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

Fuck, I won't do it without their blessing. We don't have much family between the two of us—mostly, it's her parents and the guys in the band.

I make dinner reservations and rack my brain for parent-friendly charm.

My fingers dance over my cell screen. I know the dress is a big deal. I don't want to rush her.

But, fuck, I need to check in.

Miles: Any pictures for me?

Meg: You're always a bad boy.

Miles: You love it.

Meg: Maybe. It's bad luck to see the wedding dress before the big day.

Miles: You found something?

Meg: Maybe...

My phone buzzes with a new picture message. Meg isn't wearing the dress. She's isn't wearing anything.

My blood rushes to my cock. My eyes fix on the tattoo curving over her breast.

Be Brave, Love
.

I'm going to get hard every time I sing that song for the rest of my life. Not that I'm complaining.

Meg: Not what you were expecting?

Miles: Better.

Meg: I did get a dress. And it's beautiful. You'll love it.

Miles: Princess, it only matters if you love it.

Meg: I do. Did you pick a restaurant?

Miles: We have reservations at nine.

Meg: I'll be there at eight. In a new dress. Without underwear. I'm sure I don't have to spell it out for you.

Damn. I can see her sleepy grin. Already, I want her in my arms. I always want her in my arms.

I text her the details for dinner. I almost text her a promise that we can do this on her timeline, but that doesn't belong in a text. It should be whispered in her ears between kisses.

It wouldn't exactly be a problem if that led to one of my hands on that tattoo, the other between her legs, stroking her to orgasm.

Fuck, that thing will be the death of me.

***

T
he restaurant is an upscale steakhouse overlooking the hotel's pool and garden, far enough away from the casino floor that the classical music flowing through the speakers is louder than the beeps and bops of slot machines.

Meg is already here, sitting in a booth by the bar. It's the perfect booth for this. It has a high back and it faces the wall. It's just enough privacy that I can get my hands under that skirt and test the veracity of her claim.

Her eyes light up as she spots me. She slides out of the booth and meets me halfway. I wrap my arms around her and pull her close.

She smells good.

Her long hair is pulled back. Haven't got a fucking clue what the style is called, but I can tell it's some sort of wedding run through. It's elegant.

She's wearing makeup too. She's bare-faced most of the time. I can't say I care much either way. If I had to pick, I like her in last night's smudged makeup, her long hair a frizzy mess. That's the way she looks after the nights where I make her come until she can't take it anymore.

My cock stirs at the thought. I tell it to calm down—this is strictly for her—and run my fingers over her cheek.

"You look gorgeous." I slide my hand over the curve of her hip. Somehow, the purple wrap dress is sexy and elegant at the same time. What is that shade of purple called? It's gorgeous on her. Brings out the flecks of honey in her eyes.

The desire in her eyes.

"Thanks." She buries her face in my chest. "If I never see another makeup brush or bobby pin, it will be too soon. I liked the makeup artist. She said she's available anytime in the next few days, but I got the feeling that she does a lot of last-minute weddings. I'll have to call her as soon as we have a date and time."

"We do."

"What?" She looks up at me, her brows arching with surprise. "Miles, when did we... what did you do?"

"I booked a place for the night after tomorrow."

Her eyes go wide. Her jaw drops straight to the ground. "What if I hate it?"

"Then we'll find a new place. But you won't." I pull her closer. She smells good—a little like hairspray, but still good. "It's perfect."

She nods, her fingers curling into my button-up shirt. "Fuck. I'm going to get makeup on your white shirt." She pulls back and stares into my eyes. "Why do you look so good cleaned up?"

"You like a bad boy in a nice package."

"You're more like a sweet guy in a bad boy package."

"Sweet guy who gets you off in a booth before you meet your parents for dinner?"

Her cheeks flush. Her teeth sink into her lip. She's right where I want her.

And fuck, how I want my hands under that dress.

But we need to get conversation out of the way first.

I stare back into her brown eyes. "You nervous about your parents?"

She nods. "What if they don't approve?"

Then we're fucked. "They will." They have to.

She slides into the booth.

My gaze goes to her legs as she tugs the skirt up her thighs. My hand needs on them immediately. "Need to make this fast in case your parents are early."

She nods and leans closer. "Beat your old record."

"Haven't been timing it."

"Can't have been more than three minutes."

I smile. She knows exactly how to bait me.

Her fingers curl around my forearm. Her head rests on my shoulder. This wedding stuff is exhausting. It's weighing on her.

She needs a break.

I need her eyes rolling back with pleasure. Need to see her floating so I know this heaviness is temporary.

Not that I need an excuse to get her off. Fuck, getting her off is the only thing I love more than the stage.

I stroke her thigh until the server stops at our table to take our order. For now, it's drinks. Iced tea for her. The same for me.

By the time he's back with our beverages, Meg is panting. Her lips purse with a needy sigh. That sigh is music. It screams,
I'm yours. You can do whatever you want with me.

Her eyes meet mine. The plead for release.

Maybe I will break my old record.

I do live to break records.

I press my lips to Meg's. Her tongue darts into my mouth. It's aggressive. Needy.

She sighs into my mouth as I slide my hand up her thigh. Her knees part. Her body turns a few inches toward mine. If I move, she'll be flashing anyone who walks by.

She's open, vulnerable.

It's fucking hot.

I kiss her back. My cock is at full attention. It doesn't have any intention of waiting, but I've dealt with blue balls before.

Meg doesn't waste time. Her hand goes right for my crotch. She rubs me over my slacks. Fuck. My eyes close. My lips part with a sigh. These things are thinner and slicker than my jeans. The friction is intense enough to get me off.

That's not how I want to meet her parents.

I grab her wrist and bring her hand to my waist. She takes the hint, digging her fingers into my shirt. There's enough heat in the touch that I'm half-worried she'll set the cotton thing on fire.

My tongue slides over hers as my fingers find her folds. I slip one finger inside her.

She groans into my mouth, tugging at my shirt. Fuck, do I want her. It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to unzip and bring her hand to my cock.

My thumb curls over her clit as I slip another finger inside her.

She moans into my mouth. Tugs my shirt untucked. Then her hands are on my skin.

She brings her mouth to my ear. "Please, Miles. I want to get you off."

"Not here." I rub her harder.

Harder.

She barely manages to muffle a groan. Her brown eyes fill with pleasure. They stay locked to mine.

"In the bathroom," she breathes. "I want to suck you off."

Fuck. My cock is already hard as granite. Not gonna say no to that.

I nod. My lips find her ear and I suck hard on the lobe. "If you keep your voice down."

Her groan is half agony, half pleasure. Still, she nods. Her posture relaxes. Her expression fills with bliss.

No more heaviness.

Only desire. Need. Affection.

I check to make sure the coast is clear, then I go for the kill. My fingers thrust into her. My thumb rubs her.

My lips meet hers. She groans into my mouth. She's almost there. Her thighs press together. Then the knees.

Her back arches. She breaks free of the kiss, brings her mouth to my ears, and whisper-moans my name.

Then she's there, sinking her teeth into her lip as pleasure spreads over her face. With the next motion of my hand, she comes.

I watch the orgasm spread over her face. I'll never get tired of that. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

It takes a minute for her to settle. She crosses her legs. Her lips curl into a smile as she nods to the single-stall bathroom in the corner of the restaurant.

"My turn," she whispers.

I'm not about to deny my future wife what she wants.

––––––––

M
iles

Meg is the first out of the bathroom. I take a minute to clean up and collect my senses, but I'm still nearly incoherent.

I wash my hands a few more times for good measure.

The damn things are shaking.

This is as bad as the proposal. I've never given a fuck what anyone thought of me before. I don't know how to deal with how badly I need her parents’ approval.

I wipe my hands and adjust my shirt and slacks. The business casual look isn't as bad as I figured it would be. Between the graduations, the engagement parties, and the weddings, a collared shirt and slacks are getting to be a habit.

No time to waste. I take a steady breath and step out of the bathroom. Meg is standing in front of the restaurant, her cheeks still flushed, her updo coming undone, talking to her parents.

They don't seem to notice how just-fucked she looks.

Meg smiles and nods to the table. We meet there.

Her cheeks are still red. "Miles made us reservations. We already got a table, but we thought we'd meet you in front. We only ordered drinks. Iced tea. You know he doesn't drink, and I don't really—"

"Sure, sweetheart." Susan, Meg's mom, turns to me. "Miles. It's always nice to see you. Even if it's because you've whisked my daughter to Sin City for some illicit rendezvous." She hugs me hello.

"Nothing illicit about a wedding, Dr. Smart," I say.

She smiles the way she does every time I call her Dr. Smart.

"Just Susan. You can call me Mom if you want. But I understand if you don't. I know your mother—" She presses her lips together. "I know the situation isn't ideal."

I nod and turn to Meg's dad, Douglass. "And you too, Sir." Damn, it's usually easy for me to impress people. I've seen a lot of Meg's parents but I'm failing my usual smooth and seamless thing. Douglass is a man of few words. And a diehard Angels fan. "Hell a season the Angels had, huh?"

Douglass lights up with a smile. He jumps into a long explanation of the season and the playoffs. Meg squeezes my hand, nodding as she pretends to follow along. Susan does the same, only she squeezes her husband's hand.

"Sweetie, why don't we sit down? I'm famished," Susan says.

Douglass nods. He gets the
enough sports
message and takes his seat. The rest of us follow.

My wife-to-be hides behind her menu. Her eyes scan the page. Then her fingers are circling the salmon entree.

My lips curl into a smile. "Why do you pretend you'll order something besides salmon?"

"I might," she insists. "I'm still deciding."

"What will you order?" I ask.

"Uh..." Her eyes go to the menu. "Well, the pasta sounds good."

"The lemon garlic salmon pasta?" I ask.

Susan jumps in. "I love salmon too, honey. Don't worry. Your father used to torment me about it. Eventually, he accepted that I know what I like."

"You need variety," Douglass says.

"Sometimes. Sometimes, you need the thing you know you like. Something to comfort you." Susan smiles. "Besides, there's plenty of variety with salmon. Baked, broiled, poached, grilled. On salad, pasta, rice, with vegetables or mashed potatoes."

Meg clears her throat. "I like other fish too. Mahi Mahi. And ono. And tuna, any kind of tuna." She turns to me. "Fish is healthy."

"Whatever you want, Princess." I rub her palm with my thumb.

Susan cocks a brow. "Princess?"

Meg shoots me a
what have you done
look.

"Like Princess Leia," I say.

Susan's expression relaxes. "Oh, that's perfect. You know, Meg went as Princess Leia for Halloween five years in a row."

I smile like Susan doesn't tell me this every time I see her. It's sweet the way her eyes light up when she talks about Meg as a little girl.

"Of course, Rosie hated Princess Leia." Susan laughs. "She hated
Star Wars
, but she still went as Luke Skywalker one year. She went around with this little—what's it called?"

"Lightsaber," Meg says.

"That's it." Susan drifts into a memory. "She hit everyone with it. We had two dozen parents call us that night, insisting Rosie never be allowed another sword."

"I don't remember that." Meg's brow furrows with concentration.

"She was a stubborn girl. Almost as much as Meg is." Susan looks from Meg to me. "You're very handsome, Miles, and from the sound of things, quite wealthy-"

"Mom!" Meg covers her face with her hands. "Is it always about money?"

"Sweetheart, let me finish." Susan folds her hands. Her expression gets serious. "It's not about money. Douglass and I can take care of Meg forever. And I have no doubt that Meg will get through school and become a doctor. I know you won't stand in her way, Miles."

"I'll die before I let her quit medicine," I say.

Susan's lips purse. "You're as stubborn as she is, but... I learned the hard way that you can't always protect the people you love." She blinks back a tear. "You can't make good decisions for them."

Meg bites her lip. She looks to me then to her mom. Her expression twists with uncertainty. My fiancée isn't exactly a people person.

"I understand your meaning. Meg deserves to make her own choices, free of what you or I want for her," I say.

"I'm right here," Meg says. "I know you guys mean well, but please don't talk about me like I'm out of the room."