My tongue darts across my parched lips. “Practice for the wedding?” I whisper, my heart pounding its way into my windpipe.
My groom-to-be gives his head a subtle shake. He moves in slowly, his palm gently cupping my cheek.“No, Jules. I just want to kiss you.”
Without another thought, my eyes flutter shut and I drape my arms around his neck. The seconds stretch into an eternity as I wait for his lips to touch mine.
And when they do, the tough girl inside me melts like ice cream dropped on the sidewalk in a summer heatwave.
My future fake husband kisses me so soft, so slow, with a tenderness I’ve always secretly craved but never experienced, or even dared to wish for, in real life.
My heart feels each electric brush of his lips. My clit feels every probing stroke of his tongue. And things quickly get out of control when I start kissing him back.
His hands are in my hair, angling my head to kiss me deeper. I’m yanking at the buttons of his shirt, desperate to get him naked. We’re tugging and pulling and undressing each other.
There goes my dress, followed by my bra. His shirt and his belt hit the floor next.
My guardian angel doesn’t even bother arguing with me. She just shakes her head and grabs her suitcases as she exits stage left. Because this is happening. There’s no changing my mind tonight.
Lincoln somehow loses his balance and tumbles off the couch, rolling and landing on his back. I go over the edge right along with him, plunging to the carpeted floor in a cacophony of gasps and grunts and giggles.
He presses a finger to my lips and listens for movement from Cameron upstairs.
“Be quiet, would you?” he scolds me, but the faint rays of the street lamp filtering through the curtain illuminate his mischievous eyes.
“If you want me to shut up, put your mouth back on mine,” I counter.
Lincoln flips us over and pins my hips to the floor. “You are so much trouble. D’you know that? Sometimes I wonder what the hell I’m getting myself into, marrying you.”
I draw my hands across the warm, smooth skin of his bare shoulders. “You’re in too deep now, Mr. Button-Up. No take backs.”
He’s nipping at my neck again, biting me tenderly between each word. “No”—nibble—“fucking”—nibble—“take backs.”
Then he devours my mouth. He feasts on my neck. He licks and sucks a famished path down to my breasts. And my body comes alive for him.
Lincoln. His name gets lodged in my throat when his palms slip under my ass, squeezing and kneading. His mouth stays busy, worshipping my nipples as he returns to peeling off what’s left of my clothing.
His fingertips trail along the edge of my panties. “You gonna let your fiancé eat this pretty pussy tonight, Julissa?”
I don’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“And you’re gonna come all over my face? You’re gonna make a big mess for me?”
My back arches off the floor. “Yes.”
He scoots lower down my body, kissing my belly, my hipbone, the crease of my thigh. “One rule.”
A guttural groan is my response.
His index finger covers my mouth again. “You have to be nice and quiet for me. Okay?”
He slips my panties to the side and drags two fingers through my shuddering seam.
“Yes. Yes,” I say, lifting my hips off the ground so he can rid me of my underwear.
He’s wearing a smirk as he drags the soaked black lace down my thighs and past my ankles. I don’t trust that smug look on his face as he balls up my panties and shoves them into his back pocket.
But before I can ask a question, his palms are spreading my thighs wide and his entire face is buried at my core.
His mouth opens against my nether lips and his tongue peeks out, licking and twirling and slowly stirring me up into a frenzy.
