The Perfect Wrong, page 4
And once this new dance begins, we hardly stop.
His breath quickens by the second, hotter and urgent.
His chest bows up, pushing against mine, teasing my nipples with friction wrapped in stormy ink.
So much for regaining my breath.
By the time he breaks the kiss with a murmured, “Fuck,” I’m panting.
Struggling so hard not to pass out from the drumming rhythm in my blood, plus the surreal realization that I’m ready to go all the way with this badass stranger.
I’m excited.
I’m not afraid in the slightest.
“You like how I taste, princess?” His knowing eyes burn me down as I nod shyly.
Like I could even try to deny it.
Smiling, he leans in again, stamping his mad lips up my throat in an onslaught that stretches all the way to my ear. “Good. I want your lips wrapped around every inch of me, Delia. And I mean now.”
I forget how to breathe.
The very thought of what he’s suggesting turns me to stone.
But he’s got me by the wrist again, leading me when I can’t lead myself. At first, I’m confused when we’re heading for the bar, but soon we’re moving past it.
My feet are so numb. Every step feels like wading through cement.
It’s a minor miracle I don’t trip all over myself, trying to keep up with him.
Is it really happening tonight?
Are we actually sneaking off to some dark corner where I’ll let him whisper all the filthy things he wants before he takes my V-card?
I don’t need to decide.
My body already does by the time we walk behind the small boathouse where Dad parks his yacht.
The second we’re out of sight, Chris pins me against the wall, one snap movement that rattles me.
His mouth attacks mine again, picking up where we never truly ended.
Except now we’re alone with our lust, basking in as much privacy as we’re going to get.
His kisses crash over me like a force of nature, sure and powerful as the dark waves lapping the shore behind us.
“Beautiful. So fucking beautiful,” he whispers as he palms my breast, raking my nipple with his thumb.
I almost see stars.
I almost come on the spot.
“Chris!” I whisper, shaking and not even hiding it.
This is so not how I imagined my first time—not that I’m complaining.
This black dragon devil of the night makes me feel like heaven with every scratch of his stubble against my skin.
His incandescent lips devour me.
His calloused hands roam my skin like a man laying claim.
He holds me down, slides a hand between my legs, and drags his cock against my thigh.
He definitely makes sure I can feel it behind the fabric.
Oh, hell.
I’ve gotten hot and heavy with a few guys before, even if I haven’t gone all the way. But making out has nothing on this, and his delicious friction stabs deep. His massive bulge presses just right, pushing the fabric over my clit.
Help. Me.
My arms hook around his neck, just as his breath boils in my ear again.
Another whimper.
Another animalistic growl, overwhelming my mouth with his energy as his mouth owns mine again.
His tongue flicks in and out every time he catches my lips, so deep and possessive, a naked omen of everything else he promises to do to me tonight.
With every kiss, his hips grow more frenzied, hellbent on burying me in his friction.
We’re crashing together shamelessly, again and again, dry humping like animals in heat.
I’m about to flipping lose it.
I’m so damn close it hurts, my O balanced on knife’s edge, ready to rip right out of me. Plundered by the first man I’ve ever deemed worthy.
Green eyes like jealousy.
Black ink like barbed wire.
Fuchsia pink rising up inside me like the sun.
“Delia, fuck,” he mutters, pressing his forehead to mine. “Don’t hold back for me.”
Of course, he senses how I’m about to go off.
He has to know I’m a shaking, sputtering, sex-starved mess, totally at his mercy.
With his chest heaving, he rears back, pouring his hot eyes into mine with an ice-cold gaze that’s suddenly too serious.
It’s the expression you’d see on a cop, right after he orders a suspect to hit the ground.
Not the kind of face you ever dare to disobey.
“Fucking let that pussy come for me, princess. I want to hear you. I need to hear your fireworks.” His hips punch mine with harder, rougher, meaner strokes through the fabric. “Delia!”
There’s something about how he says my name.
Oh, yeah.
Fireworks.
Rose-red, explosive, brighter than a ripe chili.
My orgasm splits me in two.
I’m coming so hard, one leg thrown over his, desperately holding on with both hands quaking.
I can’t even stop to wonder if I’m hurting him, tearing at his neck with my nails, because the pleasure utterly engulfs me.
My head bangs the ivory-white wall behind me as he drags his cock against me through his jeans, grinding me deeper into ecstasy.
Snarling, he shoves a hand down my waistband, pushing his fingers against my naked mound.
My hips buck wildly against his thick, greedy fingers.
The instant he finds my clit, I’m hurled into a new universe.
My thighs clench hard around his hand. I want his fingers deep inside me, stroking hard, a prelude to his magnificent cock.
I’d shout his name—I’d scream it—but I’m too far gone for more than a breathless smile.
When I’m coming off the high, I push my lips against his shoulder, stifling the syrupy noises exploding up my throat.
“Babe? You okay?” His lovely stubble scratches my skin.
Slowly, I open my eyes.
It’s like being dragged back to reality from a dream.
My knees collapse and now he’s just holding me up, angling me against the wall, sheltering me through the best storm of my life.
“Yeah. I’m...holy shit. I’ve never had it so good,” I whisper.
I’ve never had it at all, but I’m afraid to mention that technicality.
What would this wolf of a man think if he knows I’m a virgin?
Two possibilities.
Either he’ll cut and run or else he’ll rip me away from the wall, push me into the sand, and mark me from the inside out for life.
It’s equal parts exhilarating and scary as hell.
The butterflies swarming my stomach take over, teasing my nerves, sapping the confidence I had earlier.
Maybe we should take it slow. Ease into this. Assuming he’s local...
We could work into it, right?
“My turn,” he growls darkly. “You kiss like a little maniac, Delia. I fucking love it. Now, get on your knees and show me what that mouth does. Show me everything, woman.”
Even if we don’t go all the way, I’m happy to try.
I swallow and nod.
His hands move to his hips and he backs up a step, tearing at his belt.
Here come those nerves again.
His size worries me more than my inexperience.
That monster ridge in his jeans gets closer, stronger, realer with every movement.
I’ve messed around with toys, but his outline alone looks like he’d put them all to shame.
My pulse doubles.
My eyes are glued to his fingers, hovering over his zipper.
I wait breathlessly, drenching my ruined panties. My head swirls with ginormous images of what he’s about to reveal.
Then there’s a sound like someone shredding the night and a rumbling vibration in my pocket.
I jump, realizing too late it’s just my phone.
Ugh.
Worst timing ever.
“You need to take that?” Chris chuckles, low and rich and sexy as ever.
Sighing, I pull out the phone and tap the screen, wincing when I see DAD lit up at the top.
Honey, are you okay? Marguerite said she can still hear the noise out there. Should I have her check on you?
Chris gives me a knowing grin, his green eyes twinkling.
There isn’t much patience in that look, though. I feel bad.
He looks like he wants to rip the phone out of my hands and chuck it into the ocean, obliterating this distraction so I can return the very big, explosive favor he did me.
“Sorry. One second.” I type back furiously, telling my father I’ll run off any stragglers and head to bed in another hour or so.
I smile at Chris again as my phone slides back in my pocket, ready to find my courage.
Buzz-buzz.
Another message.
Another understanding-but-not look from Chris.
Another sigh as I hate-glare at the screen.
Dad: Cordelia, kindly pack it in early tonight. I’d greatly appreciate it. You know how nervous Evie is about tomorrow.
I know you’re young and living it up, but we’ve got family business tomorrow, remember? Please get some sleep tonight.
My brows knit together until it stings.
That’s Daddy, all right.
Mr. Upright, ever overprotective and anxious.
Actually, it’s a little sweet how much he innocently worries about me, but I know this isn’t just that.
He’s terrified of rattling her.
Dad won’t dare upset the trophy wife I never wanted for a stepmother. And as much as I hate to admit it, he has good reason.
I’ve heard Marguerite talking to the other staff.
Just a few months in and they’re all sick of her.
Evie’s tantrums could rival a sixteen-year-old girl. She’s not shy about chewing people out—even good, hardworking housekeepers who have been with us since I was ten years old.
I think Dad secretly fears her turning on him, too.
Or maybe he’s just so blinded by the honeymoon phase he keeps making excuses, praying things will get better, waiting for his marriage to magically bloom into the perfect happily ever after.
Not likely.
Still, I won’t be the one to burst his bubble.
Until then, we’re one big happy family, and for Dad’s sake, I’ll go along with it as much as I can stand.
I look at Chris again, my smile fading.
My heart sinks.
Will he even want to see me again if I have to call things off here?
I could try to force it, sure.
But this is no way to pleasure a man for the first time. Not while I’m oozing guilt over ruining Dad’s dinner tomorrow.
“So, um, please don’t hate me,” I say, stepping forward and stroking his arm. “But there’s a family thing. I don’t want to do this, but I need to get going and make sure people get packed up and home okay. Can we take a rain check?” I swallow.
My eyes search his.
I hold my breath until he wraps an arm around my waist, jerking me against his chest so hard I bask in our combined heat.
“You’re goddamned lucky I’m local. For now.” His arrogant lips brush mine.
Softly at first, then his kiss deepens, adding this nip of teeth that says too much.
Rough. Aggressive. Domineering.
This man wants me bad—and I want him.
The steady burn between my legs reignites. I press my thighs together, trying to decide if I hate how wet he makes me or if I’m secretly in love with it.
His hand finds my ass and squeezes.
I moan, shuddering, dangerously close to finishing what we started.
He’s created a monster, all right, and it hurts not to show him just what kind of little beast I want to be.
“Give me your phone,” he orders, pushing his hand into my pocket without waiting for an answer.
Before I can protest, he’s fumbling with the screen.
“Hey! What’re you doing?”
“Putting in my digits as soon as you unlock this fucking thing. Here.” He shoves it back into my hand and folds his arms, waiting.
Oof.
I feel like I’m fetching insurance info for a cop. He’s so ridiculously grumpy I laugh.
For a split second, I think about messing with him, punching in nonsense that isn’t whatever number he tells me.
That would be the smart thing.
Pump the breaks.
Think about this before I make any big lofty promises I can’t keep.
I mean, I barely know this guy, even if a dumb, romantic part of me wants to.
And that’s the same part of me holding a one-way ticket to heartbreak city when I wake up and realize he’s not sticking around for more than gravity-defying sex.
He said it himself.
He’s only here for now.
But if I have any regrets tomorrow, I can chalk tonight up to a few too many drinks and a mountain of pent-up tension.
If I just lie, I won’t be tempted.
I won’t wind up throwing myself at Lucifer and loving it.
I won’t have to deal with his bossy, dirty mouth.
Oh, but then won’t I miss out on learning what else his mouth can do to me?
What he sounds like when I’m full of him, experiencing every inch of my body painted in screaming fire as he owns me in ways I’ve only imagined.
And I don’t want to imagine anymore.
I don’t want to be Miss V-card.
Somehow, this mysterious bad boy showed up just in time to offer me a way out.
“Get those fingers moving. Four-one-eight...” He rattles off his number.
God help me, I enter every digit dutifully, holding it up when he’s finished so he can see me save his contact.
Fine.
I can always delete it later if I chicken out.
Next time—if there is a next time—there won’t be any distractions.
We won’t let it happen.
Marnie, eat your heart out.
The only thing you’ll be choosing is where you’ll buy me lunch for our last semester.
I smile, remembering her end of the deal. I’m almost giddy at the impossible thought that I might win.
“Let’s go. I’ll help make sure none of these clowns are too drunk to drag their asses home,” he says, grabbing my hand and pulling me along.
And he’s as good as his word.
We make the rounds together, waking up snoring couples and helping them find their phones. Once we’re sure they’re sober enough to drive or have a ride by app, they’re on their merry way.
When we’re finished, Chris walks me to the back door.
I savor his heat the whole walk up the winding beach path.
It’s so silent, so warm.
The cool water lapping the shore and soft summer breeze become the white noise of our new world.
“It was nice meeting you,” I say, kicking myself for how lame that sounds. “We’ll text tomorrow?” I ask hopefully.
“We’d better, princess, or else I’ll have to start trespassing a hell of a lot more.” He reaches down and slides his fingers through my hair, catching long dark locks and giving them a stern pull.
“Remember what people did at this little sex party. Whatever you saw,” he says, glancing around the now empty beach. “I’m gonna do that to you in spades, Cordelia. If you come that hard off my fingers, you’ll lose your damn mind when I suck your clit.”
Wrong.
It’s already long gone.
Especially when he pulls me forward, lowering his face, pulsing more hot breath into my ear.
“Get the fuck home. Rest up. Have a nice, peaceful night. Then tomorrow evening, whenever your family shit’s done, clear your calendar.”
“Okay,” I whisper, feeling disembodied.
“We’ll need the whole night. I need to hear you again, everything you had to muffle on this beach. Need to make you scream, baby girl, and you will once you’ve had more. You’ll holler real sweet for me, and then you’ll beg.”
I’m speechless.
Floored.
Apparently, I’m not the only one whose brain has fallen out.
And I guess it’s still spinning away in the night because I’m going to pieces for this crazy stranger’s dirty talk.
I’m about to push him into the darkness up the path before he flashes me those sultry, determined green eyes again.
Nope. Too late.
“So you really don’t hate me for tonight?” I venture.
“I’ll hate you if you’re having second thoughts,” he rumbles. “I’ll hate you, but I’ll understand—”
“Tomorrow,” I hiss, unable to get my mind off his body.
My eyes drift lower.
He’s still rock hard, his bulge blatantly outlined in jeans.
“I’ve got your number. We’ll make a night of it,” I promise.
“Good night, sweet Delia.”
He nods one more time and fades into the night, leaving me sighing and collapsing against the wall of the bar.
What did I just agree to?
If it weren’t for Dad’s text, I would’ve done it with a total stranger.
And not just any rando mystery man, but a tall, brash, heavily tattooed freak—the polar opposite of every clean college boy I’ve ever dated.
I don’t know if I’m sick or drunk or crazy, but I’m going to live up to my word.
Tomorrow, I’ll text him.
I can’t walk away when I’m this close to losing it with a man who makes my senses purr.
The next twenty-four hours already seem so bright, so lively, so vibrant I can practically taste it.
Tomorrow, I’ll eat light at the family thing. Hopefully I’ll breeze through the snorefest of meeting my new stepbrother.
Then I’ll get in touch with Chris.
Maybe he’ll pick me up and we’ll find a nice bar, maybe a quiet restaurant.
Or I’ll just let him decide.
Maybe we’ll head straight to his place.
It’s just one soul-stealing night.
It’s just awesome sex.
It’s not forever, right?
No, I’ve made up my mind.
There’s no way one more meeting with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Devilish can hurt. Especially if it involves me under him, discovering just how loudly he’ll make me scream.
