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I imagined my cheeks were flushed, and I could tell by the way the room felt like it was a hundred degrees that there was probably a light sheen on my forehead. “I’m good,” I said, my pitch on the last word going higher when Drake slipped two fingers inside of me and curled them. “I just drank too fast I think.”
“If you say so,” he said, making a pointed glance in Drake’s direction before he turned back to his own half-emptied plate.
I nodded and smiled sweetly, gently placing my fork on the table. Once I was sure that Ed wasn’t looking at us anymore, I turned and glared at Drake. I had hoped the look would tell him to knock it off, but the way my legs shook against his forearm said otherwise. He licked his lips, rubbing his fingers along the inner walls of my pussy.
I pleaded with him with my eyes. I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to stop or if I wanted him to make me fall apart in the middle of the rehearsal dinner. But when he pulled his hand from me, licking his fingers and returning his attention to his meal, I knew it was the latter. My entire body ached, desperate for release.
***
Dallas had barely made it in the front door before he was kissing my neck and ushering me to the bedroom. Even while he stripped out of a suit that cost more than my rent, my attention was back at the dinner table with Drake’s hand up my skirt. Then when he climbed on top of me and kissed me, I imagined it was his lips kissing me the way they had in the hallway.
I closed my eyes, unable to look at him while he entered me. “I don’t know if I can do this,” I said, and Dallas stopped moving.
“Okay, let’s switch,” he said, climbing off me and flipping me onto my knees. He entered me from behind, thrusting deep and hard enough to make me grunt, and he resumed his pace.
It didn’t take long before his quick, punchy movements turned to short, uneven thrusts and he came. Dallas grunted, pulling out and dropping onto the bed next to me. Like usual, he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me to him.
“I definitely can’t do this,” I repeated.
He looked at me confused. “We’re finished now, baby cakes.” Dallas chuckled with a lazy look in his eyes.
“I didn’t finish,” I grumbled under my breath, knowing I’d have to dig my vibrator out of my purse and finish myself off before I could go to sleep.
“Do you want me to—” He reached over and grabbed my thigh, and I tugged it away from him.
“I mean I can’t see you anymore.” He gaped at me, like he didn’t understand what I was trying to say. “I’m sorry, Dallas. This just isn’t going to go anywhere.”
You deserve better.
Chapter nineteen
Drake
“You ready?” Bryson asked me, clapping me on the shoulder. He looked like he was equally ready to throw up or party—likely a combination of both. Everyone got nervous on their wedding day.
I nodded. “I think I’m the one that’s supposed to ask you that.” I took his hand and shook it before pulling him into a slightly awkward hug. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do in this situation. I’d never been someone’s best man before—or really someone’s best friend. “Is this when I give you some sort of sage advice?”
I’m the last person who should be offering any sort of relationship advice.
My voice trailed off when Amanda walked out of the bridal suite, pausing to scan the room. Who was she looking for? I imagined her boyfriend-that-she-swore-wasn’t-her-boyfriend, and I rolled my eyes. Bryson didn’t miss it, and he ruffled his brow.
“Okay, what’s the deal with you two?” he asked, watching his sister. “Why don’t you get along?”
I shrugged. “We get along fine.” Did we?
“That’s not how she puts it,” Bryson said, laughing like he’d just told a hilarious joke.
I glared at him. “How does she put it?” I already knew exactly how—she’d probably called me infuriating and pushy.
Bryson sighed, thinking better of it. “Just… don’t do anything with her, okay?”
“Do anything?” I wanted to push him and ask what she had told him, but it wasn’t the right time or place for that. If anything, it would make him think something was happening when it wasn’t. Was it?
“Don’t fuck my sister. Please? You’re like fifteen years older than she is.” He cringed when he said it, knowing it was hypocritical of him. Bryson was only five years younger than me, so he wasn’t one who could comment on an age difference given the decade of difference between him and his almost-wife.
“I know.” It wasn’t a lie. “But wouldn’t that be her choice anyway?” I asked, and Bryson stiffened next to me.
When Amanda scanned the rest of the room and her eyes landed on us, she looked both relieved and annoyed. Then she started to walk our way. “I’m asking you as my best friend. Please?”
