Bridesmaid Undercover: An incredibly steamy, hilarious, friends to lovers, love triangle romantic comedy

EVERLY

“Thank you so much for doing this for me,” Polly says as she greets me with a hug.

“Of course,” I say. “I’m glad I had the weekend open so I could help you.”

That’s a lie.

In fact, I’m not glad I had the weekend open.

And I’m not glad I could help her.

Because I can see right through this little set-up.

Let me lay it out for you from the night of the coupling, so you can understand where my mind is at.

You ready?

First, the bachelorette party. There was a lot of confusion, a lot of drinks, and a lot of sex.

A night where dreams were made.

Where fantasy became a reality.

He told me he liked me, I fawned, swayed…swooned and then had the best sex of my life.

Flash forward to the morning, when I woke up feeling like a well-satiated goddess only to make a complete one-eighty and spiral through a dark tunnel of despair, feeling like a discarded turd.

Hardy tried to sneak out the morning after, but I woke up and caught him, forcing him to fumble around and tell me he had to leave for work—on a weekend. Yeah, a freaking weekend!

It was awkward. I knew he was lying, but I went with it because that’s the kind of girl I am. I will discard my own feelings to make other people feel better.

Fast forward to the awkward goodbye where he agreed that me helping him still try to hook up with Maple was the way to go.

Once again, not the narrative I thought we were going with. I assumed after he said he liked me that perhaps there was a future for us.

Apparently not.

I was the one-night girl, and that was it.

He left, I cried.

Then, a crazy miracle occurred because he came back in and kissed me.

Okay, great, we were kissing again. It was unexpected, but it was so much better than sitting in this pit of disappointment.

Then he pulled away, told me he liked me, but he couldn’t be with me.

He used Haisley as an excuse.

At that point, I completely blacked out and shut down.

Because what kind of roller coaster was that? He likes me, he doesn’t. He likes me, but he can’t. Jesus Christ, that’s not the kind of mental anguish I signed up for.

I mean…if you just wanted one night with me, then fine, take the night with me and move on.

But the many excuses—three to be exact—as to why he couldn’t be with me were just too much. Like, if you have to say it three different ways, I get the hint. I’m not the girl you want. Just move on, because I am.

Well, at least that’s what I told myself.

And then the text messages, the emails…can you see the trend here?

It feels very toxic to me. He likes me but can’t be with me. Oh, I miss you, but I can’t be with you. Talk to me but I shouldn’t be talking to you.

Pardon my French, but fuck off, man.

And then…this is where my temper flared. This is when I was ready to knock him right in the nuts.

That’s right, ladies, the old one-two pow-pow to the junk.

He waltzed into my work and tried to bring me cronuts.

The freaking nerve!

The audacity.

As if I would eat his cronuts.

Sure, I might have let him touch me and go down on me, among other things, but that’s neither here nor there. I was caught up in the moment. The minute he tugged me onto his lap, I was a goner. Can you blame me? The best sex, remember? The best freaking sex of my life. I couldn’t pass that up.

Doesn’t mean I don’t still hate him.

Actually, after that round of him making me come on my desk—twice—I actually hate him more!

That’s right, I’m at that level of hate.

We went from acquaintances to friends to one-night lovers to…mortal enemies.

If he thought my knife hand to his throat in the car was suffocating, wait until he gets a load of what else is in my arsenal.

And I see the game he’s playing. I see him trying to get near me. Using a work event to see me in person. Pathetic.

Coming to my work with cronuts. Equally pathetic.

Using his friend’s wedding to force me to be near him. Positively desperate. I mean, seriously, man, these are all moves you made to get closer to Maple.

For all I know, Polly is going to disappear during this try-on session, and lo and behold, he’s going to swoop in and help me.

No, I don’t trust him with my heart.

My body, well…once again, let’s not go there.

“Would you like any champagne?” Darla, the shop owner, asks as she comes up to us. I’ve known Darla for a while, and when Polly said I needed an elegant black gown, I knew exactly where to go. Darla will let me rent because she knows I’ll take great care of the dress and return it in pristine condition.

“I’m good,” Polly says. “Maybe some water though.”

“Water is good for me too,” I say just as Darla ducks into the back and the door to the shop opens.

From the way Polly’s eyes dart to the front, I have a sneaking suspicion I don’t even need to look to know who it is.

“Oh, wow, Hardy, you’re here,” Polly says in the least convincing tone I’ve ever heard.

Surprise. Surprise.

I turn to see Hardy walk toward us wearing a maroon suit with a black button-up shirt underneath. I know how much he hates wearing his professional clothes, but even I have to admit how good he looks in them.

And that’s the only nice thing I will say about him.

“Yeah, Ken told me about the last-minute change, and I thought I should help out any way I can,” he says as he presses a kiss to Polly’s cheek in greeting. When he turns toward me, I hold up my hand.

“Come any closer and I’ll knife-hand you in the neck like I did in the car.”

Luckily, he’s smart enough to realize a real threat when he hears it, and he keeps his distance.

“She seems spicy,” Hardy says. “Is that the bridesmaid you ordered?” He sticks his hands in his pockets and gives me a long once-over. “Hot too.”

Oh, fuck off, Hardy.

I don’t need your offhand comments.

“Well, this seems uncomfortable,” Polly says, and then she turns toward me, a look of apology in her eyes. “He made me do this.”

“I’m not surprised,” I say to Polly. “Just disappointed that you went along with it.”

She presses her hands together. “He promised me paid-for excursions on our honeymoon. I couldn’t pass it up.”

I nod. “I get it—I don’t blame you. I blame him.”

“That’s fine with me,” Polly says. “Now, as he planned…” She clears her throat and then grips her forehead. “Oh no, I seem to have come down with a migraine.” Her voice is monotone and incredibly unconvincing. “Whatever should I do? I want to help pick out a dress, but dear heavens, the pain. Oh, the throbbing pain.”

“Oh, I know,” I say, playing into the ridiculousness of this scene. “Why don’t you go home, and Hardy can take your place?”

“Wow,” Polly says. “You know, I never would have thought of that. Hiring you was one of my best decisions ever.”

“I expect that same sentiment in a glowing review,” I say while I fold my arms over my chest.

“Oh, I can’t possibly say anything else.” Then she turns to Hardy and adds, “Dear sir, do you think you could take my place? The pain is just so excruciating. Ouchie wah wah.”

Hardy’s expression flattens. “Ouchie wah wah?”

Polly shrugs. “Thought it really expressed the type of pain I’m in.”

“You sound like a fool,” he says.

“Really? Insulting the person who’s helping you out?” Polly asks.

“You’re right.” He clears his throat. “Why, of course I can help out, Polly. Anything you need. I can undress Everly and help her into her dresses.”

“Not necessary,” I say.

“Well, I have no problem checking her out and making sure the dresses fit correctly on her. Now, do you want something revealing? No back? Maybe a deep V in the front?”

“God, you’re annoying,” I say as I walk over to the dresses.

“Whatever she’s comfortable in,” Polly says.

“Then that will be a turtleneck dress,” I shout over to her.

“That’s fine with me. Thanks for doing this.”

“Anything for the bride,” I say and then she takes off, leaving me alone with Hardy and Darla who arrives just in time to bring out water.

“Oh, where is the bride?” Darla asks.

“Came down with a migraine,” I say. “Luckily, the best man is here to help. See how that worked out?”

“Oh, wonderful,” Darla says, missing my sarcasm completely. “Would you like me to start pulling dresses?”

“Actually,” Hardy cuts in. “I think we can pull some, but we’ll let you know if we need any help.”

“Oh, okay,” Darla says, looking slightly confused. Technically, it’s her job to pull dresses but from the command in Hardy’s voice, I can see she has no intent to challenge him. “Well, do you know how long this will take? I have a meeting in half an hour.”

“I can lock up for you,” I say to Darla. “I remember the routine from when I helped out last summer.”

“You don’t mind?” she asks, twisting her hands together.

“Not at all. You know I’m just grateful you’re letting me look around on such short notice.”

“Oh, you know I would do anything for you and Maggie—you’ve brought me so much business.”

I smile kindly at her. “We are happy to help. If you want to lock up the front and I can use the pin pad in the back, then we will be good to go.”

“Great. Thank you,” Darla says. “And if you do need help with anything, just text me, I’ll have my phone. Leave the name and style of the dress on the notepad for me, and I’ll process it in the morning.”

“Not a problem,” I say.

Darla hurries off and leaves me and Hardy in the store, alone. I’m sure this is more than ideal for him.

“So,” he says, after Darla has locked up and clearly taken off, “crazy you’re going to be in the wedding, huh?”

“Yeah, insane how that worked out. Here I thought I wouldn’t have to see your face again, and lo and behold, I’ll be spending the weekend with you.”

“Very coincidental,” he says.

I roll my eyes dramatically and head over to the black dress section. Luckily, Darla has made it incredibly easy to find dresses in her store. She has them sorted by color, then by length. Since I’m going for something elegant, I head over to the floor-length black dresses and start looking through them. Darla has a large assortment, and lucky for me I’m sample size, so anything I might like that fits well, I’ll easily be able to rent.

“Want me to pick some dresses out?” he asks as he comes up behind me, his large body taking up all of my personal space.

“I’d prefer you stick your head in a trash compactor, but not sure I’m going to be that lucky today.”

“Unfortunately not,” he says as his chest presses against my back and his arm reaches out in front of me. He grabs a black silk dress that’s practically backless, only held together by a few thin ties. The front is a loose cowl neck, which seems to dip low, exactly what he wanted. “This looks like it would be perfect.”

“Of course, you would say that,” I reply. “It barely has any fabric.”

“Which is perfect,” he says. “Even a long slit up the front.”Exclusive content © by Nô(v)el/Dr/ama.Org.

I study the dress and I feel a smile pass over my lips as I say, “You know what, that dress very well might be perfect.”

“Yeah?” he asks, looking hopeful.

“Yeah, Polly informed me there would be some single and very attractive men attending her wedding. It would be the perfect dress to garner some attention.”

His expression flattens and it almost makes me bust out in laughter, but I keep it together.

“The more I think about it, the more I’m liking the idea of showing more skin,” I say as I pluck a few dresses from the rack that are nothing I would ever wear for a work event, but I think we all know this isn’t really a work event. I can see right through this whole farce.

“That dress?” he asks me as I gather a dress that looks like just a bunch of straps of black fabric.

“Yeah, I think this is the one I want to try on first.” I hand him the rest of the dresses and say, “Pick some more while I try this one on.”

I leave him by the dresses as I work my way to one of the dressing rooms. I’m going to tell you right now, I plan on showing this man what he could have had with no intention of handing it over.

And why?

Because I am a strong woman who doesn’t appreciate a multitude of excuses as to why I can’t be with someone.

You either want me or you don’t.

I don’t need excuse after excuse.

So I am going to be strong and I’m not going to let him convince me otherwise.

**Snorts Steam emoji**

I hang the dress on the hook in the dressing room and close the curtain behind me. Do I wish it was a door? Absolutely, but I will take what I can get. And because I came fully prepared for this moment, knowing damn well what this group of friends is up to, I showed up with no bra—only a thong as an undergarment. He thinks he can mess with me? Ohhhhh no, I’m coming in hot and he’s going to regret it. Cronuts be damned!

I strip down to just my thong and take the strappy dress off the hanger. The thing about Darla’s store is that the dresses she carries are for all occasions. Normally this is not a dress that you would see offered to a bridesmaid, but because I am choosing to be vindictive—don’t be mad at me, be mad at the game he’s playing—then I am going to make him sweat with this outfit.

It takes me a few seconds to get the straps fixed correctly and to be situated properly in the dress without being exposed, but once every scrap of fabric is in the right place, I take a second to look at myself in the mirror.

Dear God in heaven, I would never wear this to a wedding. Never. It’s like the green J-Lo dress, you know the one that stole the show at the Grammys? But instead of long sleeves, there are no sleeves at all. Just two thin straps that barely cover my breasts, but my entire stomach is out in the open. There is nothing left to the imagination, and the only place I see this dress being appropriate attire is at a strip club.

But do you think I’m going to let him think that?

Oh no.

I’m going to march out there, let him believe this is a solid contender, and see what he has to say.

Before I leave though, I reach behind my head and undo my hair from my bun, letting the long black strands fall into waves around my shoulders. I adjust my part to add more to my right side, fluff it up, and then smile into the mirror because I know how much he loves it when my hair is down.

If he’s going to mess with me, he’d better be prepared for me to come at him harder.

On a deep breath, I slide the curtain open just in time to catch Hardy walking toward me with an arm full of dresses. The moment his eyes land on my body, his lips part and his expression falls flat.

“What do you think?” I ask as I turn around, letting him see my bare back. “I sent a picture to Polly. I think she might like this. She said to pick whatever I’m comfortable in, and this dress is all airy.”

“Because it has no fabric,” he says as he sets the other dresses on the couch and walks up to me.

“It has fabric,” I say as I tug on one of the straps. That’s when I notice how hard my nipples are.

I think he notices at the same time because his eyes turn dark, and he wets his lips as he closes the space between us. When he gets only a few inches away, I take a step back and hold out my hand.

“Personal space, please,” I say, my hand connecting with his strong, thick chest.

“You’re not wearing this,” he says as he attempts to reach for me, but I step back again.

“Sorry, sir, but you have no right to an opinion.”

“Yes, I fucking do,” he says, moving in close again. “I’m the best man.”

“Well, pin a rose on your nose,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest, which of course draws his attention. “But the last time I checked the wedding handbook, the best man’s opinion is pretty low on the pecking order.”

His brows crash. “You’re not wearing that.”

“You know, I hear what you’re saying, but I don’t really care.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Everly. You know damn well you’re not going to wear that to Polly’s wedding, because if you do, you’re the one who is going to have all eyes on her, and not the bride.”

“How little you know about the people coming to the wedding,” I counter.

He moves in another inch, so I scoot back, leaving me directly in the dressing room and then to my chagrin, he steps in close again and draws the curtain shut behind him.

Oh boy.

I’ve seen that look in his eyes before.

I’ve noticed the way he wets his lips.

There is one thing on his mind right now, and it’s me—and most likely, I’m naked.

Not going to happen.

He closes in on me even more and then places his hand on my hip. “You’re not wearing this, and if I have to change you myself, I will.”

“As if I would let you see me naked,” I say.

“Babe, I’ve sucked on your tits and your clit—there isn’t an inch of your body I haven’t seen bare.”

“And what’s your point?” I ask him. “Just because you’ve seen it before that doesn’t give you the right to see it again.”

“All I’m saying is, you’re not wearing this dress.”

“And what I’m saying is, you have zero right to an opinion.” I shoo my hand at him. “So, you can leave now.”

He studies me, his eyes going back and forth between mine, ready to snap.

But he doesn’t move.

He doesn’t give me my space.

His gaze just turns darker, his shoulders grow larger, and his presence turns more commanding.

“Uh, I said you can leave now.”

He wets his lips as his fingers slowly drag up my right arm, sending goose bumps all along my skin. When he reaches my shoulder, he gently tugs on the strap, sending it down my arm. I quickly wrap my arms around my breasts, so I don’t show off anything.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Not falling for it, Everly.”

“Falling for what?” I ask.

“For your game of trying to make me jealous.”

I scoff. “I have better things to do with my time, Hardy, than attempt to make you jealous.”

“Uh huh,” he says skeptically. “If that’s the case, then walk out of this store right now with that dress as your choice for the wedding. Prove me wrong.”

God, he’s annoying. I can’t even have this.

I raise my chin. “Out of fear that Maple might be wearing the same dress, I think I’ll pick something else.” I scoot past him, but he doesn’t let me get far as his hand connects with my exposed stomach, stopping me in my place.

“I can help you take it off.”

“I’d rather have a rabid dog lick it off me.” I push past him and out to where he deposited some dresses on the couch. I paw through them, not finding anything that I would ever wear.

When I straighten back up, I catch him out of the corner of my eye, leaning against the wall of the dressing room, arms folded across his chest, watching my every move.

“Why don’t you be helpful,” I say. “You’re not doing anyone any good by just staring at me.”

“Not true. I feel pretty good about it.”

I roll my eyes and move toward the rack of dresses again, this time, searching for something that would actually be appropriate to wear. The idea of making him jealous quickly backfired, so I’m on to plan B—get out of here as quickly as possible.

Because I’m nervous that if I don’t…I will make bad choices.

There’s something in the air, something that…that I can’t seem to control when he’s around.

When I look at him, I have this deep-rooted irritation at him. I’m mad at him.

Angry.

Frustrated.

And yet, whenever he seems to come near me, touch me, I can feel that anger and frustration temporarily fade away as my mind wanders back to that night.

A night when I felt cherished and appreciated…desired. When I assumed I was the one he wanted. When he slept next to me all night, naked, occasionally waking me up with his mouth, his soft lips pressing against my warm skin.

As much as I hate to admit it, I still think about that night. I still think about the way it felt to be held by him, touched by him, kissed by him. What it felt like to have him spread my legs and rock in and out of me, demanding more. How I quickly fell victim to his pleasure, his dirty mouth, his unkept promises. That night, he offered me a drug, a high that I seem to keep chasing even though I don’t want to.

And that high…it’s heavily present right now.

I can see it in his eyes.

Hear it in his voice.

Observe it in the length of his strut and the sturdy set in his shoulders.

He’s out to get me again.

He’s hungry, and I’m his prey.

And I know I should run away. I should take off at a gallop, get as far away as I can, but there’s a nagging voice in the back of my head, a devil on my shoulder, whispering…just one more taste, just one more fuck. Let him give you what you want just one more time.

No.

I’m not.

I’m not going to give in.

It will only hurt me in the end.

So, with my chin held high and my mind set on hurrying this along, I sift through the dresses, looking for a simple neckline that won’t reveal too much and something classy that I could feel proud representing the business in.

After a few minutes, I find three dresses that I know will work. I just need to check the sizing. So, I drape them over my arm and turn toward the dressing room where Hardy is still standing, waiting for me.

“You know, I really have this covered if you want to take off,” I say.

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

I sigh and look him in the eyes. “Hardy, seriously, we all know why you’re here and it’s not going to work, okay?”

“Why am I here?” he asks as I make my way into the dressing room where he continues to stand.

“To…you know…”

“Uh, I don’t, but I would love to hear what you have to say,” he says with an annoying smirk.

I hang up the dresses and turn toward him. “To do things…like you did at my office.”

“Bring you cronuts?” he asks as he sticks his hands in his pockets. “No, not here for that. After you wouldn’t take them the first time, I was insulted. I was here for Polly. Can’t imagine what a change it is to add someone to the wedding party on such short notice. So being the best man, I just want to try to make things as easy as possible.”

“Which is why you bribed your friend into asking me to be a part of the wedding?”

“Uh, you being a part of the wedding was for George—he wanted to be a groomsman. I’m over here making dreams come true.”

“Actually, you’re over here making nightmares become a reality.”

He frowns. “You know, when you say things like that, they hurt.”

I roll my eyes and push at his chest, sending him out of the dressing room, only to snap shut the curtain on him.

“You don’t need help getting into those dresses?”

“No,” I say as I slip out of the barely there dress and into a more suitable mermaid satin dress with a tasteful slit and off the shoulder sleeves. When I turn toward the mirror, I can already tell this is going to be the one. It floats along my curves, hits me in all the right places, doesn’t show off too much skin, and most certainly won’t steal the show.

The only problem is I’m having trouble with the zipper.

I need to know if it’s going to fit, and I’m out of options for help. I part the curtain open to find Hardy hasn’t moved. I thought that perhaps he would be on the couch, but instead, he’s standing right in front of me, and I don’t miss his reaction to the dress as his eyes travel the length of my body, pausing every once in a while, until he meets my gaze.

“That’s uh…that’s a nice dress,” he nearly croaks.

I catch his Adam’s apple bob.

I take note of the way his hand strokes his beard.

And I can’t help but notice the way he tentatively wets his lips as if he’s preparing to devour me whole.

They’re all desirable signs that I probably would have killed for a week ago, but now…now they’re testing me.

They’re making me lower my defenses.

They’re nudging me, reminding me of just how much I liked this man—well, how much I still like him.

That crush isn’t just going to go away. Especially after the night we shared.

I would be lying if I said I didn’t think about him every day.

Because I do.

I think about what it would have been like if I woke up that morning and he brought me coffee, a cup we could have shared while I curled into his chest, breakfast being delivered because neither one of us really wanted to leave the bed. I think about what that day could have been like. A lazy Saturday with him, taking a shower together, maybe holding hands and taking a walk in the park across from my apartment. The smiles, the laughter, the long, languid moments in bed.

It was what I so desperately wanted and yet, I was met with something else.

Something pain-inducing.

Something that has altered the way I perceive this man.

But despite that perception, there are little moments like this where that night, that very special and memorable night, feels so real again.

“You’re…you’re beautiful, Everly,” he says softly, his eyes gazing into mine. Washed away is the sarcasm, the antagonizing behavior, and in its place is only appreciation.

The type of appreciation that’s breaking down my thin, poorly constructed wall.

But there’s still some resilience in me, so I turn my back toward him. “Can you zip this up for me, so I can make sure it fits?”

“Yes,” he says as he steps in closer.

I look up, into the mirror in front of me and catch the way he gently gathers my hair and drapes it over my shoulder before gliding his hands down to the zipper and slowly dragging it up.

The air around us is so quiet, so still that I can practically hear and feel every tooth of the zipper as it moves up the chain until I’m fully secured in the dress.

And then, he looks into the mirror as well, our gazes locking as he rests his hands on my hips.

I feel my breath start to slow as the room falls silent.

His fingers press against the dress, creating an imprint on my skin.

And when he wets his lips, I can feel my resolve slipping.

No, Everly. Don’t.

Don’t fall for his awed expression.

Don’t fall for the way he holds you.

Don’t fall for his words that make you feel desired and wanted.

“I don’t think you need to try on anything else,” he says, his voice hoarse. The catch in his throat weakens me.

I press my lips together, my body tingling with desire despite my mind telling me otherwise.

“Yeah, I think this will work,” I reply softly.

His eyes remain on mine as we continue to stare at each other in the mirror. The electricity bouncing between us makes the vibe feel so heady, so strong that I fear it might take over. That it might create a bad scenario that I’ll regret, so before I can let myself slip into decisions I’ll end up regretting, I say, “Can you unzip it for me?”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. He brings his hands to the zipper of my dress and through the reflection of the mirror, I watch his intense stare as he slowly…and I mean slowly unzips my dress, all the way down.

I cup the front, so it doesn’t fall off me and then take a step away from him. “Can you shut the curtain?”

He hesitates. I can see it in his expression that he doesn’t want to, but he offers me a curt nod and then shuts it. I let out a sigh of relief when I’m alone.

Okay, that was intense.

More intense than I prefer.

For a second there, I thought there was a chance we were going to have a repeat of what happened at the office.

And even though I’m so angry at him, I wouldn’t have been surprised if I gave in, because despite the way I feel about him and the way he treated me, I still feel this clawing attraction toward him.

I still very much like him…

On a heavy sigh, I slide the dress down my body, step out of it, and then gather it by the hanger loops. I bring it up to the hanger and carefully situate it just as I hear Hardy’s voice right next to the curtain.

“Want to hand me the dresses you’re not getting so I can hang them up?”

I gulp, because having him that close when I’m wearing nothing but a thong has my body tingling, very aware of his presence.

“Sure,” I say as I gather the few dresses in the dressing room.

I hand him one, pushing it past the curtain, and he takes it.

I do the same thing with two more and as I pass him the last one, the curtain parts just enough for his eyes to catch mine.

I bring my arm up around my breasts to stay covered up, but I don’t have to worry—his eyes never stray from mine.

They stay steady.

Fixed.

Like he’s locked in, unwavering, communicating with me through his gaze.

He wets his lips.

My eyes fall to his mouth.

He sets the dresses down.

My heart stumbles in my chest.

He parts the curtain open.

My body shivers.

And when he takes a step forward, closing any possible space between us, I feel a tap on the defensive wall I’ve tried to keep up when I’m around him. A tap just light enough to cause a crack.

So when his arm wraps around my waist, I don’t stop him.

And when his hand tilts my chin up, I wet my lips.

And when his mouth descends upon mine, I press my hand to his chest to brace for impact.

His lips meet mine in a fever of a kiss.

A demanding kiss.

A kiss so hungry, that I can feel it all the way down to my toes as our mouths mold together, him stealing my breath as he threads his hand into my hair.

“Fuck,” he whispers as he pulls away just enough to remove his shirt and drop it to the floor.

My worries, my reservations, they are completely tossed away as I slip into this dreamlike state, where this is real. His feelings for me are real. Into a world where he never hurt me. Where he never made me question my worth. Where he wanted me that morning…wanted me just like he wants me right now.

Gripping my hips, he gently moves me up against the dressing room wall where he lifts me up, and I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist, anchoring myself right over his bulge.

His hands move up my sides as he continues to kiss me with deep hunger, and all I can do is try to match his intensity or give in and let him take over.

When his thumbs land right below my breasts, gently swiping under them, I know there’s only one thing I can do…let him take the lead.

Because this is too much. This is too overwhelming.

This feels far too incredible to not get lost.

And that’s what’s happening—I’m getting lost.

Lost with every kiss.

Every stroke.

Every grunt that falls past his lips.

I’m getting lost in him…