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“I’m trying to decide which picture I like best,” he says.
“And?”
“I can’t. I like them all.”
“You know you don’t have to flatter me to get me to go home with you, right?” I walk my fingertips up his arm.
“Care to go now? The sooner I get you in bed, the longer I can express my admiration for certain parts of you.”
“Which parts exactly?” I rub his shirt collar between my thumb and fingers, tugging on the material to expose more skin at his neck.
He kisses me softly on the mouth, making my lips tingle. “That part.” He kisses the side of my neck. More tingles. “That part.” He splays his hand around my waist. Yep, tingles erupt there, too. Let’s just call me tingly all over. “This part.” His other hand touches down on my thigh. “This part.”
My senses spin out of control at the low, sexy timbre of his voice. “So, lots of this and that,” I say softly.
“And then lots more.” He bends his head so his warm breath fans the side of my face. “I want to sink into you over and over again, worship your nipples until raw pleasure spreads everywhere and you come so hard you see stars.”
Said nipples now strain against my dress. My panties are wet with anticipation. If I wasn’t the maid of honor, I’d drag Finn to the restroom for a quickie to quench this thirst we have for each other. But my duty is to Jillian for a little while longer.
“After the cake cutting. And bouquet toss. And garter thing. Then we can go,” I say. I wrap my arms around his neck and touch his nose with mine. “So, another hour. Two, tops.”
“Thank God it’s not more than that. Three would have put me over the edge,” he teases.
Lord, I like this guy. We have a quick make-out session, keeping it PG.
The cake is cut.
The bouquet is thrown. Remember how I mentioned I’m the only single friend Jilly has? Well, on Robert’s side of the family there are several single ladies and they form a wall worthy of an NFL defensive line, their arms shooting up when the throw is made, and the tallest woman catches the prize. Not that I would have tried for it. Not really.
The garter is removed by the groom’s teeth to hoots and hollers and his brother is the lucky recipient of the toss.
The sexiest man alive, AKA my date, asks if he can take me home now.
We say our goodbyes and given the late hour hit zero traffic and pull into Finn’s garage in no time. “Last one upstairs is a rotten egg,” I call out, hurrying out of the car. My high heels are on the floor of the passenger seat, so I lift up my skirt and easily make a run for it.
“Oh, it’s on,” Finn counters.
I bump him out of the way so I can pass through the doorway into the laundry room first. I’m not delusional, I know he lets me lead, and when I look over my shoulder at him, his playful mug confirms it.
He pursues me for all of three seconds before taking the lead.
We can’t have that, can we?
“Ow!” I cry out. (Side note: before my dad homeschooled me, I was in every drama performance possible at school.) I limp to the kitchen counter to lean on it for fake support.
Finn puts on the brakes, spins around. “Shit. Did you twist your ankle?” He rushes over and lifts me up onto the counter like I weigh nothing. “Let me see.”
I wasn’t expecting that, so I adjust my ill-thought-out plan. “Maybe get me some ice?” I say, neither confirming nor denying I hurt my ankle. Maybe I like to chew on ice. Maybe I want to put it down his shirt. Or his pants. Who knows?
“Sure.” He steps around the counter toward the fridge. With his back to me, I stealthily hop down and run for the stairs. “Gotcha!” I shout after a head start.
Now before you get mad at me for pulling such a stunt, remember Finn is a professional athlete who can run a six-minute mile, while even if a pack of skunks were chasing my ass, I’d maybe run a nine-minute one.
“Oh, you want to play dirty, do you?” Finn calls after me.
“Only with you!”
I’m halfway up the stairs when Finn scoops me up. “Hey, put me down!”
