Page 77 of Stick Work

I swallow hard, my voice rough. “You want me again, T?”

“You know I do.”

And as I push into her, it’s not just her body that welcomes me, it’s every part of her. The way she clings to me, the way her breath catches, the way her lips part on a quiet moan. Her heat doesn’t just surround me. It owns me, claims me, pulls me in like she never plans to let me go. And God help me, I want to hold onto this forever.

If only I could.

But I can’t.

We move together, each taking and giving as the world fades away, and in no time at all her climax pulls at her. Her nails scratch along my back and I welcome the sensations, hoping they leave marks, so I can revisit this moment later. As she clenches, it pulls an orgasm from me, and I let go, filling her with my seed. Panting, I press my forehead to hers and when I can finally speak, I say, “Was that enough spark for you?”

She shifts, trying to glance between our bodies, a grin on her face. “I think I might be smoking.”

I laugh as someone knocks on the door. “Damn, that was fast.”

“Are you talking about room service or you?” she chuckles and pulls the blankets up to cover her face. I tug them off.

“Hey.”

“I told you,” she says, looking so playful and content it fucks with my heart. “Sometimes fast has its place.”

I honestly have no idea how I was so fast, considering how many times we made love last night.

Made love.

She points, going full-on boss lady and I love it. “Now get me my coffee.”

“Demanding woman,” I grumble, and jump to my feet. I grab our robes and toss one to her. She stands, slipping into it before disappearing into the bathroom. Meanwhile, I put mine on and saunter to the door, pulling it open to find a young guy with a cart. He’s smiling, trying to play it cool, but I can see the excitement in his eyes. He’s not doing a great job of hiding it. Grandma would probably see through him in a minute. It’s a wonder she can’t see through me, and this ruse. Then again, what would she see when she looks at me? A man who’s crazy about the woman on his arm? Yeah, probably.

“Where would you like this, sir?”

“On the table.” I step aside as he wheels the cart in, carefully setting the table for two. Domed plates on placemats, carafe in the center. Definitely five-star service. I find my wallet and hand him a generous tip.

“Thank you, sir.”

I glance at his nametag before he’s about to turn. “Hey, Liam. Would you like an autograph?”

His eyes go wide and he glances at the open door. “We’re not supposed to…”

“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

He giggles, actually giggles like a kid meeting their favorite superhero, or their favorite hockey player and it’s kind of adorable. “Do you have a pen and paper?” He nods quickly, hands both over and I sign. “Selfie?”

“Seriously?”

“Again, our little secret.”

He practically bounces as he pulls out his phone. “I grew up in Boston,” he explains. “Sometimes I get back for games.”

“Fantastic. Did you know Rip Hart is here too? And Roman Marinelli?”

He nods quickly. “I saw Rip earlier. He was walking around the ballroom. Seemed to be talking to himself. I didn’t want to interrupt, so I didn’t say hi or anything.”

What the heck is Rip doing lurking in the ballroom all the time? For a fun-loving, smart-ass kind of guy, he sure is taking this wedding seriously. And considering he did an amazing job fake-marrying us last night, it makes you wonder who the guy really is deep down.

“If I’m with him and see you around, I’ll call you over. You can’t get into trouble for that right?

“Not if you initiate it.”

---