Sinful Ever After (Sinful Serenade Book 5) (33 page)

"We're engaged. What's the rush?"

She must feel it too. She must feel that ache for more. However much of her I have, I always want more. "I want the world to know you're mine."

Her expression softens. "You've gotten very possessive."

"You like it."

"I admit nothing."

"It's embarrassing begging my fiancée to marry me."

She smiles. Her voice lifts. "You can beg much better than this."

True. My hands go to her hips. One sides around her thigh, between her legs. "This how I should start?"

"Aren't we meeting your mom?"

"In an hour."

She looks down at me. "I don't want to rush our wedding. We're always squeezing things into breaks in our schedules. Not this."

I
will
convince her. Today. Tomorrow at the latest.

I want to respect her decisions, her independence, but I'm going to take care of her.

I press my palm against her. "You need to come on my hand."

She looks at me a little funny, unsure of my motives.

Uh-uh. Can't take any more uncertainty. Can't take any more space between us.

I slide my fingers into her shorts and rub her over her panties. My lips go to her neck. I kiss my way to her ear then I suck on her earlobe.

She groans. All that frustration on her face melts. The tension in her shoulders melts.

"Take off your clothes, baby. All of them."

"Pete, I..."

"I want to make you come. There's no ulterior motive. You want to come on my hand?"

She bites her lip. "Yes."

"Then take off your fucking clothes. Now."

She holds my gaze for a moment. She's not convinced yet.

I drag my fingertips over her thigh. I press my palm into her lower back and pull her into a deep kiss.

She kisses back. Softly at first. Then harder. Then her tongue is in my mouth. Her hands are digging into my shoulders.

She groans as she pulls her tank top over her head and pushes her shorts over her wide hips.

God damn, I love those hips. I love the way they feel against mine. I love the way they feel in my hands.

I help her push her shorts to her feet. Then they're gone.

She wraps her arms around my shoulders as she straddles me.

She's in my lap wearing nothing but her glasses.

This is exactly where we both need to be. Why can't she see how much I can help?

If we get married today, we can do nothing but this for the next week and a half.

I have to think of a way to convince her.

After this.

Usually, I tease her until she's begging me to stop. Not today. Today, I need to feel her against my hand. I need her eyes locked on mine as she screams my name again and again.

I kiss her hard. I love the softness of her skin, the way she groans into my mouth as my fingers get closer.

She digs her hands into my hair, holding my head against hers. She needs this release.

She needs
me
.

I brush my fingers against her as softly as I can. She shudders. I do it again and again.

Each time, she shakes a little harder, kisses a little deeper.

When my thumb brushes against her clit, she breaks free of the kiss to groan.

Her eyes bore into mine. Her expression is needy. "Please."

Fuck yes. I stare into her blue eyes as I rub her.

She lets out another groan. One of her hands tugs at my hair. The other sinks into my shoulder. It feels fucking amazing, her hand on my bare skin. The look of pleasure on her face feels better. Fuck, that feels better than anything.

I rub her a little harder, a little faster. She holds my gaze as her eyes fill with pleasure. The bliss is all over her face—in the way her eyebrows relax, the way her eyes get heavy, the way her teeth sink into her lip.

"Pete." She tugs at my hair.

"Louder."

She's too busy groaning to get out a word. She lets out incomprehensible grunts. Then her fingers dig into my skin and she screams my name.

God damn, I love the way my name sounds on her lips.

I rub her harder. "Louder, baby."

"Pete," she groans. "Please don't stop."

Never. I bring my free hand to her chest. I play with her nipples as I stroke her.

Her eyes press together. There's beautiful agony all over her face. I steady my speed so I can soak in every second of it.

She screams my name again and again as she comes. The way it falls off her lips makes it hard to stay in control. Makes it hard to do anything but pin her to the bed and drive my cock deep inside her.

Her eyes blink open then they're on mine. She doesn't say anything, just presses her lips to mine.

Right now, she's mine.

I need more of that. I need her mine forever.

––––––––

P
ete

Mom is sitting at a roomy booth, her attention on her cellphone. When she puts it away, she shoots us a knowing look.

I shrug. Not like I can put anything past her.

Jess blushes. She tries to play cool, but she runs her words together. "Good morning, Ophelia. Did you have a nice night?"

Mom smiles at Jess then she shoots me an equally knowing look.
Such a sweet girl. What is she doing with someone as depraved as you?

Jess hasn't quite figured out how much my mom likes to sleep around. I can't say that I think about it often, but she likes to remind me and Tom every chance she gets.

She thinks it's funny to make us blush.

"What?" Jess looks at me. "What are you two signaling telepathically?"

"Nothing, sweetheart. You don't need to hear the details of my night." Ophelia picks up her menu. "It was the usual. Went to a bar, met a woman, took her home."

"Oh." Jess blushes. "I thought you were seeing someone."

Ophelia shakes her head. "No, I'm afraid I've never wanted to settle down." She folds her menu and sets it aside. "Peter and Tom are all the commitment I need."

"I'm twenty-three," I say. "He's twenty-five now. I'm not sure you can play the single-mother card anymore."

"Yet, you still need your mother's advice constantly." Ophelia shakes her head in mock outrage. She looks to Jess. "Is he this stubborn with you?"

"Much worse." Jess looks to me then to Mom. "But he's very handsome, so I put up with it."

Mom laughs. "A woman after my own heart."

I clear my throat.

Mom lets out a deeper laugh. "Are you really jealous, sweetheart? I don't think anyone could steal Jess from you."

Fuck, am I jealous? Mom
could
steal just about any remotely bi-curious woman. But it's not like I ever doubt Jess's commitment or devotion.

I don't think about my ex too often anymore, but I do think about what happened, especially when I'm on the road. She and Kyle made it sound like their sordid affair was the inevitable result of the distance.

It was an excuse, but sometimes, I can't help but wonder if there's some truth to it.

Will Jess get tired of the distance? Of the fame bullshit?

Whatever happens, I'm not losing her.

I squeeze her hand. The way she squeezes back sends those doubts running for the hills.

"Why is it the two of you look distressed?" Ophelia asks. "When it's so obvious you just had sex."

Jess turns bright red.

I blush too.

Ophelia chuckles, amused. The three of us are silent until the server comes to take our orders. It's the usual breakfast stuff— eggs, toast, bacon, coffee.

Jess looks from Ophelia to me. "I guess I can see where you got your dirty mind."

"Me, dirty? Where did you get that idea?"

She shakes her head. "No one is believing that."

"It's true," Ophelia says. "You can protest better than that, Peter."

I chuckle. I used to hate it when she called me Peter. It was what my dad called me. But after ten years, it feels like home.

I take in Jess's expression. She's still a little awkward about Mom's sex comments, but she's smiling.

The server drops off our coffee. Jess fixes hers with plenty of cream and sugar and takes a long sip. She sighs with pleasure.

This is my chance. Not sure it will work, but I'm willing to try it.

I take a sip of my black coffee. Not great, but not bad. "Jess and I were talking about getting married while we're here."

"
We
were talking about that?" Jess raises a brow.

"Okay, I was talking about it," I say.

Mom cuts in. "What's the rush? Let your poor girlfriend—"

"Fiancée," I correct.

"Let your poor fiancée enjoy her life for a while. You're only twenty-three. Why do you need to get married this week?"

It's hard to explain. I need everything with Jess. I need it now.

I need to convince her, but this isn't the fucking way to do it.

I run my hand through my hair. "I'm sorry, baby. Don't mean any harm. Just want you to be my wife now."

Her gaze goes to her engagement ring then it's back to my eyes. "I'll think about it. But only if you agree to table the conversation for the rest of the day."

I can live with that deal. I nod.

"You swear? You bring it up once, and I'm going to flip." She pulls her long hair behind her back.

"Cross my heart and hope to die," I say.

She looks at me sideways. "I still can't decide if you're being sweet or pushy." She slides out of the booth. "Excuse me. Ladies
'
room."

I watch her walk away. The way her hips sway as she struts is fucking captivating.

Ophelia waits until Jess is out of earshot. "What is wrong with you?"

"What?" It's not a crime gawking at your fiancée. It would be wrong not staring at Jess's perfect ass.

"You know more about women than this." Ophelia takes a long sip of her coffee. She shakes her head with disapproval. "The woman is clearly mad for you. What's the rush?"

"You'd understand if you'd ever wanted something serious," I say.

"You've known her what, four months?"

"About that."

"Give it a year."

"Tom didn't."

Ophelia shakes her head. "You're not a follower, Peter. You never have been. Don't try to pin this on your brother."

Can't argue with that.

"You keep pushing her and you'll push her away."

"She lost her scholarship. She doesn't want me to pay."

"So you marry her?" She lets out a chuckle. "I guess that is one way to solve the problem."

"I do want to marry her."

I'm not like Tom, Miles, or Drew. I never saw the appeal of casual hook-ups. Don't get me wrong—I still tried to fuck my way out of my misery, but I always knew, deep down, that it would feel empty. I've always wanted forever. But Cindy cheating—that fucked everything up.

I always knew, deep down, that Cindy and I weren't forever. When I tried to imagine a life together, some part was missing. With Jess, everything is clear. I can see us in that house on the beach in ten years. I can see her getting home from a long day in court, tired and achy, and me throwing her on the kitchen table, pulling her panties to her feet, and planting my head between her legs.

I can see us traveling every place in the world together, collapsing in our hotel room at night, peeling each other's clothes off before bed.

A lot of what I see is sex, sure, but there's more too. I see her walking at graduation. I see her squealing over her first job, her first win in court, her first law firm of her own.

I see a future for us.

I want her as my wife.

Ophelia clears her throat. "You really want to get married now?"

I nod.

"Then you need to convince her you want marriage, that you're not doing this to trick her into getting your way."

I know that much. The tricky part is the how.

Jess struts back into the restaurant. Sometimes, I get lost staring at her. Not sure which part of her I like the best—the angelic hair, the clear blue eyes, the librarian glasses, the narrow curve of her waist, the round flare of her hips, or the lush ass.

It's got to be the tattoo on her back. The one she got for me.
Real or Not Real
.

We both know this is real.

Just need to make sure the world knows it's forever.

She slides into the booth next to me and presses her forehead to mine. "Talk about me at all?"

"Mostly, Mom was telling me I was being an idiot," I whisper.

"She's a smart woman."

I nod. "Yeah, she is."

Jess looks up at me. "I do want to marry you. But I'm not sure I want to marry you in Vegas this week."

I press my pointer finger to my lip in the
shhShh
gesture. "Promised someone I'd table that conversation."

Her lips curl into a smile. "True." She leans back to a
Mom is watching us
appropriate distance. Her gaze meets Ophelia's. "Thanks for talking some sense into him."

"Sweetheart, nobody can get through that gorgeous head of his. But I did try."

Jess smiles. "That's all I can ask."

***

W
e spend the afternoon at a nearby aquarium. We spend the evening walking the fake Parisian streets and eating scallops and steak—and plenty of vegetables for Jess-at a secluded French restaurant.

After dinner, we take a tour of the fake Eiffel Tower. It's cold enough and quiet enough—not many people are in Las Vegas half a week before Christmas—that we have the tiny metal vista point to ourselves.

She squeezes my hands, taking in the view with delight in her eyes. The Strip is a dizzying mix of neon. The mountains to the west are low against the horizon. It's too bright to make out any stars, but the big silver moon hangs low in the desert sky.

This city is a real wealth of sensation. I wouldn't mind a week and a half on a quiet island with Jess. For a rock star, I'm not big on the whole sleep all day, party all night thing. I'd rather spend my time reading or practicing or making Jess come.

Especially making Jess come.

I let the sights and sounds of the day wash over me as I hold her close. Must have seen a million things, a million people, a million signs.