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“Persephone, that’s very naughty of you. After last night, I thought you would have learned your lesson.”
And never mind how this guy knows my name—or how my entirebodyseems to tremble when he says the wordnaughty.
Because by the time he’s finished saying his piece, I’m in fucking hysterics.
“Aw, buddy,” I cackle at him. “You don’t know how this goes yet, do you?Learned my lesson…Look, whatever you think you taught me last night was in one ear, out the other. When Percy gets her drank on, Percy don’t remembernothin’. And that’s the way I like it.Capice?”
And you know what he says to that?
Fuck all.
Nothin’.
He just laughs right back at me and wags his dick a little closer to my lips.
I can smell him. Hot, hard, and all man, all night long. Or, all morning long, as it is.
Long, though. Long is the key word here.
He moves his hips toward me and Christ, I just know it. He’s some kind of sexy-ass George Clooney look-alike—only, way hotter. When it comes to men I actually bring home, I have a type—and since this guy is in what I’m assuming is my bridal suite, you can bet your sweet ass he’s capable of getting allOceans 11up in my pussy.
And before you start judging me—I mean, strange, sexy naked man in my bridal suite? I know how that sounds—let me just make one thing damn fucking clear:
Calling off the wedding is the one thing Ifor suredid last night.
It’s not marriage. I’ve got nothing against marriage, swear on my life.
It’s…well, frankly, it’s me.
As far as institutions go, I rank marriage somewhere between MIT and the local sanatorium. For some people, marriage just works. It makes sense. I do, I do, you may now kiss the bride. Cue wedding march, cut the cake, honeymoon. Happily ever after.
For other people, marriage is a fucking death wish. Might as well pick up the divorce papers right along with the marriage certificate.
People like my friends Becky and Sammi? They’re the former.
People like my mom and dad? The latter.
Guess which category I fall into.
You can’t even blame me for calling things off. Anton Lanteri is the Prince of Menage, a very eligible bachelor in his own right, and a straight up silver fox.
And me? I’m a professional fuck-up with like, I dunno.Maybea drinking problem. I’m a free spirit! A loose cannon badass who plays by nobody’s rules but her own! I march to the beat of my own vibrator, dammit! I’m not about to fuck both of our lives up by doing something so stupid as gettingmarried, for fuck’s sake.
So there. We cool? Are we totally squared away with me swallowing Mystery Dude’s splooge cannon until the cows come home?
Yeah, that’s what I thought.
“Come on,” I urge him. “Fuck my mouth. You know you want it.”
“Maybe I do,” he says. “But silly girls who don’t learn their lessons don’t get rewards.”
“Ohhh. So that’s how it is…Professor.” Like I haven’t playedthisgame before. “You’resoright. I’ve been a very naughty girl. Why don’t you come over here and teach me? I’m averyfast learner…with the rightstimulus, anyway.”
His thumb strokes my cheek in a way that’s all too familiar, and there’s something sensual in the tone of his voice that makes my breath catch in my throat…
Not that I, uh. Enjoy it, or whatever, or anything.
“Persephone,” he purrs down at me, his thumb stroking my lower lip. “I’m afraid if you didn’t learn your lesson last night, then this time around you’ll have to learn it on your own.”
