I keep a hand between our bodies, stroking him, and he goes thicker and harder in the palm of my hand. I grip him tightly, and the wetness that’s already gathered at the head slicks the path. He lifts his hips, jacking up into my hand.

“Christ, that feels good,” he groans. “I need to touch you.” He peels down my dress and my bra in one rough tug, freeing my breast. He’s wild. Tongue, lips, teeth—flicking, kissing, nipping and sucking until I’m grinding myself on his thigh, desperate for release.

“Condom?” The word comes out breathless.

“Glovebox.” He’s already leaning over to open it. The box is unopened, and he tears it in his impatience to get inside. I take the condom from him, pull it from the foil package, then grip him at the base of his shaft as I slide it down his cock. I don’t let go until I’ve shifted my hips over him, his dick notched at my entrance.

Slowly, I lower onto him, letting him fill me and stretch me. I don’t breathe again until he’s fully inside me, and then it’s in an inhale so ragged my entire body shakes. He shifts under me, and we start to move together. “Marston.” His name’s a gasp, a prayer, a revelation. My body’s clenched tight, and I’m barely holding off the release it so desperately wants. “I’ve missed you.”

Maybe the words don’t make sense. Maybe I’m drunk on pleasure, but his face softens like he understands. “Every fucking day,” he whispers. His eyes are dark and heavy-lidded, but he holds my face in one big hand and locks his gaze on mine. “Promise me you’ll remember this tomorrow. I can’t have you forgetting this one.”

My heart squeezes. “Yes,” I whisper, arching as I rock on him. “I promise I’ll remember.”

My body ratchets tighter, even as my shoulders fall and the tension from my need drains away. He doesn’t release my face, doesn’t stop looking into my eyes, and I continue moving on him like that—his hand on my hip as I rock in tiny circles, gazes locked.

“So beautiful,” he whispers. “I never stopped dreaming of this face. Never stopped—” He cuts himself off with a curse and a powerful upward thrust of his hips.

Pleasure spirals. Builds. Tightens. Crests.

I collapse forward, resting my head on his shoulder and rocking in desperate, jerky motions. The pleasure is too much and not enough. I want to slow down and make this last, but at the same time I want more skin, more friction, more time. A sob rips from me at the unwelcome reminder that this is temporary, but he presses his mouth to mine and swallows the sound, taking away the fear and grief with the slide of his tongue and nip of his teeth.

When he releases my hip, it’s to slide between our bodies. His thumb finds my clit and he strokes. All the tension coils and loosens in a powerful spasm that has me muffling my moan in his chest.

With one more forceful thrust of his hips, he bites my shoulder and buries himself deep inside me, his cock swelling with his release.

I don’t know how many minutes we sit there, half-dressed, a sheen of sweat on our skin, clinging to each other as we catch our breath. When I straighten, he looks at me and chuckles, shaking his head.

“What?” I smile. “You’re not supposed to laugh right after sex. You’ll give a girl a complex.” I’m not really offended, though. I couldn’t be with the joy I see in his eyes.

“I’ve been looking forward to tonight for a hundred reasons, not the least of which was having you in my bed. You deserve better than a quick fuck in my car or a finger fuck under the table. And here we are, ten minutes from either of our beds, and I’ve taken you like a horny teenager.”

I press a kiss to his neck. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He skims his hands up and down my back, soothing, gentle strokes. “Oh, it was very fucking good, but I want more with you. I want skin and space to spread your legs. I want you completely nude while I taste every inch of you, and I want the whole night to do it.” My body clenches around him at those words, and he groans. “Come home with me. I need you out of this dress.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Brinley

I nearly whimper when I walk into Marston’s rental. This isn’t a typical vacation property or temporary rental. This is an event property. The kind of place that’s rented out for a hefty price tag to people who plan to have on-site destination weddings and want to provide their guests with a place to stay.

If I didn’t know how filthy rich Marston’s become in recent years, I’d think he was flexing by choosing this place, but the truth is he can afford it. He’s become accustomed to a lifestyle of only the best. It’s part of his brand. I used to live that life before I decided I wanted to prove to myself and my parents that I could do it on my own.

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