“More,” she pleads, and I’m more than happy to give it.
I return my mouth to her breast and am rewarded with a whimpered yes. I tease her nipple with my teeth, and she clenches around me, her movements and pace turning more desperate. I toy with her breasts—flicking her nipple with my tongue before pulling it into my mouth and sucking almost savagely—until she turns frantic, until she throws her head back and stifles a scream, until her orgasm is milking my cock. Hot and wet and tight and so fucking good, so fucking sexy.
I let my hands roam up and down her sides as I urge her to keep fucking me, to take all the pleasure she can. I murmur dirty words in her ear, and when my orgasm bears down on me, I bury my face in her neck and come harder than I ever have in my life.
When I can think clearly again, I realize Veronica is stock-still on my lap. I pull back and see shock in her eyes, in the rounding of her lips. Shock or . . . hurt? Shit.
I cup her jaw. “Are you okay? Was I too rough with you?”
She bats my hand away and wiggles off my lap and out the door we never bothered to close. “Not at all. I’m not that fragile.” She pulls the strap of her dress back into place and smooths down the skirt. When she meets my eyes again, whatever I saw before is gone, replaced with a hard, unreadable expression. “I appreciate your discretion about this,” she says, turning away and heading to the door.
I hop out of the car, confused. “Veronica, wait. Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong. Are you hurt?”
She stops but doesn’t turn to look at me. She tips her face toward the ceiling and shakes her head. “I’m not hurt. And you gave me exactly what I asked for.”
“You don’t seem happy about it.”
She pulls in a deep breath before turning to me. “Sorry. If you wanted pillow talk and snuggles, I’m not your girl.”
And with that, she walks out into the night.
I don’t see Veronica again until the next morning, despite watching for her on the patio and even subjecting myself to the couples at the lakeside fire just in case she was hanging with them.
We’re all halfway through our breakfasts when she finally comes to the table and is forced to take the seat beside me.
We eat in silence for a few minutes before she releases an exasperated breath and leans in to whisper in my ear, “Let me tell you a secret.”
I arch a brow, hoping she’s about to explain her strange behavior last night. “What’s that?”
“You aren’t fooling anyone,” she said. “And the sad puppy-dog eyes are a little pathetic.”
“What?”
She nods across the table to where Ellie is practically in Levi’s lap. “You’re transparent, and you’re depressing the shit out of everyone here.”
She’s speaking right to my deepest fears. I’d been feeling this all weekend—up until she pulled me away from the group and let me touch her. I tighten my grip on my coffee mug. “How do you figure?”
“Nobody wants to see the sad-schmuck ex. So maybe you have a hard-on for your best friend’s girl, but the time to do anything about that has officially passed. Get over it.”
What a bitch. I’m speechless, but it doesn’t matter. Because she’s grabbed a muffin and left the table. Again, she’s walking away from me, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m the one who screwed up, and I wish I knew how.
Colton
Present day
All night, my gaze returns to Veronica. On the one hand, I’m irritated with myself—for wanting her, for this fucking craving I can’t seem to get past. On the other, I like being able to keep an eye on her, and I’m enjoying seeing her relax and cut loose with her friends—something she rarely does. I enjoy it, that is, until some ass steps up to her table and blocks my view. I vaguely recognize him but can’t quite place him. That happens a lot when you live in a small town.
I wait patiently for her to tell him to fuck off, but instead, she lets him pull her out of the booth and to a small area between the tables. Veronica sways on her feet, and the guy steadies her as he pulls her body close to his. He settles his hands on her hips, and she grins up at him as they begin swaying to the music.
Next to me, Crosley coughs, and I drag my gaze off Veronica to look at him. “You’re staring again,” he says under his breath.
“She’s drunk.”
Cros arches a brow, and I know what he’s thinking. How’s that our business? But dammit, there are some serious assholes in the world. I’d know. I used to be one of them. Maybe I never took advantage of a drunk woman, but I knew every seduction trick in the book.
“What the fuck does he think he’s doing?” Wes asks, coming up behind me.
“You two are ridiculous,” Crosley mutters.
“She’s drunk,” I tell Wes.
“I don’t think she’s drunk. Maybe tipsy,” Crosley says. “But not our business. Let her be.”
Wes sighs, nods, and returns to the game.
But I can’t let it go. They’re barely swaying to the music, and every so often, Veronica stumbles. A decent guy wouldn’t be making his move right now. He’d be calling her a freaking cab.
I try to stop fixating and focus on the conversation around me. Brady’s talking about test-driving the new electric F-150, and normally, I’d have all kinds of questions, but half my attention is still on Veronica. Just enough so that I see when the guy buys her another drink. Just enough so that I notice when she tries to go back to her table, and he grabs her by the wrist and leads her to dance with him again. Just enough so that I notice when her smile’s gone.
“Come on, V,” I say under my breath. “Tell him to get lost.”
I curse every drop of alcohol she’s had. Sober Veronica would tell this heavy-handed, enterprising ass where he could shove it.
Wouldn’t she? Or is she only like that with me? That possibility makes me feel pretty damn small.
This time when he takes her by the hips, he pulls her body flush with his. Veronica squirms, putting a little space between them. He laughs it off, relinquishing the position but not letting her go. She might be drunk, but now she looks really uncomfortable. Surely she’s going to kick him in the balls if he tries to grope her ass again.
I glance toward the table to see if her friends are going to intervene, but Star and Amelia are the only ones left, and they’re deep in conversation and probably too drunk to notice Veronica’s predicament.
I make myself count to ten. By the time I get to six, Veronica’s face relaxes. I need to mind my own fucking business. Then he pulls her close again.
I shove my pool stick at Brady. “Take this. I’ll be right back.”
My strides are long and purposeful as I cross the bar, and I know I look pissed. She’ll probably give me endless shit for this at work on Monday, but I don’t even care.
“Hey, V,” I say, stepping close like I’m approaching two people casually talking and not a couple dancing. “You promised to be my partner the next round, remember?” I nod to the pool table.
Veronica’s eyes go wide and her mouth forms a circle. “What?”
Come on. Play along. “Crosley’s talking shit,” I lie. “Saying you’re chickening out.”