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What’s not to love about a wedding?
He’s sinfully gorgeous, with rippling, inked muscles, eyes like dark fire, and lips that taste like good tequila and bad decisions—decisions like deciding to let him, a stranger, take my v-card the night before my dad’s wedding to my best friend. There’s just one tiny problem.
…It turns out, he’s the best man, and my dad’s best friend.
Javier Luca is devil in the boardroom and a demon in the sack—trust me, I know. It was supposed to be a one-night thing. I was supposed to never see him again. Except now, he’s all I can think about, all-consuming, and making me ache for more. And that’s a huge problem.
He works for my father. He’s almost twice my age. He could probably have any woman in the freaking world. And yet, all he wants is me…again, and again, and again, until he’s all I crave.
This is wrong. This is obscene. I know I should say no. I know we should stop this before the whole lurid thing blows up in our faces.
But he’s like the sinful dessert you can’t say no to. And everyone likes a happy ending, a sweet treat, and a nice, creamy filling…
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His lips crush to mine, and I eagerly moan into his mouth as his big hands slide over my waist. He doesn’t stop until he finds what he’s after, and I whimper at the feel of his strong grip as it moves to boldly cup my ass through my tiny skirt. He growls savagely into my mouth, both hands cupping my ass and spreading me open beneath the skirt, my thong lewdly pulling tight between my cheeks.
Our tongues dance as the music pulses and thumps around us, and I start to let go entirely. The gorgeous, dark stranger growls into my mouth again, and when I roll my hips, I gasp at the feel of him throbbing against my tummy. Fuck, he’s so hard, and just feeling his want for me has me flooding my panties with sticky arousal.
I kiss him harder, and his hands boldly slips lower to push up under my skirt. It’s dark in here, but my God, we’re surrounded by people dancing and partying. I know I should push his hand away and tell him he’s going too far, but I don’t. Because I like his hands on me like this. I like the way his pulsing erection has my knees shaking and the heat pooling between my legs.
He tastes like good tequila and bad decisions, and fuck me, I want more.
“You’re such a fucking prick-tease, Amy. It’s always goddamn blue balls with you.”
Kevin’s voice in my head comes out of nowhere, and I scowl as the hot, beautiful stranger slips his hand across my bare ass under my skirt. Kevin, my very recently ex-boyfriend, is the kind of guy you look back at and sigh in relief that it ended, even if the ending was sucky. He was nice enough, at first—the smiling, charming boy in my freshman Political Science class at Northwestern. And nice and charming is what I wanted. Except, it was all bullshit.
The problem was sex. Specifically, that Kevin wanted it, immediately, and always, and I wanted to wait. No, it’s not like I’ve ever been that girl that wants to wait until marriage or something like that. But I’d gone through all of high school without doing more than freaking making out with a guy. Kevin was nice enough, but I wasn’t about to hop into bed for the first time three weeks after meeting the guy.
Apparently, that was reason enough for Kevin to go out and fuck half the girls on my dorm floor, before telling me it was over.
“Guys have needs, Amy. I mean if you weren’t going to, of course I was gonna find it someplace else.”
Then he asked me if I still “wanted to bone.” I politely told him to go fuck himself with a fork.
But the thing is, it hasn’t just been Kevin. Before him, it was Bryce, from high school. We dated for a few months my senior year, and I really did like him, I just wasn’t ready to do anything more than kissing. Bryce, however, was, which is why he found time fuck Sharon Corbet in the bathroom at a keg party while I was sick with the flu at home. And of course, I got the same “Kevin” explanation: that I was a “prude” and that “of course” he’d gotten what he “needed” elsewhere. Before that, it was Aaron, and even before that, Ian.
Here’s the problem: it’s not that I’ve ever been in love with any of these shitheads. And it’d be so easy to write them all off as assholes. But, there’s a pattern here. Every single guy I’ve dated has eventually walked off to get something strange on the side, all because I wouldn’t do it. And the older I get, and the more this keeps happening, the harder it is to blame everyone else.
At the end of the day, it might be me.
I’ve heard guys crudely talking about “putting pussy on a pedestal.” Well, maybe I’ve put sex in general on a stupid pedestal. Maybe I’ve thought way too much about my first time, and about it being this magical thing with birds singing Disney songs and a Prince Charming making sweet love to me as glitter and magic showers down from… I dunno. Somewhere.
See what I mean? I’ve turned the idea of sex into this ridiculous movie script thing that will never happen. Which leaves me eighteen years old, a freshman at college, and still a virgin in every possible way. And frankly, it’s starting to feel pathetic.
So, maybe that’s how I’ve arrived here, in the arms of this absolutely gorgeous, panty-melting stranger with the dark scruff on his jaw, the haunting look in his eyes, the powerful grip and rock-hard arm muscles, and the throbbing erection pulsing against me. It doesn’t hurt that I’m in Thailand, in freaking paradise at this insanely beautiful beachside bar the night before the wedding.