Page 39 of A Temporary Forever

Because no kiss has ever felt this disarming. This essential. This carnal.

His tongue glides expertly as he sucks, nips, bites, and practically fucks my mouth with his tongue. It’s a good thing he’s holding me because I don’t think my legs work anymore.

What works overtime is my heart—galloping like a spooked horse—and my lady parts—soaking my underwear.

God, I hope I charged my vibrator.

“I think I got it. That will be all.”

The photographer’s voice is like a jolt of electricity that snaps us apart. Frazzled, I turn, avoiding both people in the room. How did I forget about the camera?

With my thumb, I wipe the corners of my swollen lips, trying to compose myself. What has just happened?

Because I’m pretty sure I wasn’t the only one forgetting about the camera.

“Right. Thank you. We’ll need the pictures ASAP,” Caleb says, his voice official and businesslike, not shaking like mine would, if I could manage to find it.

When I finally gather my wits and turn back to the room, smoothing my skirt like it got all dirtied up by that kiss, I’m met with the photographer’s awkward smile.

It’s just the two of us. Frowning, I look around the studio and, with an unspoken question, at the woman with a lens in her hands.

She shrugs. “He left.”

Chapter 12

Caleb

Irun to the street, loosening my tie. Fuck. Fuck.Fuck.

Why did I refuse her the other night? And in some fucked-up power move, I told her she’d need to beg for it.

Now I can walk around with blue balls.

It didn’t make me yours.

And there I was, capturing her mouth like I had any business to do so. Because fuck.

Celeste Delacroix married me because she needed her visa fixed, but the only thing fake about me agreeing to the deal was my motivation.

Yes, she didn’t deserve to be dragged into the mess my father always leaves in his wake.

Yes, my sister begged me to help her.

Yes, I never plan to marry, so giving her my name for a few years is inconsequential.

And yet, the twisted, depraved bastard in me enjoys being around her. Taunting her. Being sassed by her. Annoying the shit out of her.

But why?

Because she can take it. She can rise to the challenge, and fuck if that’s not refreshing. And hot.

But she made it clear she wants nothing to do with me. Aside from that weak moment of desperation last Wednesday. Even then, she didn’t want me. She wanted to save her job.

What a fucking twist of fate. I can have—and have had—any woman I want, and here I want the only one that doesn’t care.

“Oh, you’re here.” Celeste’s voice brings me back to reality.

The air still smells of last night’s rain, its humidity heavier than usual for mid-spring. My gaze lands on her dress. It’s perfect. She’s paired it with emerald-green stilettos that match her eyes.

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