Page 124 of Deceit

“Yes?”

She raises her chin confidently. “I want to do it.”

“Now, you’re drunk.” I cock my head to the side because now I’m beginning to doubt this.

I don’t wantherto regret it in the morning.

Her hands find my hips, and she rests them over the waistband of my jeans. “Not drunk enough to make really bad decisions.”

“Yeah?” She rises on her tiptoes to close the distance between us, but I pull back a little. “Nah, I want to kiss you when you promise me forever.”

The look in her eyes turns self-conscious and innocent. “What if you think I’m a bad kisser?”

I shake my head slowly. “I highly doubt that.”

“But you don’t know.”

“Then I’ll teach you how I like it.” I press my forehead into hers. “I like a lot of tongue, and my most sensitive spot is my neck. You suck on it, I’m fucking yours.”

“What else?”

“Tryin’ for that life insurance policy already?”

She chuckles. It’s light and airy as her fingers slowly graze the cotton of my tee, sending a wave of enthusiasm down to my groin. “I’d like to keep you around for a little bit.”

“Then let’s hurry up and do it so I can enjoy you as long as possible.”

We wave down a taxi, and Emmy holds my hand as we tell the driver to take us to the courthouse so we can obtain a marriage license. I think she believed I was kidding until we pulled up and ran in before they closed at midnight.

As my body began to sober, it questioned what the hell I was doing. And when we arrived at a little chapel with red roses, I gave Emmy an out.

She didn’t want it.

We got married by a minister and not Elvis. She in her white dress and me in my black leather coat.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the middle-aged minister proclaims happily. “You may kiss your bride.”

Emmy smiles at me, and I wrap my arm around her waist, crushing her to my chest.

“You sure about this?” I mutter over her lips again. “Because I’m giving you forever.”

“I want forever...with you.”

My lips crush into hers, tasting how fucking intoxicating she really is. My tongue sweeps invitingly into her mouth, and Emmy takes a part of me that I didn’t know I was willing to give up.

I don’t know if captivated is the right word for it because Emmyknowsdamn well how to kiss a man.

We head back to the Bellagio, and neither of us can keep our hands off each other. At the front desk of the hotel, she proudly calls herself Mrs. Bishop to the receptionist, and in the elevator, I kiss her until I’m out of breath.

“Holy shit,” Emmy awes as she takes in the floor-to-wall windows of our room that overlook the backdrop of Vegas and the fountains we were standing at over an hour ago. “This is beautiful.”

She ignores everything else but the view and makes her way over to it.

I—for the millionth time since I’ve known her, take in her perfect ass as she walks away from me.

But not for long.

I stride up behind her and press a trail of kisses from her shoulder all the way up to the column of her neck.

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