just grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the waiting SUV that Hayes was driving. We then spent the entire thirty-minute drive discussing wedding specifics. Flowers and decorations and locations in the barn where we could get married. I cut her off about the barn and told her if we were getting married on the farm, we’d get married under my favorite tree.
And I don’t know why I said that because that should be reserved for a real marriage, not this one, but I was so mixed up with all of the questions and the ideas that I blurted it out, which in return made Hattie cry and say how perfect it would be.
So yeah, now we’re getting married under my favorite tree, Mac is the flower girl, Chewy Charles will be carrying the rings, there will still be hay bales, and because of Wyatt, The Cliffs will provide mac and cheese—his idea.
Oh, and don’t forget the cherry pie instead of a cake—I almost offered sundaes but clamped my mouth shut.
It’s as if we’re developing a wedding based on the existing relationship and inside jokes I have with Wyatt when, given we’ve only known each other for just over a week, we shouldn’t know each other this well already.
Yet we do.
Hence the drink I need.
“What can I order for you?” Wyatt asks as he drapes his arm over the back of the couch and crosses one of his ankles over his knee, looking all casual in his black jeans and button-up black shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He’s taking this whole planning in stride. He’s unfazed, actually smiling about the entire thing.
“Anything with alcohol,” I answer.
“Well, if that’s the case, I’ll order you a Jager bomb just to see how you can handle it.”
“Why do you have to be so mean to me when I’m clearly distraught?”
He chuckles and tugs a strand of my hair. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Preston. What can I get you to help you in your time of need?”
“Something fruity and delicious with a high alcohol content.”
“That I can do. Do you want something to eat too?”
I nod. “I love the appetizer sampler. Buffalo wings, potato skins, artichoke dip, and a side of nachos.”
“Is that for two?” he asks as he twirls my hair around his finger.
“Yes, but if I swat your hand away, don’t take offense. I’m on edge.”
He chuckles and turns more toward me. “Want to talk about it?”
“Aw, look at you two,” Hattie says, interrupting. She holds her phone up and says, “Smile.”
Of course Hattie will document every second of this. She’s just like Cassidy, wanting to savor every moment, especially when it comes to love.
Wyatt wraps his arm around me and pulls me in closer. My hand falls to his thigh, and together, we smile. “Gah, you two are adorable.” Our server appears in a scantily clad outfit, and the first thing out of Hattie’s mouth is, “That’s my sister behind us, and she just got engaged to her boyfriend. They’re getting married next week, and we’re here to celebrate.”
“Well, you came to the right place,” the server says before taking everyone’s orders. Wyatt orders us the appetizer plate as well as a whiskey for himself—not sure why I find that attractive, but I do—and a Malibu sunset for me, which already feels relaxing.
“So,” Wyatt says, still twirling my hair. “You’re on edge? I know a good way to take care of that.”
I’m still leaning in, my hand on his thigh because Hattie keeps looking back at us like this is her best day, which it probably is, because her best friend is in love and her sister is supposedly in love and she’s in love, which means everything is great and wonderful in the world. And this is exactly why I can’t tell Hattie the truth about my arrangement with Wyatt. She’d be devastated. She was devastated when she learned Cassidy wasn’t truly in love with Clarke. She wouldn’t want me to be in the same situation. Oh the irony, especially between sisters who couldn’t be more different.
“And what way would that be?” I ask.
“Take your skirt off, and I’ll tell you.”
I slowly turn to face him. “Excuse me?”
He chuckles. “Don’t look so offended.”
“I’m not offended, but just confused as to where that came from.”
“You think you can waltz around in that outfit and not warrant comments from me about how insanely hot you look?”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but one, women can dress however they want, men are the ones who need to control themselves, and two, we don’t say things like that to each other.”
“We don’t?” he asks as he continues to twirl my hair. “I thought we were here to pump each other up.”
“We’re here to exchange goods. Meaning, my hand for your land, like you said.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be each other’s number-one hype man or woman.”
“Uh-huh, and what exactly do you mean by that?” I ask.
“Meaning, if you look good, I’m going to tell you. If you like the way my ass looks in these jeans, feel free to say something. It’s not bad to compliment each other. We’re at this for a year, so we might as well be each other’s number-one fans when we split. Don’t you want that?”
“I mean, I don’t need the ego boost as much as you clearly do.”
“I don’t think it’ll hurt,” he says. “So if I say you look insanely hot tonight, take it as a compliment from a friend.”
“Okay,” I say.
“And you know, if you want to return the compliment, that won’t hurt you either.”
“Yeah, sure, when I think the compliment should be returned.”
His expression falls, and I laugh.
“I’ll have you know, these are my hot pants. I wore them just for you.”
“Hot pants, huh? What makes them so hot?” I ask.
“Every time I wear them, I orgasm.”
“Dear God,” I reply, making his head fall back as he laughs. “Do you really think that’s something I want to know?”
“Possibly. Could be a newlywed question that’s asked of us.”
“Who is asking what pants do you constantly orgasm in?”
“People . . .” he drags out.
“You’re an idiot.”
He chuckles some more just as our server drops off our drinks. We thank her, and I suck down a large gulp, not even bothering to taste-test it.
Wyatt, on the other hand, swirls the amber liquid in his glass and then takes a sip.
“You going to guzzle that whole thing down?” he asks me.
“Possibly,” I say. “Have you ever been to one of these clubs? They make you interact. And I’m going to need alcohol to interact.”
“What kind of interaction are we talking about?” He picks up a piece of my hair again. “Are you going to get dressed up like one of the waitstaff and start strutting around? Because that’s something I have to see.”
“No.” I scoff at him. “But sometimes they call the audience for help and don’t take no for an answer. You know when you pay the cover fee and sign the release? That’s part of it. When you come here, you have to be prepared in case they call on you.”
“In that case, I don’t think I’ll drink at all. I want to be completely sober to soak in every last moment if they call on you.”
I lift the bottom of his glass to his lips and say, “Oh, you’ll be drinking.” And then together, we take a few large gulps.
“OKAY, these are some of the best potato skins I’ve ever had. Holy shit,” Wyatt says as he stares down at the potato in his hand.
“It’s one of the reasons I said yes to coming, knowing I’d be able to order some.”
“We might need more,” he says before taking another bite. “Fuck, they’re good. The crunch they get on the outside is impeccable.”
“Didn’t know you were a food critic.”
“Uh, given my popularity with the town and my food choices, I think you should know that by now. By the way, did I tell you that By the Slice is going to design a pizza around me, name it after me, and even suggest a dipping sauce for the crust?”
I have a carrot midway to my mouth when I stop. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope,” he says, his chest puffed, fully proud of himself.
“How the hell did you manage that?”
“I’m telling you, those bear claws and cherry pies are selling like hotcakes, and the other proprietors want a piece of this popularity. I’m going to be doing a taste-test with Keesha later this week. I was trying to come up with a cool name for it. I was thinking something simple like The Wyatt, but then I thought it would be cool to call it The Thriller Killer, presented by W.J. Preston. Has more of a posh ring to it, don’t you think?”
“The fact that you’ve put this much thought into it really annoys me.”
“Why?” he asks as he wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Envious?”
“Perhaps,” I admit. “You’ve been in town for two seconds. The Rowleys have been here all our lives, and we are a staple in Almond Bay with The Almond Store. We should have something named after us.”
“Do you have something named after Keesha?” he asks.
“No, are you naming something after her?”
“Dedicating my next book to her and plan on having the detective take her namesake.”
“You’re lying.”
“Nope. Have it all written out. She’s thrilled.”
“Wow.” I shake my head and pick up a buffalo wing. “You really have stuck your head up the town’s ass, haven’t you?”
He smirks. “Yes, but if it makes you feel better, I’ve stuck my head up your ass the furthest.”
I press my hand to my heart. “That is one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever said to me.”
“I know.” He winks, and I just continue to shake my head at him.
“WHEN DOES THIS SHOW START?” Wyatt asks as he looks down at his watch.
“In about twenty minutes. They like to get people fed before they start anything. That way, the waitstaff isn’t constantly moving in front of everyone.”
“Makes sense.”
Hattie turns around on the couch and leans on the top as she talks to us. “Did you get the potato skins?”
“What do you think?” I ask.
“Hayes was moaning over them over here.”
“Can you not say moaning?” Hayes asks, making her chuckle.
She cups his face and says, “Those were the sounds you make in the bedroom.”
“Trust me, I’d take you over the potato skins any day.”
“That’s what I told Aubree,” Wyatt says. “She didn’t believe me.”
Brody turns around as well and says, “I’d take the potato skins. Sorry, Maggie.”
Maggie turns as well and addresses all of us. “He’s only saying that because I told him I’d marry their boneless buffalo wings over him earlier. He’s salty.”
“Not as salty as those fries.” Brody makes a chef’s kiss. “They were spectacular. Who knew a burlesque club would have such good food.”
“Are you having a good time, you two?” Hattie asks us.
Wyatt smooths his hand over my bare thigh as he says, “The best.”
His hand moves higher, making my stomach twitch with warmth as it slowly slides under my skirt. I attempt to keep a smile on my face while he strokes my thigh, sending this bolt of unexpected lust straight between my legs.
“I’m glad,” Hattie says. “Hayes just ordered another round for everyone, so enjoy.”
“Thank you,” Wyatt says, lifting his empty glass toward their table.
When they all turn around, I half expect Wyatt to stop touching me, but he keeps his hand where it is and continues to run his finger lightly over my skin.
I don’t think Matt ever touched me like this. He never casually claimed me as his person in public, but here’s Wyatt, having no problem doing so, and he’s not even romantically interested in me.
Quietly, I say, “Your hand is up my skirt.”
“Yeah, it is,” he says casually.
“Okay, just wanted to make sure you knew, in case you lost it.”
“Nope, I know exactly where it is.”
“Did you know that no one can see you stroking my thigh, yet you’re still doing it?”
“Just relaxing you, Mrs. Preston,” he says.
“The alcohol is doing just that.”
“I can tell.” He turns his head to look at me. “An hour ago, you would have broken my fingers off if I was touching you like this.”
“Not true,” I say.
“Such a liar.”
“No, I don’t break your fingers off when you hold me at night,” I reply.
“That’s different,” he says.
“How so?” I ask.
“That’s for comfort.”
“Mm-hmm,” I answer. “And what’s this for?”
“To see how far I can go before you stop me.”
I turn toward him and put my arm on the back of the couch. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I want to show you that even if you try to ignore me all day, I’ll still be here at the end of it, touching you, being by your side, kissing you good night.”
“You say that as if you want more,” I say. “I thought we said this was all platonic.”
“It is.” With a smirk, he adds, “But it doesn’t hurt to play.”
Yet he removes his hand from under my skirt to lift his newly replenished drink off the table and brings it straight to his lips.
I do the same. But whereas he takes a sip, I take a gulp.
“WHAT DO you think of your drink?” Wyatt asks me as I set the empty glass on the table and curl my legs up on the couch so I’m facing him.
“I like it a lot.”
He grins and pokes my cheek that’s smiling. “I can tell. Are you feeling tipsy, Aubree?”
“No, are you?” And that’s a huge, fat lie because, whoa boy, do I feel good.
“Uh-huh,” he says skeptically just as another drink is set on the table for me.
“Hey, I didn’t order that.”
Hattie turns around and says, “That’s from us, enjoy the show.”
I pick up the drink and position the straw in front of my mouth. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think my sister’s trying to get me drunk.”
“I think she’s doing a good job with it,” Wyatt says while he drains the rest of his drink by opening his mouth wide and letting the amber liquid flow right down his throat.
“I think one more of these, and I might be sitting on your lap,” I say as I look at my pretty sunset-colored drink. So delicious.
“You don’t have to wait, babe. Sit all you want.” He gestures to his lap, but I shake my head.
“No, that would be too much, don’t you think?”
“Hattie is sitting on Hayes’s lap,” Wyatt points out.
I lean in close to him and whisper, “That’s because they’re sex freaks.”
Wyatt lets out a roar of a laugh. “I didn’t know sitting on someone’s lap made you a sex freak.”
I shake my head. “No, I’m serious. I heard them once in the middle of . . . coitus, and it’s unlike anything I’ve ever heard before. It was violating my ears on all accounts. And Hattie even told me she’ll have multiple orgasms. That can’t be a thing.”
Wyatt tilts his head to the side, questions in his brow. “You haven’t had multiple orgasms in a night?”
“No,” I scoff. “I was lucky if I got one. It’s okay, though.” I take a large sip of my drink and talk a little quieter. “I have a vibrator that does the trick when the man can’t.”
“You do, do you?” he asks. “Can it make you come twice in a night?”
I smile and nod. “It can.”
“Do you ever use it when I’m in the shower?”
I frown. I’m feeling loose at the moment. Hmm, maybe these drinks are starting to get to me. “No, I’ve been too nervous. But . . .” I place my hand on his thigh as I lean in even more and say, “When you went on a run the other day, I pulled it out and had fun.”
His tongue runs over his lips. “Did you think about me?”
“Why would I think about you?” I ask. “That seems weird.”
“Weird?” he asks as he turns toward me as well and runs his finger over my arm. “I’ve caught you checking me out without a shirt on.”
“I don’t check you out. I just examine.”
“Oh, there’s a difference?” he asks.
“Certainly,” I answer. “Checking you out requires a tongue hanging out of the mouth, like this.” I demonstrate, holding my tongue out and looking him up and down. “Now examining, that would be like this.” I casually tilt my head to the side and slowly look him up and down. “See the difference?”
“Yeah, I do.” A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “So if I were to look you up and down like this . . .” His intriguing and hungry eyes roam over my body, starting at my head and moving down my neck to my chest, where he pauses for a moment or two, then lifts back up. The entire time, I feel like I’m being scanned by X-ray vision. “That would be examining, not checking out.”
“Correct,” I say in a wobbly voice before taking a large sip of my drink. “Now, when the women in their scantily clad lingerie sets start strutting across the stage, if your tongue is hanging out while you watch, that would be . . .”
“Checking them out,” he answers.
I boop him on the nose. “Good job.”
“I don’t plan on checking them out, though,” he says.
“No?” I ask. “Just examining? Well, don’t judge me if you see me with my tongue hanging out.”
“Oh yeah?” he asks. “Do you like checking out women?”
“I like the female body. I think it’s a beautiful thing. And I’ve kissed a girl or two in my lifetime, felt a boob once. I think they’re nice. I think they’re so nice that I like to play with my own breasts sometimes.”
His smile grows even wider. “You like your tits played with, Aubree?”
“Oh yeah. Love it so much. Matt was okay at it, but I think I’m better.”
“What makes you better than Matt?” he asks.
“Many things, but he just loved shoving the whole thing in his mouth, as if that’s what I want. He never understood the art of teasing, you know? He wouldn’t play with my nipple. He wouldn’t circle his finger around it or flick it or pinch it. He’d lick it on occasion, but that didn’t do much. I wanted more from him. So much more.”
“Shame,” Wyatt says as he drags his finger up my shoulder and circles it. “I love playing with nipples.”
“Really?” I ask. “Do you play with your own?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “But I don’t mind if my girl plays with them. Turns me on.”
“Interesting.” I tap my chin before taking another sip of my drink. “What else turns you on?”
“Going down,” he says without even thinking about it. “I love eating pussy.”
“Oh.” My cheeks redden because I’m not sure I’ve ever heard a man say that, especially with such conviction. “I remember you saying that. Love to, uh, put that out there, don’t you?”
“Because I love it,” he says. “So fucking much. If it were up to me, I’d start every night with my woman sitting on my face. Where it goes from there, I don’t care, but fuck do I want that pussy on my tongue.”
Good God, why am I getting so hot right now?
So flustered.
So . . . turned on?
Probably because I’ve never really had a man go down on me and do a good job. Probably because they treated it more like a chore than something they enjoyed doing. Probably because it’s been a really long time for me, and Wyatt keeps touching me and kissing me and looking at me as if I decided to sit on his face right now, he’d be the happiest motherfucker in the room.
“Well, that’s, uh . . . that’s valuable information,” I say. “Thank you for sharing it.”
His hand curls around my neck as he pulls me in closer. “What about you, Aubree? What do you like?”
Men who like eating pussy.
Men who don’t mind stepping up for me.
Men who will curl into me every night because they know it comforts me—even though they don’t know the real reason is because it helps distract my mind from the terrors it plays when the lights turn out.
But I can’t say that.
I don’t want him to know.
“Umm,” I say as I awkwardly bring my drink between us and sip. “Well, you know about the nipple thing.”
“Logged that away,” he says as his thumb strokes the column of my neck. I like that, a lot. I like the possession of it.
“And I like my vibrator.”
“Yup, established that.” His finger runs along my jaw.
“And, you know . . . I like playing with a man’s dick.”
He wets his lips again. “Tell me . . . Mrs. Preston, how would you play with mine?”
I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the way he’s holding me so possessively, but I actually hear myself answering.
“I’d kneel between your legs,” I say while my hand falls to his thigh. His teeth pull over his bottom lip. “Undo your pants and gently pull you out.”
“Then what?” he asks.
“Run my tongue along the underside of your cock until you’re fully erect.”
“Fuck yes,” he says as his hold on my jaw grows tighter.
“Then I’d lower my head and circle your cock with my tongue, over and over again, until you were panting.”
“I would fucking love that, baby,” he answers. “Would you make me desperate to come in your mouth?”
“I would—”
“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen!” the emcee for the night shouts into the microphone, startling both Wyatt and me away from each other.
“Shit,” he whispers while softly looking back at me.
Shit is right. What the hell were we just doing? Did I tell him I’d lick the underside of his cock?
I think I did.
The audacity.
He drives his hand through his hair and sighs back into the couch.
Yeah, I feel that sigh all the way down to the marrow of my bones.
“We’re so excited to have you here tonight . . .”
The emcee continues to talk about the show, but the pounding of my pulse drowns her out as I try to catch my breath.
I peek a look over at Wyatt, and he does the same. When our eyes meet, he keeps them locked for a few seconds before they drop to my mouth and back up again.
I do the same.
And when our eyes lock, I can feel it, this electric energy bouncing between us. It’s worrisome but also exciting. It shouldn’t be happening, but oh my God, I can’t stop myself from leaning into him, letting him touch me, stare at me, and make me feel unlike anything I’ve felt before.
He was right. I avoided him for a reason today, and that was because I felt something. Something toward him. Something I shouldn’t be feeling, but I can’t help.
I’ve grown accustomed to having him around.
I look forward to him holding me at night.
And I crave his witty comebacks that provoke an eye roll from me.
But tonight, tonight it feels different, and I don’t know why.
Tonight, it feels like something’s going to happen. Someone will break, and I just hope it’s not me.
“WOW,” Wyatt says as I start sipping my fourth drink of the night. “She was an amazing singer.” He swirls the last of his whiskey and drains it.
“I really liked her outfit.” I turn toward Wyatt and place my hand on his chest. “For a moment, when she flung her head around and her boobs bounced everywhere, I thought her titty tassel was going to fall off.”
Wyatt chuckles. “That would have been a great show ender.” He then pushes a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Why are you sitting so far away?”
His eyes are glazed over, and I can only imagine mine are as well. I’m most definitely drunk. There isn’t a part of my body that doesn’t feel like it’s floating on a cloud, nor is there an ounce of me that cares.
Yup, this girl is feeling good. Capital G, goo-ood. Oh yes. So good that I’ve contemplated going up on stage myself to shimmy at the crowd. When that thought came into my mind, I knew I was drunk.
“Am I sitting far away?” I ask.
“You are,” he says as he places his arm around me, cups my hip, and then pulls me all the way up against his side. “See, that’s better.”
“Ooo, you’re warm. There’s a breeze, and it’s making my nipples all tingly and hard.”
His eyes fall to my chest and then back up to my eyes. “I can’t tell.”
I puff my chest out and then run my finger over my hard nipples. “See, hard as stone.”
His teeth pull on his bottom lip as his eyes meet mine again. “You’re going to get yourself in trouble if you keep stroking your nipples like that.”
“Oh,” I say, glancing around the room. “Do you think they get mad about that kind of stuff here? I mean, I don’t know why they would. The lady that was up two songs ago touched her crotch at least five times while she thrust it at us.”
He chuckles. “That was a bit aggressive.”
“I liked her top, though, and I was jealous of her boobs. They were so big.”
“Why were you jealous?” he asks as the next person comes on stage. “You have great tits, Aubree.”
“You haven’t even seen them. For all you know, I could be stuffing my bra.”
“Are you?” he asks.
“No, but I did in high school when I was as flat as the freaking wall. I found a great way to make tissues look real.”
“Welcome to the interactive portion of the night,” the new singer says. “I’m Lady Marmalade, and I’m looking at all these couples out here and wondering why none of you are taking advantage of this moment. Can we dim the lights, please, and cast our fellow patrons in the dark?” The lights dim, and the woman with bright red hair, red lingerie, and black knee-high boots so large that I think they’d swallow my entire leg snaps her finger, lighting up the club with music.
“What’s going on?” Wyatt whispers.
“Ooo, I think she might be doing the Simon Says game.”
“What’s that?” he asks.
“You’ll see.”
“Now that the mood is set, I want to see everyone find a comfortable place to sit.” She spins and whips her head around with the music. “And when I say comfortable, I mean, you better be on each other’s laps.”
A few people in the crowd let out catcalls.
I’m not one of them.
“And if I see you’re not participating, I think you all know what will happen. You’ll be brought up on stage.”
I turn toward Wyatt and say, “If you want to leave, we can.”
“Mrs. Preston,” he says as he spreads his legs and sits taller on the couch. “Sit on my goddamn lap.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to—”
“More than fucking sure,” he says before wetting his lips.
Well, in that case, don’t mind if I do.
I slip one leg over his and then straddle him so my back is to his chest. “Is this okay?” I ask him as his hands find my thighs.
“Fucking great,” he says.
“Now that we’re comfortable,” Lady Marmalade says. “I think we kick it up a notch. Who is ready for some Simon Says?”
The crowd cheers some more, me included this time because I’m completely gone at this point. I’m drunk. I’m horny. And I’m sitting on Wyatt’s lap. Hattie wanted me to have a good time. Well, here I am, ready to do whatever is told of me.
“Now listen closely.” The music starts to play, and Lady Marmalade takes the reins of the room. “For our lappers. Simons says, put your hands on their hips.” Wyatt places his hands on my hips. “Simon Says, put your hands on their thighs.” Wyatt slides his hands down my thighs, sending this wave of anticipation straight to my core. “Simon says put your hands on their tits.” I watch other men and women slap their hands on their partner’s chest but not Wyatt, though. He slides his hands up my thighs, to my hips, up my rib cage, and as I hold my breath from his incredible patience, he slowly covers my breasts with his very large palms.
And then . . . I hear a low growl fall past his lips.
Dear God.
“Now, move them side to side,” Lady Marmalade says. Wyatt holds still, doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe.
“Ahh, Simon didn’t say,” Lady Marmalade says as she tsks some people . . . Brody being one of them.
He holds his hands up and shouts to us, “I like her boobs. I can’t help it.”
I laugh briefly, but that’s until Wyatt caresses my hard nipples with his thumbs.
Fuck.
Me.
“For my sitters, are you ready?” Lady Marmalade says into the microphone. I mean, I think I am, but I’m so distracted. “Simon says lean forward.” Unsure of where she’s going with this, I lean as far forward as Wyatt will allow since he’s still holding me. “Simon says swivel to the right.” I swivel my hips to the right just as Wyatt pinches the tip of my nipple.
“Oh my God,” I moan quietly to myself.
“Simon says swivel to the left.” I swing my hips to the left. “Simon says move in a circle.” I swing my hips around in a circle. “Now give your partner a lap dance.”
Fine by me.
Lady Marmalade gets what Lady Marmalade wants.
I lean back against Wyatt’s chest, lace my hand behind me, and grip the back of his neck. I slowly move my ass over his lap, using him as leverage. His hands slide up my body, and I totally get lost in the feel of him, in the sway of my hips, in the beat of the music.
It isn’t until Wyatt whispers in my ear that I realize what I’ve done. “Simon didn’t say, Aubree.”
“Huh?”
My eyes open wide, and I catch Lady Marmalade staring straight at us, as well as Hattie, Hayes, Brody, and Maggie. I pause my hips as my cheeks flame red with embarrassment.
“Well, honey, I think I wouldn’t be able to help myself either if I were in your position.” The crowd laughs, and I slowly slink off Wyatt’s lap as Lady Marmalade tells the crowd to start clapping together.
The music kicks up, and she starts her number, singing but of course, as Lady Marmalade.
I turn toward Wyatt and whisper, “Sorry about that.”
He shifts in his seat, keeping his eyes ahead, and says, “It’s fine.” But it doesn’t look fine. It looks like he’s . . . irritated. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look like that. He’s always laughing, acting like the fun-loving guy everyone wants to be friends with.
But right now, his brows are set in a stern line, and he’s actually leaning away from me.
“Uh, excuse me,” he says as he gets up from the couch and moves through the crowd toward the bathroom.
“Oh God,” I whisper, feeling foolish.
“Everything okay?” Hattie asks as she leans back.
“Um . . . I don’t know,” I say. “Let me go check.”
I stand as well and adjust my skirt as I move through the crowd and straight back toward the bathrooms, where I see Wyatt disappear into one. Since they’re all single toilets, I lean in close to his door and knock.
“Wyatt, it’s me. I just wanted—”
The door flies open, and I’m caught by his strong arms before I fly too far forward. I’m pulled into the bathroom right before the door slams shut behind me.
Locked.
And then I’m pressed up against it, only for Wyatt’s mouth to come crashing down on mine.
I’m so stunned at first that I don’t kiss him back, but when he hikes me up and wraps my legs around his waist before pinning me against the door again, I realize exactly what’s going on.
And I want it.
I want it more than anything I think I’ve wanted in my life.
I grip his cheeks, and I open my mouth for him as his tongue dives and twists against mine. His hands slide up my sides, under my shirt, and to my bra, where he pulls the cups down and presses his palms right to my tits. And he squeezes.
“Fuck,” I say as I come up for air. “Wyatt, what’s . . .”
“I need this,” he says. “Fuck, do I need this.” That’s when he pulses his hips into mine, and I feel just how much he needs it. “Tell me you want this, you want me.”
His lips move down my jaw, to my neck, and I hold him as my entire body melts into him. “I want you, Wyatt.”
“Good,” he replies as he moves his mouth down my body, lifts my shirt, and then sucks my nipple between his lips.
“Oh my God.” I clench my legs around his waist. My hand slides up his neck to his hair, and I tug on it as he tugs on my nipple.
With his other hand, he moves up to my other breast, and he gently starts massaging it, making me feel all kinds of crazy just before he pinches it between his fingers.
“Wyatt,” I moan as my head hits the door.
The scruff of his beard mars my skin as he slides his mouth to my other breast, taking my nipple between his lips and then fully sucking on it.
His hips thrust into me.
His hands start to own me with every pass over my skin.
And just as I start to settle into the feel of him, he releases me, letting me stand back up on my own.
“What—” I start to say, but then the man is on his knees, and his hands are moving up my skirt, reaching the waistband of my thong.
He looks up at me. “I need you on my tongue. Stop me now if you don’t want this.”
Umm, is he insane? There will be no stopping this. None.
I don’t say a word, just move my hand over his hair, which is all the invitation he needs. He pulls down my thong, and I step out of it right before he slips my thong into his back pocket. Then he lifts one of my legs over his shoulder, spreads me with his fingers, and his mouth is on me.
Warm, wet, delicious.
“Oh my God,” I say, completely taken aback by the way he presses his tongue against my clit. Taking long, languid strokes, he makes sure to lick every part of me.
This . . . this sensation is new.
The fury of his mouth.
The sharpness of his tongue.
The heavenly moans as he tastes me over and over again.
“So fucking good,” he mutters before he returns his mouth.
Diving.
Addicted.
Giving me so much pleasure with every single simple stroke.
He kisses me.
Sucks.
Applies just enough pressure that I’m clawing at the man, my mind swirling, my body reacting. It takes about one minute for him to drop to his knees and bring me all the way to the edge.
“God, Wyatt,” I say as I tense. He must be able to tell because his mouth moves in more, his tongue, right against my clit, flicking and flicking . . . and flicking.
My body lights up, tension coils at the base of my spine, the air around us seems to still while he works his mouth over me until I’m standing on my toes, ready for release.
“Wyatt . . . I . . . I . . . oh, fuuuuck,” I drag out as he licks me one more time, and I tip over the edge, my orgasm rocking through me at such a powerful force that he has to press his hand to my stomach to keep me from toppling over.
And as pleasure rips through me, he doesn’t stop. He keeps using his mouth over me until I can’t take it anymore.
“No . . . no more,” I say as I breathe heavily, my back firmly against the door.
He lifts away from my skirt and looks up at me, the most satisfied smile crossing his lips.
His tongue moves around his mouth, licking up every last drop before he says, “Fucking delicious, Aubree.”
He stands from the floor, and he helps me adjust my skirt.
“Christ, I needed that,” he says.
He needed that?
Uh, I’m pretty sure I just forgot my name. If anyone needed that, it was me. One hundred percent I needed that.
He takes a step forward and lifts my chin.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah, I’m . . . I’m okay.” Feeling wobbly, I lean into him, my pelvis brushing against his . . .
Wait . . . holy shit.
Is that his . . .?
I move my hand between us and brush my knuckles over his very present erection. Oh my God, it is. “Wyatt,” I whisper.
“Yeah?”
“You’re so hard.”
“I was hard the moment you sat on my lap. When you started moving, that was the end for me. I knew I had to get up and calm myself down.” I move my palm over the bulge now. “When you followed me, that was the end of it,” he says. “I couldn’t hold back.”
“You need a release,” I say as I start to kneel before him, but he stops me.
“No, you don’t need to do that.”
I slip my hands to the button of his jeans and undo it, along with the zipper. “I more than want to,” I say before sinking all the way to my knees.
“Fuck,” he mutters as he grips my hair with one hand.
I tug down his jeans and his briefs, freeing him in one swoop, and oh my God.
Wide-eyed, I look up at Wyatt. “Jesus, Wyatt.”
His cock stretches forward, long and thick, with the most perfect head I’ve ever seen.
“Baby, you don’t—”
He doesn’t finish as I grip the base of his cock and then lick along the backside, along a vein that leads all the way to the head.
“Fuck . . . me,” he says as he leans forward and props his other hand against the door behind me. His legs spread wider, and he angles his body, making it easier for me to access him.
I run my tongue along his length a few times, loving how he twitches and groans with every pass. His reaction empowers me, making me want to give him so much more.
When I reach the head again, I swirl around it a few times, his quads tensing right in front of me, before I open my mouth wide and bring him all the way to the back of my throat.
“Fuck.” He slaps his hand against the door. “Your mouth, fucking velvet,” he says as I take him all the way to the back of my throat again, letting him feel me lightly gag before pulling him out. “Too good, baby. Too fucking good.”
His hand that’s holding my hair curls into a fist as he gently guides me up and down his cock. Every time I bring him in, I open wide, and when I pull him out, I suck hard. I can tell he really likes it because he wants me to move faster, so I do.
I open wide and suck hard, repeating the process until his legs shake and he’s visibly on the edge. That’s when I pull all the way off him.
“Fuck, why?” he asks as he breathes heavily.
I don’t answer. I just swirl my tongue around the head again, letting my tongue play with the slit until he’s shaking in front of me.
“Going to come,” he says on a short breath.
So I take him all the way to the back of my throat again and slowly pull him out just as his cock swells, and he comes in my mouth with such force that I think it startles us both.
“Fucking hell,” he whispers as I swallow and start licking his length again, cleaning him up until he’s finished.
Letting go of my hair, he loops his finger under my chin and encourages me to stand. First, though, I place him back in his briefs and zip up his jeans and button them up. Then I stand, and he lifts me from the ground and brings me to the countertop.
When he sets me down, he cups my cheek and leans in to press a sweet kiss to my lips.
It’s short and doesn’t hold the kind of passion our initial kiss held when he first pulled me into the bathroom, but it shows me that he appreciates me.
Then he grabs some paper towels, wets them with warm water, and wipes my knees down. When our eyes connect, he says, “I don’t like that you had to kneel on the bathroom floor for me.”
“I don’t mind,” I say.
“I do,” he replies as he cleans my knees. When he finishes, he tosses the paper towels in the trash and rests his hands on my hips. “Are you okay?”
“I’m . . . I’m great,” I say, feeling so freaking alive. Like he just breathed a bout of fresh air right into me, awakening every last inch of me from this dark and dreary state I was in.
Sure, I know I’m drunk and my happiness is heightened, but I can’t remember the last time I felt this good.
This cherished.
This needed.
And if I were honest with myself, I think I’ve been feeling this way for a while. I just haven’t allowed myself to fully feel it. I’ve been stubborn, misleading myself, saying that I don’t like this man and don’t need him in my life. When, in reality, I think . . . Oh God, I think I like Wyatt.
I think I like him more than a friend.
More than the agreement we came up with.
I like him as a person, as a man.
And I don’t know if I should be elated or terrified.
“Good.” He pulls on the back of his neck. “Listen, Aubree,” he says when his gaze meets mine. Uh-oh, why don’t I like that look in his eyes? Why does it look like he’s about to say something I won’t like? Something that might be soul-crushing, especially right after the revelation I had.
“You, uh, you don’t need to say anything.” I stop him because I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to know what’s going through his head. I don’t want to be disappointed and brought down from my high.
“But—”
I press my hands to his lips. “Really, it’s fine. Everything is cool.” I hop off the counter and take a deep breath. Just ignore whatever he was going to say and move on. You don’t let him say that he regrets what happened between us, then you’ll never know.
Simple as that.
I move toward the door and unlock it. “Ready?” I ask as I hold my hand out to him.
He stands there for a minute, contemplating what he wants to do . . . wants to say, but he resigns as he walks up behind me. But instead of taking my outstretched hand, he places his hand on the small of my back, guiding me back to the main stage.
And if that isn’t telling of how he’s feeling, I don’t know what is.
