Page 124 of The Perfect Wrong


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Part of me expected it, honestly, but seeing it still hits like a sucker punch.

“You can’t be upset. You know what’s coming tomorrow. It’s for our own good. Think about our futures, our careers and families. We can’t keep living what-ifs, Miss Delia. You need to live right now.”

“I know, I know... It just hurts, okay? I get it. There’s no way we make sense. But I still don’t like losing you, Chris. Why does it have to be so unfair?” She watches me staring, and I wonder if she’s lost her mind or if she really doesn’t understand. “We’re not even related. Not for real. When I’m with you, this thing we have doesn’t feel so crazy... How could it be?”

She twists her lips, deep in thought.

“Whatever.” She sighs softly.

She reaches for my neck, pressing her small hands to my skin. Her nails graze me, stroking more heat in my blood.

Christ.

I’ve seen women look at me lust-drunk before, but this is something else.

The intensity in her eyes almost makes me shoot off in my pants.

An overwhelming urge to rip her dress off and fuck her right here on the balcony darts through me.

I can’t make myself give a fuck who sees or hears us.

“I know you’re right. I just wish you weren’t so bad,” she hisses. “Take me like I mean something tonight. Make this last time the best. Make me remember you forever...”

Holy shit.

Her amber eyes twinkle like she’s possessed, and it’s not the wine from dinner.

I’m so hard it cuts me open.

With a breathless growl, my hand skims down her back and stops on her zipper.

I give her just enough space to fumble the dress off.

Delia doesn’t even protest. She just slides off my lap to stand and let it fall to the floor.

The race is on.

I’m ripping off my vest, my trousers, my boxers.

Anything and everything I need gone to get naked and sink down inside her.

By the time I’m freed from my clothes, she’s next to the wide glass door, one arm folded across her breast.

No fucking way am I letting Miss Modesty butt into tonight.

I grab her hand and pull her toward me, guiding us into the long deck chair, where I throw her down gently.

“Chris? Outside? Are you crazy?” she asks sharply.

I answer by holding her down, parting her legs, and pushing my face toward dessert.

“We shouldn’t—oh!”

Yeah.

Oh, fuck yes, we should.

The moan that jolts out of her when my tongue swipes her clit speaks volumes.

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