Releasing my wrists, he slides his arms under my ass, lifting me. My legs go around his waist, and he holds me up as he fucks me into oblivion. Kent works out like a beast, and he has a body carved of hard muscle, but I’m still impressed. Holding on to his shoulders, I grind my pussy down on his cock as he thrusts up inside me, and we both come a few minutes later.
“Holy fuck, baby.” He staggers a little as he lifts me off his dick, planting my feet on the ground. “You are so damn good at that.”
“So are you,” I rasp, pulling my lace panties up my legs as he pulls the condom off, tying a knot in it and dumping it in the small trash can under the desk.
“I’ve had lots and lots of practice.” He laughs, winking at me as he tugs his boxers and pants up his legs, as if it’s funny.
Bile swirls in my gut, and anxiety prickles my skin.
I have no idea how I’m going to get through this day unscathed.
“Thanks for that,” I hiss through gritted teeth. “That’s exactly what a woman wants to hear just after her boyfriend’s had sex with her.” Sarcasm drips from my tone.
“Baby.” He reaches for me, but I push him away, his words upsetting me more than he realizes.
“Don’t fucking touch me.” I know he wasn’t a saint. Far from it. But I purposely don’t think about all the other women, and he doesn’t usually reference his previous sex life. Today is the last day I want to be thinking about how much sex my boyfriend has had with copious random women. Today is a day to celebrate love and everything that is wonderful and intimate between two people.
“Come on. You know I have a past.”
“Like I have, but you don’t hear me throwing Chris or Lync in your face.”
He purses his lips. “Don’t be petty, Presley. And you’re completely overreacting.”
I don’t think I am, but I force my own feelings aside, for the sake of peace. “Just drop it,” I say, grinding my teeth to my molars as I struggle to get a leash on my hurt and my anger. “And we should head back before your family sends out a search party.”
He chuckles. “They probably already have, but who fucking cares?” He slings his arm over my shoulder, clueless to how much his words have hurt me, before opening the door.
We almost fall face-first into Austen’s mother.
How wonderful.
“Oh my God. You gave me a fright!” she says, planting a hand on her chest. Her gaze bounces between us, her eyes widening with recognition. Slowly, she looks us over from head to toe, and acid crawls up my throat. The skirt of my dress is wrinkled, and I’m sure my makeup is in need of repair. Kent forgot to button the top button of his pants, his tie is askew, and his hair is messed up from my fingers. It’s obvious what we were doing in that room.
Her lips pull into a disapproving line. “This is the height of bad manners. Especially with you being your brother’s best man! I have read some very unsavory articles about you online.” She looks down her nose at us. “I can see they didn’t exaggerate.”
“You’re one to talk,” Kent hisses. “No one asked for your input, and your own manners could use polishing.”
“You can’t speak to me like that!” Her nostrils flare, and her cheeks redden.
“You know what your problem is?” Kent says, his lips tugging up at the corners. I brace myself for it. “You need a proper dicking and for someone to remove that stick up your ass.”
“You are disgusting, and you have a filthy mouth.” She rakes her gaze over him like he’s vermin.
“Fuck off,” Kent snaps. “And mind your own business.” Taking my hand, he guides me out into the hallway, brushing past her.
“Your parents will hear about this!” she calls out after us.
Kent spins around, shoving his middle finger up at her. “Do I look like I’m five or like I give a shit? Do your worst. Stuck-up bitch.”
I virtually drag him outside, rubbing at my throbbing temples. Though it looks like I’ll be on babysitting duty for the rest of the day, I stop a waiter and grab a glass of champagne off his tray because I have a feeling I’ll need some liquid courage.
I’d like to say things improve as the day turns to night, but they don’t. At least the wedding is almost over, and Kent hasn’t caused any other trouble. I spoke to Keanu, explaining about our altercation with Mrs. Hayes, and he smoothed things over with Austen’s mom. She will never be Kent’s biggest fan, but I doubt either of us will lose sleep over it.
“Let’s dance, Presley baby,” Kent proclaims, coming up behind me and taking my hand, even though I’m mid-conversation with his sister-in-law.
“Sorry!” I shout at Lana as Kent hauls me out onto the dance floor.
He’s been drinking and dancing up a storm while I watch from the sidelines, mostly sticking to water and the odd glass of champagne. Kent is trashed, and one of us needs to be sober. His family doesn’t notice, or maybe they’re used to it, or they’re putting it down to wedding exuberance. Whatever it is, I seem to be the only one concerned. I’ve noticed he keeps his distance from Austen and Keaton, which I consider a good thing. The happy couple is loved up, and they’ve been showered with congratulations and goodwill today, and everything has gone without a hitch.
