Page 8 of Rim Job

I’m a fucking cliché. I’ve gotten drunk and married in Las Vegas.

Fuck.

I’m married.

All thoughts fade as I focus on the perfect muscled globes of his ass. Then, I see it.

Hickies.

I’ve marked him. Even if I wanted to believe this isn’t happening, the physical proof is right in front of my face. I’ve brandedTiin hickies on his ass cheek.

I sucked his ass.

I sucked my name onto his ass.

Who the hell does that?

My husband, the stranger, stretches, lifting his arms over his head, the motion causing the muscles of his tight ass to flex. I know why I did it. I want that ass to be mine, and I want the world to know it.

I’m not certain if I’m more upset that I woke up married to a complete stranger or that I don’t recall one minute of anything I’ve done with this hot fucking man. He most definitely is all man.

“I don’t even know your name? For that matter, I don’t even know my new name?” I whisper, mortified by the actions of my drunken stupor. I cover my face with my hands and half-sigh, half-growl in frustration. I still can’t wrap my mind around how I could let this happen. I look down at the rock sitting on my finger and shake my head.

I have a plan. Well, I had a plan:

My own business,

Married by thirty-two, not twenty-eight.

The perfect house.

Two kids by the time I’m thirty-six.

Attend the best schools.

Both doctors.

I’d let them choose their specialties, of course.

I had a damn plan.

I’ve spent years building the book store to what it is today with Glory, all in preparation for my carefully mapped-out future. I’ve saved every dime I can to purchase my dream home. The home I’d share with my husband and children. My family.

This, this was not in my plans.

I don’t take crazy chances. I like order. I like plans. I like knowing today what I’ll be doing tomorrow. This is so not me.

“I’m Rimmington Banks.” He turns and begins to make his way toward me, where I still stand paralyzed in shock. His semi-hard cock bobs between his massive thighs with the motion of his every step. I swallow back my nerves as my husband reaches for me and pulls me into his hard, warm, naked flesh. One hand grips my waist and the other snakes into my hair at the nape of my neck. His fingers dig into the strands before he tightens his grip, holding me hostage against him in his embrace. His cock thickens between us.

I’d like to say his proximity doesn’t affect me at all, but I’d be a damn liar.

“You can call me Rim, Mrs. Banks.”

I gasp as his full lips descend on mine. He seizes the opportunity to stick his tongue in my mouth. I squirm, trying to wriggle free, but he’s persistent. My god, my breath must be terrible, but somehow, his is minty, refreshing, sexy.

Damn him. He is so fucking sexy.

It’s like a trap.

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