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British Strumpet: Meet me at the park in thirty?
Me: I’ll be there in twenty-five.
It’s been twenty-seven minutes, and I’m still not there. After his damn text messages and how quickly they went into the gutter, I needed a cold shower and a ride on my trusty silicone dick before I could think straight. Too bad the one I have doesn’t have all those fancy bars lining the bottom of it.
Holy… Fuck…
Now his bedazzled penis is all I can think of, which is not what I should be contemplating with a baby strapped to my chest and the fall air sweeping through my hair becauseI’m out in public.
Granted, no one out here knows me, but still… so much for keeping hockey players off limits. I had one rule—one—and he had me breaking it with one heated look.
I feel like it makes me an extremely thirsty bitch, but also… look at him.
That’s exactly what I’m doing as I walk up the small hill and watch him bend over and lay out a blanket under a very small, possibly newly planted, tree. His ass in those jeans is divine. I want to sink my teeth into his supple skin while grabbing a handful and unleashing all the dirty talk I know.
He shifts, moving an actual picnic basket and a gorgeous bouquet of wildflowers on the blanket, then stands up straight and stretches. He still has his back to me, so I take my time to admire his tight-fitting, long-sleeved, blue tee, the way it clings to the muscles in his shoulders and down his back… and the way it raises up, giving me a very nice view of his lower back and the dimples right above his pants.
Damn.
This is why I broke my rule. This right here.
“My eyes are up here, Princess.”
Busted.
I didn’t even notice him turning around. And I was staring—like hardcore staring. I lift my gaze up his body until it meets his. His brows are raised, and my cheeks burn as I try to hide behind Mason’s head. Turns out that was a mistake because he grabs a hunk of my hair and pulls like the little hell-raiser he’s going to be.
Foster chuckles as he makes his way over, grabs Mason’s hand which effectively frees my hair, and leans mere inches from my lips.
“You got a little drool on your face.” His free hand slides down the side of my face as he grins. Good thing he’s cute. “Photographers at four and nine o’clock. Time to put on a show.”
Before I can ask exactly what he means, he turns my face to the side and slants his mouth over mine. It feels so damn right, like coming home.
He feels like mine, which is ridiculous, because he’s literally kissing me for the camera.
It’s for show.
For his career.
He takes a step toward me, careful to avoid squishing Mason, and tips my head back. He nips at my bottom lip and sweeps his tongue in my mouth, kissing me with such passion and ferocity it’s hard to keep telling myself it’s only for the camera.
He groans, sucking my tongue into his mouth and sliding his hand to the back of my neck, securing me in place.
My toes curl and my whole body is on fire. At some point the diaper bag fell from my hands, but I don’t care.
Mason makes a giggling noise and his little hand slaps my face, then Foster’s.
At least someone is here to slap some sense into us.
We break apart slowly, Foster blinking the lust from his eyes but not releasing me from his hold. His smirk is back on his face, and his lips brush across my temple as he whispers, “You taste good enough to eat.”
This time my face isn’t the only thing to heat under his gaze.
Doesn’t look like everything is for the cameras after all.
I cover Mason’s ears and return his smirk with one of my own. “I can’t wait to look at you with adoration while you put your… grapes in my mouth. I’ve been starved all day.”
His mouth drops open in shock but he recovers quickly, snapping it closed and reaching down to adjust himself. “I hope you’re prepared for a very quick picnic.”
