Rusty Nailed (10 page)

“Atta girl.” He had me saying good-byes in less than a minute, into the elevator in three minutes, and had me in the back of a cab five minutes after that.

And when I say had me, boy, did he try.

•  •  •

A
fter successfully fending off Simon’s attempts to get under my skirt in the cab, and then under my skirt while walking up our apartment stairs in front of him, I gave up all ownership of what was below my belly button when he bent me over the back of the sofa inside my apartment and removed my panties. With his teeth.

With his mother-loving teeth! I can’t even!

I’d read this particular scene in many romance novels; I’d never experienced it in real life. I always wondered how exactly that would happen. Did he take a big bite of the part over your hip?
Use one canine to peel it off from the front? Sexy novels only mentioned teeth, so would lips be cheating? And speaking of cheating, if he used his hands to assist, but the teeth were the primary method for panty removal, would that be legal?

Romance novels, schmomance novels, here’s how Wallbanger does it.

Hands went inside my skirt from either side as soon as we cleared the front door. As he guided me backward through the darkened apartment, his mouth was on my neck and his hands inside my bra, when the back of my thighs met the sofa.

Which I then had the honor of feeling with my eyeballs when I hit the pillows face-first, after he’d spun me and pushed me over the arm with my bum in the air. Think I even noticed that I had a forehead full of sofa? Hell no, I had a Wallbanger kneeling between my legs.

Wet kisses were smacked along the back of my legs as my skirt was lifted and placed out of his way. I felt his hands nudging my knees apart, felt his warm breath on the inside of my thighs as his fingers dipped inside the lace of my panties. Had I dressed up for my man? Oh hell, yes.

White. Lacey. Sweet. Guaranteed to make him pant. Which he was doing now, heavily. He kissed me through the silk, his tongue pointed and strong even through the barrier. I cried out, having been ready for that mouth ever since he pushed me up against the railing in the restaurant.

With his hands wrapped around my waist, he pressed down on the small of my back, angling me toward his face. Growling—and I swear that’s the only way I can describe the guttural noises coming from the back of his throat—he grasped the top of my panties in his teeth and tugged. Down my thighs and toward my knees, and that’s as far as they went, because: Simon. Was. Impatient.

With my ass in the air and my panties at my knees, he groaned.

“Mmm, there’s that sweet pussy.”

Not all men can handle the P-word. And boy, is that a mouthful. Ahem. Some say it all the time, some use it in common conversation. But a good P-word is all about placement: when to say it, where to say, how to say it. Dirty talk is an art. Do it too often, it becomes routine. Never do it, and you’re missing something. Simon did it just right. He was like a perfect bowl of smutty porridge: just right. Let’s get back to that mouthful . . .

I was done for even before his lips hit mine. And I meant that exactly how I said it.

There are nights when I need it slow. And there are nights when I need it sweet. And then there are nights when I need it fast and filthy.

Guess which night this was?

I came twice on his mouth. And twice more when he stood, unzipped, and plunged into me with one swift stroke. With one hand flat on my back and the other pulling my hair to angle me exactly how he needed it? Hell, yes.

It was deep and hard and intense. And so very fast and filthy.

Was I still wearing my heels when he finally brought it on home and shouted my name? Good gracious, yes.

•  •  •

L
ater on, piled into a pile on the couch with Simon using my hip as a pillow, I heard my phone ringing. Which was in my purse, barely inside the door. I lifted my head, looking over my shoulder and reaching with my hand. Knowing it was still ten feet away.

“I can’t reach my phone.”

“You don’t need your phone.”

“But it’s ringing.”

“Pretty sure it’s not,” he insisted, twisting around behind me.

The phone stopped ringing and I sank back against the cushions. Then it promptly starting ringing again.

“I can’t reach my phone,” I repeated dumbly. Being plowed like that will make you a little thick in the head. “Hey, did you just bite me?”

“You don’t need your phone. And yes, I did. I’ve got two scoops of delicious staring me right in the face.”

He had indeed bitten one of the two scoops. I rolled my eyes, and tried to actually go for the phone.

“Don’t take away my scoops, Caroline, I’m warning you.”

“Oh, scoop this,” I teased, managing to sneak out from under him and hobble over to my purse, pulling my skirt down as I went. As I dug for my phone, I looked back at Simon, prone on the couch still with his pants around his ankles.

“You look charming, babe.”

“Charm this,” he mimicked, gesturing to a very specific part of his body.

With a laugh, I looked at my phone, seeing that it was Sophia. It was after midnight. I frowned and called her back.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Why does there have to be something wrong?” Her voice was low.

“How long have I known you? What’s wrong?”

She didn’t say anything, but I could hear her. Sniffling.

“Is it the wedding?”

Sniff.

“You don’t think you want to go?”

Sniff sniff.

“Because you’re gonna see Neil?”

Honk. Kleenex, not car.

“Sweetie, you know you have to go, right?”

Sniff.

“Not just because Jillian’s expecting you, but because you have to see him eventually and—”

Angry honk!

“Do you want to come over? I made chocolate chip cookies last night.”

Jingle jangle
. This was the sound of Simon’s pants being buckled as he blazed a trail into the kitchen.

“No, I’ll be okay. God, this just sucks, though!” she finally said, blowing her nose again loudly.

“It totally sucks, sweetie, but you’re going to be fine. You’re a badass—I’m actually scared of you,” I said.

“That’s because you know I could kick your ass.” She snorted. “Is he bringing someone?”

“Yes.”

“Shit. I totally need to go, don’t I?”

“You totally do,” I responded, biting down on my lip. Did I dare? “Besides, think how disappointed Barry Derry would be.”

Silence.

Then peals of laughter broke across the line. In between, she told me she loved me and would see me tomorrow. Then she hung up, still laughing.

I made my way into the kitchen to see Simon with his hands in the cookie jar. I shook my head, then poured him a glass of milk.

“It’s criminal how much I love you right now,” he said, his mouth full of cookie and smile.

I stood next to him while he finished his midnight snack, and as soon as he was done, I opened his arms and wrapped them around me. Cuddling me into his chest, he kissed the top of my head as I held on as tightly as I could.

The next day would bring all sorts of excitement, but tonight I had my Wallbanger in my bed. And that was all I needed.

•  •  •

Text from Caroline to Mimi:

You gotta watch our girl today—she’ll tell you she’s fine, but she’s not.

Oh boy, what happened?

Just watch her.

Done. How’s Jillian?

Radiant.

Naturally.

We’re heading over to the church in a few hours.

I’ll watch our girl, you go be a bridesmaid.

Text from Mimi to Sophia:

Hey, pretty girl, you still want to ride with us to the wedding?

Yep, just pick us up on your way.

You’re still bringing Barry, right?

Yep, just pick us up on your way.

How’re you feeling?

Mimi.

Yes?

Just pick us up on your way.

Ooookaaaaay.

Text from Simon to Neil:

You still down for windsurfing tomorrow?

Dude! It’s gonna be freezing, no way.

Pussy.

Dude. It’s gonna be freezing.

Pussy. See you at the wedding.

Hey, about that, should I bring my gift there or what?

We have to get them a gift? Hang on . . .

Text from Simon to Caroline:

Did we get them a gift?

Of course we got them a gift. I signed your name.

Are we bringing it to the wedding?

No, it’s already been sent. I always send them ahead; last thing a bride needs to worry about is making sure her gifts are wrangled during her wedding.

So if someone didn’t send it ahead of time, he shouldn’t bring it?

From an etiquette standpoint, it’s fine to bring it. People always do; I just like to take care of it ahead of time—wait, why are you asking?

Text from Simon to Neil:

Dude, you’re fine, you can bring it with you.

Cool. See you there.

Text from Caroline to Simon:

Hey, mister. Why were you asking me about bringing a gift?

No reason.

Seriously, what’s up?

Neil wanted to know if he should bring his gift with him or not, that’s all.

Tell him to call me, I’ll tell him where his gift can go.

Did I tell you how pretty you look in your bridesmaid dress?

You haven’t even seen me yet . . .

Safe to assume.

You’re good, Wallbanger.

Text from Neil to Sophia:

Hey. Just wanted to say hey. You’re going today, right?

Ah. Still not talking to me, I see.

So anyway, I just wanted to tell you that I’ll be glad to see you. I think it’s time we talked. Still can’t believe you hang up every time I call, but I don’t want to get into that today. I’ll just be glad to see you; I’d like a chance to explain.

Sophia?

Soph?

Eat me.

chapter seven

The anteroom at the Swedenborgian Church in Pacific Heights was full to bursting with shades of maple, copper, champagne gold, and cheddar goldfish. Crinolines crackled and swished, nervous giggles spilled from delicately painted lips, and a proud father stood straight and tall.

A bride stepped forward to take his arm as her ladies gathered before her, their hands full of peaches-and-cream dahlias. She was tall and regal, blushing and not at all bashful. Draped in ivory silk and century-old Italian lace, the solitary spot of color was a four-karat canary diamond on the fourth finger of her left hand.

The oaken doors opened.

Her eyes danced.

As a string quartet played, her bridesmaids glided down the aisle, one after another. The church was full, but not overly so. The small chapel, earthy and charming, had a coffered ceiling made of ancient wood accented by the thousands of softly lit cream-colored candles. In the hearth, uncommon in most churches but perfectly suited to this rustic setting, a fire crackled merrily, casting its own fairy-tale light.

Guests smiled, their faces aglow with quiet expectation,
turned toward the center aisle. And as I walked down that very aisle before the bride, I saw Benjamin at the end, beaming.

And next to him? My own piece of heaven. I smiled when I saw him, resplendent in a tuxedo that was cut to accentuate his tall and strong frame. His eyes glowed azure in the firelight, his face extraordinary. His grin burst across his face as I neared him. He winked, and I swooned.

As did most of the ladies in the chapel.

Taking my place in line, I watched as Jillian’s maid of honor joined us, the music changing as the bride was about to appear. I turned to see not Jillian, but Benjamin.

Have you ever watched a groom when his bride appears for the first time? All eyes are on her, yes, but the true magic is wherever that groom is. To witness his eyes light up, to see the emotions fall across his face. To be there as he fights to retain control of his feelings, as all men are supposed to do in that situation. But those first few seconds, you see the truth. You can see everything he feels when he sees her that first time.