The Wedding Affair (The Affair Series Book 2) (23 page)

Her mouth was voracious and her tongue greedy as she used her soft hands to caress every centimeter of his face, head, neck, and shoulders. Discovering her to be insanely tactile made his cock so hard he worried about the restricting blood flow to the rest of his body.

Things got crazy fast when she tore open his shirt and buttons flew in every direction. His chest bared to her lusty gaze, he knew the second Samantha spied the unusual ink tattooed along his ribcage.

Running her fingers over the dark blue symbols, she made him shudder with her shy touch.

“What’s it mean?” she whispered as their eyes met and held.

He put his head on the back of the sofa and let his hands drop to his sides in a sign of surrender.

“It’s Elvish script,” he said in a husky growl. “Means
Not All Who Wander Are Lost.
”

“Tolkien,” she murmured. “Are you a wanderer?”

“When I was younger? Yes. By design. But not anymore. I want a home and a family and a Christmas tree with goofy ornaments and a camping vacation with the kids every year.”

She froze at his mind-blowing admission. “Is there a wife in this happy picture?”

Is there a wife?
Was she really that clueless where this was headed?

“Samantha Evers,” he ground out. “This is the strangest relationship I’ve ever had.” And then the laughter came. Since having her straddling his lap wasn’t helping things, he deftly rearranged their positions. He could think better when a hot, turned on nymph in a skimpy sarong wasn’t grinding on him.

“What’s so funny?”

“If anyone told me I’d be half drunk on a tropical island with a gorgeous brunette clawing at me—oh, and with all our clothes on—and all of a sudden the conversation would turn to kids and a wife, I’d have sneered, thought they were certifiable, and walked away.”

Her eyes twinkled, and he knew she got how funny this was.

Acting all prim and proper, she crossed her legs, fluffed her tousled hair, and declared with a tiny giggle, “Well, when you put it that way.”

In a silly, pompous tone he pretended affront when he told her as succinctly as he could, “Wife first. Then the house. The kids, Christmas decorations, and camping trips come later.”

“Oh, I see,” she playfully bantered. “So what you’re saying is that you intend to observe the proprieties.”

The proprieties! Holy fuck. He might have to download a word-of-the-day app so his vocabulary kept up with hers. His mother was right about Samantha but didn’t know the half of it.

“Don’t you?” he asked. “I haven’t met your parents,” he paused, and then casually slipped in “yet.” She squeezed her eyes shut briefly and bit her lip.
Good.
“But from everything Andi says, they sound a lot like my folks. I’d rather think they’d expect proprieties, yes?”

Ryan was congratulating himself on how clever he was when she upended the conversation.

Sighing dramatically, she flashed him a regretful look and then went poker-faced.

“So what you’re saying is we’re disrespecting our parents with this shameful display of rum-horniness.”

He choked back a bark of denial just in time because one closer look and he saw her nose crinkle as she fought a laugh.

“Yes, well. . .once a rebel, always a rebel, I suppose. Now, where were we? Oh, I remember. You were about to show me what’s under the sarong. I’ve wondered all day. Is this a free bird situation or are there granny panties involved?”

“Hey!” she scolded. “I was in no way about to show you my underwear.”

“Sure you were,” he teased. Flapping the torn open sides of his shirt with a droll smirk, he took things to an eleven by saying, “Right about the time the buttons took flight and you put me in danger of having a boner narcolepsy episode, I distinctly heard you say—”

She cut him off with a snap of her fingers, a wag of her head, and a pithy snort. “Oh, no you don’t, buster. I didn’t say. . .wait. What? Boner narcolepsy? What the hell is that?”

“Seriously?” He shook his head. “Boner is in your vocab, right?”

Her face was hilarious. The ‘are you kidding me’ expression tickled more than his funny bone. “So a boner that diverts blood flow from the brain can lead to, what?”

“Is that your way of saying erection hyperventilation might make you hit the floor in a dead faint?”

He had her on the ropes now and shit, was this ever fun.

“I know a way you could help,” he teased.

“Oh.” She chuckled. “I just bet you do.”

Standing, she patted her leg and said, “Come on. I know what you need.”

He watched her walk away and took great delight in the way her hips rocked and rolled. The faint tinkling of her foot jewelry cut through the normal sounds in his head. He got up and trailed behind her, eager to find out what she had planned.

Sam’s mind was clicking at maximum speed. Ryan’s detour to serious and the comical U-turn involving her underwear reminded her just how unusual their relationship was. On one hand, they were strangers who’d just met, but on the other, they had an instant rapport mixed with a devastating physical attraction made that much stronger by how comfortable they were with each other.

In a way, that comfort was making the seduction she expected a lot stranger and way more unpredictable.

She headed to the bedroom and walked straight to the nightstand where she flipped a switch so a low light came on. He watched her from the doorway with a shit-eating grin on his handsome face.

Crooking her finger, she went to the end of the bed and plopped down on a corner. He approached but stayed a distance away until her hand shot out, grabbed him by the belt on his slacks, and pulled him till he was standing at her knees. She could tell he was surprised and a little taken aback by a frontal assault.

Ha! Not knowing what the hell she was doing wasn’t the same thing as being seriously and dangerously aroused.

“I took a first-aid class for Girl Scouts,” she told him matter-of-factly. “Earned a badge and everything.”

She undid his belt buckle and went straight for the clasp on his pants.

“To alleviate a dangerous constriction, the first thing we need to do is loosen your clothes. Allow things to, um, breathe.”

He put a finger beneath her chin and tilted her head. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

“Nope,” she answered truthfully. “And that’s what makes it so much fun. Now, be a good boy,” she scolded before pushing his finger away, “and suck it in so nothing interferes with the zipper.”

Aware that she was concentrating so hard her brows furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line, Sam slowed her roll and enjoyed the moment. He’d been an underwear model after all, and she’d seen the pictures. The man had a first class bulge that deserved a bit of dramatic flourish in the unveiling.

It was all kinds of hot fun tugging on the zipper, and she had the heavy breathing to prove it. Intent on the task at hand, she carefully slid her hands around the waistband of the loosened pants and started to push them down.

The air left her lungs in a rush when his sturdy thighs were revealed. My god. They were like tree trunks. He’d kicked off his slip-ons when the vest took a hike, so all it took was an easy tug and slide for the pants to pile on the floor.

She leaned back and took him in with her eyes. Still wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled back, he stood his ground when her eyes moved to inspect the landscape south of his waist. Not all that hard to do since he was standing and she was sitting—which put his groin directly in her face.

Until right this second, Sam hadn’t given much thought to a man’s underwear. It was always bras, panties, corsets, and stockings taking center stage in that showdown.

It was strange how at the drop of a hat, or a zipper, things changed.

The muscled majesty of his thighs was nothing compared to slim hips, defined abs, and of course, a goose bump-inducing happy trail.

And the underwear? White, brief, and covering a shockingly prominent bulge.

White shirt. White briefs. Big, uh. . .bulge. A Tolkien tattoo and a watch on a dark gray band.

Sam licked her lips, raised her eyes, and encountered an aroused male watching her every move.

“Your turn,” he murmured in a husky growl.

They switched positions. He sat on the corner of the bed and waited. She moved into position right in front of him and had a minor panic attack when she felt like the clumsy, awkward, unsure-of-herself Jamie Lee Curtis character from the movie
True Lies
.

Mr. Charming didn’t leave her hanging; he took control.

“Ky’s face when you ladies walked toward us was priceless.”

She could swear her skin heated up wherever he looked, and it was a bit disconcerting.

“I was so busy taking in his reaction that I missed the other girls. When I saw you coming down the aisle with the slave jewelry on your feet, something inside snapped.”

He ran one finger from the band of her halter, down her stomach, to the top of the knotted sarong.

Her heart boomed, and she swallowed a lump of smoldering desire that lodged in her throat. His eyes met hers and the full force of his sexy magnetism hit her. Then his gaze slowly dropped. First to her neck. He studied her so intently she was sure just thinking about the stinging nips of his teeth on her skin left marks.

Then he swung his eyes side to side on her bare shoulders. From there, it was a short trip to her chest. She recalled the touch of his hand on her flesh and quivered.

“Jesus, Samantha. I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you.”

She didn’t need to hear anything else.

“Untie the knot,” she huskily murmured. Cocking her hip to make it easy, she touched his head when he bent it to concentrate. His hair was soft and just long enough to grip.

Her heart did a series of gymnastic moves when he parted the untied fabric with a reverence that made her tremble.

“Aw, fuck,” he groaned as the sarong piled on the floor, and he reached for her hips. His big hands squeezing her butt caused a flood in the skimpy lingerie he ogled. The predominant color in her outfit was shades of purple, so she’d picked up a pair of indecently sheer micro-panties that offered zero modesty, hardly any coverage, and were little more than a scrap of material. He was mauling her ass with his big hands and staring up at her.

“Lose the top,” he ordered. His eyes shone with satisfaction when she obeyed at supersonic speed.

Sam knew her boobs were pretty spectacular. Not too small and not too big, she had what Andi, Lisa, and Julie called Goldilocks Tits. As she lifted her arms to pull the halter off, they jiggled from the movement. His accompanying grunt got her attention in a hurry.

The butt massage eased as he boldly raked her nearly naked body with his eyes.

Then something flashed in his expression. Annoyance? Regret?

She took hold of his face and forced him to meet her eyes. “What?”

With half a smirk, he replied, “Current status? Idiot. Totally regret not putting more than one condom in my wallet.”

“Oh, great,” she huffed. “Isn’t this always the way, though?” she asked with a resigned shrug. “Guess that means an orgasm remains on the bucket list.”

She was just messing with him, so the fire of indignation in his expression was worth it.

“No, no, no, no, no. That’s not how this works, Samantha. Believe me, darlin’, you’ll be coming a long time before I need the industrial wrap.”

Wiggling out of his hold, she put on quite a performance on the way to the nightstand, where she pulled open the drawer, took out the carton of thirty-six condoms Andi had made her buy, and tossed them on the bed.

“Remember the Girl Scout thing?” She giggled when his eyes went big and round as he looked at the box, at her, and then at the box again. “Always be prepared,” she joked. Using her hands to scoop up her breasts, she stood there covering her attributes and watched his face.

He recovered pretty quickly and grabbed the box. Inspecting the label for only God knew what, he chuckled, turned it over in his hands, looked at her with admiration shining in his eyes, and chuckled again.

“Thought it was the Boy Scouts who were prepared.”

She scoffed. “Equal opportunity phrase. A smart Girl Scout knows to fill in the gaps.”

“And you thought thirty-six was a good filler?”

“Well shit, Mr. Charming! It’s better than one!”

He roared with laughter. “Okay. So how do you wanna do this? Dump ‘em out in a pile or rip ‘em apart and toss around the room for easy retrieval when things get wild?”

She was considering what he said when Ryan rose and came at her. It wasn’t until he was right on top of her that she saw he’d been joking around. Removing his shirt, he said, “There. We’re even now.”

She modeled her ankle jewelry and smirked. “Not entirely even.”

He held up his watch.

With a great flourish, she released her boobs and made a courtly bow. “Well played, Ryan. Well played.”

Before she righted, he’d picked her up and thrown her onto the bed. The last thing she saw before hitting the mattress was him mimicking an evil villain complete with greedy hand gestures, mimed mustache rolling, and a rollicking good, “He, he, he.”