Page 33 of Working for the Runaway Bride

“You taste sweet, baby,” I growl, my hands sliding under her ass to lift her closer to my mouth. “Like fuckin’ honey.” I lap at her, greedy, relentless, my stubble scraping against her inner thighs as I devour her like a man starved.

Molly is panting, her body trembling as the first waves of her orgasm build. “Grayson, I’m gonna⁠—”

“I know,” I rumble, my tongue working faster, my fingers digging into her ass. “Come for me. On my tongue. Now.”

And she does, her back bowing off the counter as pleasure crashes over her, her cries echoing through the empty garage. I don’t stop, licking her through it, drawing out every last shudder until she is boneless, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

Only then do I stand, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand and licking as not to waste a single drop of her juices.

Everything inside me wants to claim this woman and declare her to be mine. But I know I’ve already gone too far. I reluctantly don’t go farther, even though I want nothing more than to bury my hard cock deep inside of her.

CHAPTER

SIX

MOLLY—THE WEDDING

“You look beautiful.”

Jessica says it for the fourth time, and for the fourth time, I smile as if I believe her. I don’t feel beautiful. I feel like a fraud.

My reflection stares back at me from the full-length mirror in the bridal suite. The dress is everything I imagined when I ordered it eight months ago. A fitted lace bodice, a soft sweetheart neckline, and a long satin skirt that sweeps across the floor. Tiny pearls shimmer along the veil pinned beneath my curls.

I look exactly like a bride. I just don’t feel like one.

Beyond the closed door, guests fill the chapel. Their muffled voices drift through the walls, interrupted occasionally by laughter or the scrape of chairs against the floor. Nearly a hundred people have driven here to watch me marry Carter.

My parents flew in. Jessica bought a dress she couldn’t afford. My coworkers decorated the reception hall last night. Carter’s aunt made one hundred favors by hand. His mother paid for the flowers, and I spent almost a year’s savings on the dress, the photographer, and half the catering bill.

Everything is ready. Everyone is waiting. All I have to do is walk down the aisle. I press my palm against my stomach, trying to quiet the sick feeling twisting inside it.

So how did I end up here? Carter called thirty-seven times in two days. On the thirty-eighth, I answered.

He apologized, although it took almost twenty minutes for him to use the actual word. At first, he explained that the woman in our living room was an old friend. Then she became someone from work. Then he admitted they’d kissed, but only because we’d been “distant” while I was distracted by the end of the school year and the wedding.

According to Carter, he’d been feeling neglected. According to him, nothing happened that couldn’t be forgiven and canceling the wedding would embarrass both of our families and waste tens of thousands of dollars.

He reminded me about the nonrefundable deposits. The airline tickets. The catering. The gifts already sent to our house. He cried.

I had never seen Carter cry before. It didn’t matter that his tears appeared only after I said I was leaving him. It didn’t matter that his apology always circled back to how much the cancellation would cost him.

I wanted to believe him. More than that, I want to believe the past three years of my life haven’t been a lie. So I agreed to go through with the wedding. I moved back into the house yesterday.

My eyes burn. I blink quickly and look toward the window.

“You don’t have to go through with this,” she says.

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I told Carter I would.”

“You’re allowed to change your mind.”

“Everyone is here.”

“They’ll understand.”