Page 70 of Not Just a Trick Play

I wince but keep moving, ignoring the chuckles that trail us to the exit and help her into one of the waiting SUVs, tucking her poofy dress in behind her, praying she doesn’t hurl. Before we’re even halfway down the block, she’s curled up against me, fast asleep.

I glance down at her smudged makeup, messy hair, and tangled veil. She’s a beautiful disaster, and somehow, she’s still the most adorable wreck I’ve seen.

Once we’re at her building in the Financial District, she wakes and stumbles out of the car, punching in the entry code. I grab the door before it can slam in my face and rush to catch upas she starts up the stairwell, keeping a hand on her lower back so she doesn’t stumble into a broken neck.

Halfway up, I scoop her into my arms. She dazedly fiddles with the buttons on my shirt, and by the time we get to her apartment, she’s got three undone. The feel of her fingers has me reconsidering my aspirin-and-water plan, but one look at her drooping eyelids is enough to know she’ll be out cold the second her head hits the pillow.

“Keys?”

“In my garter.” She pats her skirt over the left leg, and I suppress a groan. Tonight will be an exercise in self-control.

Gritting my teeth, I reach under the layers of her bloody bridal gown, grazing the silky smoothness of her thighs, and my skin tightens. I feel around for the lace, not letting my fingers wander any more than necessary. At last, I find the warm metal of the key. I slip it from her garter and the material falls back into place. Somehow, I’m sweating. The stairs? Easy. Reaching up her dress? Apparently, I’m not built for that level of self-control.

When I have the door unlocked, I get her inside, veil dragging behind us like some weird, twisted version of “happily ever after.” The whole bride-over-the-threshold thing feels like a cosmic joke, considering we’ve both sworn off anything serious.

Once we’re in her room, I head for her bed. “Sweets,” I whisper, “I’m going to put you down.”

“No…” Her arms tighten around my neck.

“Just for a minute, gotta check that there hasn’t been an Oompa Loompa insurrection.” I coax. My dick protests.

“Mmkay.”

I lower her onto the mattress and straighten, instantly missing the warmth of her in my arms. I watch her for a moment, almost tempted to scoop her back up and hold ontight. But I settle for huffing in a breath and slipping off her shoes instead.

My gaze runs over the rest of her, taking in the slow rise and fall of her chest. Her lips are parted, and all I can think about is how soft they feel against mine.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to calm down. I head to the bathroom, brace my hands on the sink, and press my forehead against the mirror. Now where does she keep the Advil? A quick search through the cabinet, and bingo—Panadol. Same difference. After another stern talk with my cock about polite behavior, I step out with the pills and fill a glass of water.

Amelia’s hiked up the skirt of her dress, bunching it around her thighs, exposing the garter and a tiny white thong.AaandI’m hard as a rock again. She’s now wrestling with a sleeve, muttering under her breath.

I snag a soft gray Death Cab for Cutie T-shirt from the dresser and then ease her up to unzip the gown, and peel it off before she rips it. Doing my best not to get sidetracked by all the skin, I slip the shirt over her head and urge her to take the pills. As I settle her back down, her lids flutter open.

“Coming?” She pats the space next to her, eyes hazy but full of promise. I lean in, one knee sinking into the mattress. She wraps her arms around me as I fiddle with the pins, trying to get her veil off, taking care not to yank at her hair.

With a burst of energy, she flips us, straddling me, her goofy smile making my chest ache in the best possible way. I grin back at her, helpless to resist. I like her like this. Silly. Cheeky. Without a care in the world. And I want more of it.

I want more of how she scrunches her nose at football plays she doesn’t get, more of that side-eye she gives me when I throw out some stupid comment just to wind her up. More candy, more tea, and more endless banter.

And yeah, more of those mind-blowing orgasms. Because the sex? Unreal. As if I’m discovering a new favorite flavor of ice cream over and over, and somehow it keeps leveling up.

I love the way she looks when she comes on my dick, and afterward, for those few minutes when I get to hold her close before the world crashes back in and I have to let her go.

She pushes my hands over my head. “Now I have you.”

You have no idea, Sweets.

“Time to free willy,” she mutters on a yawn as she reaches for my pants.

Flipping us, it’s my turn to hover over her. “I’ll take an IOU.” I can’t resist stroking the little crease that appears between her brows before dropping a peck on her nose and get off the bed. I kick off my shoes, strip down to my boxers, and toss my shirt aside. I don’t usually stay over, not since that first night at her hotel. Not part of the damned rules, though it’s harder and harder to give a shit about them.

A small snore escapes her, blowing a strand of hair off her face. I tuck it behind her ear and slide in beside her, knitting our fingers together.

A smile floats to my lips remembering how she danced earlier, weaving around the floor like a bowling pin about to go down. Drunk Amelia is cute as a button, this one. I blink. Being with this woman has transformed me into a grandma who spouts shit like “cute as a button.” Next, I’ll be knitting scarves and baking cookies.

“You know, we haven’t done anything crazy yet,” she murmurs in the darkness.

“Crazy?” I ask, right as she rolls onto her side and slings a bare leg over mine. My dick twitches. Idiot expects something to happen.Down, boy.

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