I moaned as I slid my dick in and out of her tight pussy, my finger furiously working on her clit. She arched against me, crying out.
I put a hand over her mouth. “My neighbors are going to hear you,” I said.
Sadie bit my hand as I fucked her. The feel of being inside her, the sexy little whimpers she made, the way she sighed my name after I made her come—I wanted this every day for the rest of my life.
“It’s probably really dangerous to do this while food is going,” she said, wrinkling her nose as she poked the bacon.
“The bacon’s only burned a little bit,” I said.
56
Sadie
“Ineed to go back to the convention center in a little bit,” I told Parker while we ate. The bacon was more than a little burned. I itched to take it off of Parker’s plate and toss it in the garbage. “You can’t eat burned bacon,” I finally said, making a grab for it.
He clutched his plate. “It’s good when it’s crispy; it’s like a bacon potato chip. I can use it to scoop up my eggs.”
I made a face. Parker stole the bacon off of my plate then kissed me.
“You can’t go back to the convention center just yet,” he said. “There’s something very important we have to do first.”
“I thought we just did it,” I said, trailing my nails across the ridges of muscles along his shoulders.
“We have to find you an outfit for tonight,” he said, smiling over his coffee cup.
“We’re going shopping, Parker?” I kissed him. “You’re boyfriend number one.”
“I’m your boyfriend now?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh, uh—”Crap. This was supposed to be a casual hookup.Sadie, you weren’t supposed to let him know you were attached.
“I guess that makes sense,” Parker said thoughtfully before I could think of how to respond. “You cooked me breakfast after I fucked you in the kitchen.” He nodded. “Yes, you are my girlfriend.”
“Does the evidence support your conclusion?” I asked, feeling giddy.
“It does.” He pulled me back toward him, kissing me.
* * *
“There’s a thrift store around here,”I said as Parker drove us to Main Street. “There it is! Oh, you passed it. Turn around.”
“We’re not going to a thrift store for your dress,” Parker said as he drove several blocks down and parked in front of a cute little boutique on the corner near the Grey Dove Bistro. “You invited a lot of rich people from Manhattan. You’re running the nonprofit. You have to look the part.”
“I’m just helping out,” I demurred.
“For all intents and purposes, you’re running it. Even Garrett is impressed,” he insisted as I climbed out of the car.
“Still, it’s a historic dress code. I really should be able to cobble something together from the thrift store. They’ll have more options.”
“Good morning, Mr. Svensson,” the sales associate said when we walked into the boutique. There were several fancy gowns on display. People must have bought them if they were going into Manhattan for the opera or the ballet or a fancy charity function. There were also lots and lots of wedding dresses.
“Don’t worry!” the sales associate said with a laugh. “This isn’t a surprise wedding.”
“Thank goodness!” I said. “I’m too young to get married.”
“This boutique mainly sells wedding dresses. In addition to this location, we have one in Manhattan as well. We’re part of the Weddings in the City collaborative. We sew our dresses locally here in the area.”
“We have your order ready,” another woman said, carrying a large dress into the room.
