Page 31 of Working for the Runaway Bride

I lean in and brush my mouth over hers again. A mistake. A brief one. She follows when I pull away. I catch her bottom lip between mine, and the kiss deepens all over again. Her hands grip my shoulders. Mine slides from her waist to the small of her back, drawing her flush against me.

Every place our bodies meet burns. She breaks the kiss with a gasp.

“Grayson.”

I press my mouth to the corner of hers, then along her jaw.

“We can’t,” she says.

“Say stop.”

Her breath shudders against my ear. My lips brush the sensitive skin beneath it.

“All you have to do is say it.”

She tilts her head, giving me more access even as she whispers, “This is wrong.”

“I know.”

“He’s your son.”

“I know.”

“I’m supposed to marry him.”

Each word is quieter than the last. My mouth returns to hers, hovering so close our breaths mix.

“Say stop, Molly.”

She stares into my eyes. I force myself to hold still. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

“If you tell me to stop,” I say, my voice rough, “I’ll stop.”

Her lips brush mine. A barely there touch. My entire body tightens. We don’t speak. One second she’s looking up at me, lips parted, and the next my mouth crashes down on hers. She moans into the kiss, soft and needy, her hands fisting in the front of my shirt as she presses her body flush against mine. My tongue slides deep into her mouth, tasting her. She kisses like she’s starving for it, sucking on my tongue and grinding her hips forward.

“Fuck, Molly,” I growl against her lips, my hands roaming down her sides, gripping her ass and pulling her harder into me. My cock is already rock hard, throbbing against her stomach through the thick fabric. “I can’t stop thinking about you. About how you felt pressed up against me.”

She pulls back just enough to breathe, her cheeks flushed, lips swollen. Her fingers trace the zipper of my pants, eyes flicking down to the obvious bulge straining the front. A wicked little smile curves her mouth.

“I saw you looking down my blouse,” she whispers, voice husky and dripping with heat. “Now it’s only fair… I want to see what’s under here.” Her hand presses boldly over my cock, squeezing through the jeans, and I groan, hips jerking into her touch.

“Jesus Christ, baby.”

She bites her lip, looking up at me through her lashes. “I want you to teach me, Grayson. Teach me how to please you. It’s all I’ve thought about for the last forty eight hours—how to make this big cock feel good. How to suck it. How to take it. I need you.”

I unzip my coveralls the rest of the way, letting them pool at my feet. Molly’s eyes drop to the bulge straining against my jeans. I see the hesitation in her eyes and cup her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze. “You wanna learn how to suck cock? The right way?”

She swallows. “Yes.”

“Then listen close, baby.” My hands go to my belt, the sound of the leather sliding through the loops is obscenely loud in the quiet garage. “First rule—you don’t just suck. You worship.” I pop the button on my jeans, the zipper following with a slow, teasing drag. “You take your time. Tease me. Make me beg for that pretty mouth.”

I want to stop. The words shouldn’t be leaving my mouth. But every shred of self restraint is gone and all I can do is give into the temptation I’ve been resisting.

Molly’s breath hitches as I push my jeans and boxers down, my thick cock springing free, already hard and leaking at the tip. The veins standing out against my tanned skin, my head dark and swollen.

“See this?” I wrap my hand around the base, giving myself a slow stroke. My free hand wraps around her hair, tilting her head back. “Start with your hands. Grip me. Not too tight—just enough to make me feel you.”

Molly reaches out, her fingers trembling as she wraps them around my shaft. She strokes me experimentally, her thumb brushing over the slick bead of pre-cum at the tip.