“Not tonight.” I kiss him, slow and languid. “I want to take my time with you.” And maybe have an actual conversation.
He makes a pouty, whiny noise and pushes into me. The head of my cock brushes his entrance, and I’m so tempted. Just a rock of my hips, that’s all it’d take—and copious amounts of lube and stretching. I’m not small.
“Stop it.” I tighten my grip on his shaft, working him faster as I grind my length between his cheeks with renewed urgency. The friction is heavenly—slick and hot along that perfect ass. “You’ll get my cock when I choose to give it to you.”
Sounds of pleasure fill the room—Aurora’s breathless whimpers, Reece’s deep grunts, Jackson’s needy moans—and my mind clouds with lust.
“God, Jax. Come for me.” My voice is nothing but a rumble. “I’m about to paint your ass with my cum.”
He trembles, muscles taut with restraint. He thrusts harder, his movements becoming more desperate. “I’m close.” His cock pulses in my hand. “I’m so fucking—” His words cut off, his body going rigid. He cries out, and hot spurts of cum coat my fingers, his cheeks clenching my length.
My release hits me like a freight train. Ecstasy spikes in my veins, and my vision turns white. My fist tightens around his throat, his pulse slamming wildly beneath my palm. I come in thick ropes across his ass, a hoarse, guttural growl ripping from my chest.
Chapter 45
Jackson
It’s a nice day for a wedding, with clear skies and a gentle breeze moving through the trees. The weather is mild, not hot or cold, with enough clouds to keep the outdoor ceremony comfortable.
I sit with Ethan and Reece in the front row, still buzzing from last night’s sexcapade. Ethan and I are in black suits with deep-red ties to complement Aurora’s velvet gown. Reece is wearing distressed jeans, a T-shirt, and a leather jacket. His parents haven’t shown up yet, but I’m starting to believe he dresses this way on purpose to direct his father’s attention away from his sisters—orus.
The tattoo on his head likely served as a firm warning to the pastor: Aurora is here to stay; don’t provoke me. It’s smart—cuts through all the bullshit.
I jokingly asked if he was feeling emo today, and he shot me daggers with his eyes, which is an improvement over the dull gaze he’d adopted during the rehearsal dinner. The foursome must have worked. It’s hard to be sad after coming and cuddling with three other people.
The string quartet plays as guests settle into white chairs on the pristine lawn of some well-known resort. It’s a small, intimate affair. No best man or maid of honor, no wedding party. Just a few dozen of their closest friends and family.
Harper rushes toward us, Danny trailing behind her like a little penguin in his tux. God, I hope we have a bunch of kids—they’re so pure at heart, untainted by the world. At dinner, I rolled up my sleeves, and he colored in my tattoos, drawing a few new ones, perfectly content doing something so simple.
“Have you seen Dad?” Harper leans in to ask Reece, her voice tight with worry.
Reece’s jaw muscles twitch. “Not since last night. Why?”
“He’s not answering his phone. Mom either.” She glances nervously at the entranceway. “The ceremony starts in fifteen minutes. Sades is freaking out. Aurora is trying to keep her calm with stories about how you two met.” Harper places her hands on her hips. “You went through her phone to find all her favorite foods and books? That’s a little crazy, Reece.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh. “Back to Dad… Did he stay in the city?”
She shrugs. “Supposedly.”
“Is he officiating?” I don’t see any problem with the asshole not showing.
“No.” Reece shakes his head. “Cal isn’t Baptist. Dad is walking Sadie down the aisle.”
Oh, fuck. “You can.” I gesture to him, palm up. “You’re as good, if not better.”
Harper’s eyes light up, her shoulders slumping with relief. “Yes, that’s perfect.”
He runs his fingers through his tousled fohawk. “I don’t have clothes. I can’t walk her down the aisle in this.”
“Take mine,” I offer, already loosening my uncomfortable tie.
His critical gaze rakes over my tailored suit. “Absolutely not.”
I spread my arms wide, taken aback. “Why?”
He scoffs. “Your pants are so tight, I can see the full outline of your phone in your pocket.”
“No, they’re not!” I glance down at my fitted slacks, the fabric stretching over my muscular quads. “I have hockey thighs. You’re awfully judgmental for someone with nipple piercings, you know that?”
