Wild Embrace (Wilder Irish #11) - Mari Carr Page 0,60

watermelon bowl. “You invited me.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Never been invited to a party to say goodbye to a woman’s boobs. Thought I should probably take advantage of the opportunity.”

Darcy laughed. “A wise decision. Who knows when we’ll get to throw another one of these?”

“If it was anyone other than you saying that, Buttercup, I’d agree. But I feel like the chances of this becoming something your family does…even for perfect strangers…seems high. Especially after looking at that table of food. The bowl of Mounds was a nice touch.”

Darcy laughed. “That was my idea.”

“Of course it was.”

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the gift bag in his hand.

“I brought Bubbles a present.”

“Seriously? Who are you and what have you done with Ryder Hagen?” she teased. A week had passed since Ryder had taken her to his bedroom after the football game and opened her eyes to an entire world of—fuck-me-now—amazing sex.

While she’d begged him all week to follow through on his butt plug promise, Ryder insisted that they slow things down on the sex front. According to him, she was still too new to sex and he didn’t want to rush her into anything she wasn’t ready for.

Which was bullshit. Because she was ready for everything.

Every. Fucking. Thing.

Of course, it was hard to get pissed off at him for wanting to take his time and do things right because it convinced her that—while they still hadn’t said those three little words—Ryder genuinely cared about her.

Neither of them referred to their dating as a trial run anymore. Instead, they appeared to just be going with the flow.

She’d been at work at eight on Monday morning, and they’d blown their “we’re professionals” mantra out of the water, ruining their vow to eschew workplace hanky-panky. While he hadn’t initiated her into anal sex, he’d convinced her that sixty-nine truly was the greatest number in the universe.

He’d gone to happy hour with her and Brooklyn on Wednesday, and afterwards they’d gone upstairs to her room for a quickie before he headed home to have dinner with his family.

Friday at work, he’d bent her over his desk on her lunch break to give her another taste of doggy style, which was indeed her favorite position thus far.

“I can assure you, it’s me,” Ryder said.

“Day drinking, then? Get an early start?” she asked.

Ryder laughed. “I’m completely sober.” This time when he leaned in for a kiss, he skipped her cheek and went straight for her lips.

They parted at the sound of a wolf whistle from the doorway. “Don’t stop on account of us,” Bubbles said, entering the kitchen with Darcy’s mom. “My girl parts are dusty, it’s been so long. I’ll have to live vicariously through you two.”

“We wondered what was taking so long with the melon balls,” Mom said. “So…is this Facebook-official yet?”

Darcy rolled her eyes. “Wow, Mom. That’s not embarrassing at all.”

“You’re twenty-four, chica,” Bubbles said. “Being embarrassed by your mom should be second nature to you by now.”

Darcy didn’t bother to disagree or point out that Bubbles was usually an active participant in anything and everything her mom did to embarrass her. It was a well-known fact to all of them. Not that Darcy would trade her mom or godmother for any other women on the planet.

“I suppose, um, congratulations are in order on your…upcoming surgery,” Ryder said, clearly out of his element. Just the fact that he’d shown up on his own made her so happy. And hopeful.

“Oh, bebe. It’s long overdue. Look at these tits,” Bubbles said, pointing at the girls. She’d really pulled out all the stops with today’s party outfit, making sure the main attractions were spotlighted.

Ryder, whom Darcy had always thought fairly unshakable, actually flushed a little as his eyes drifted to Bubbles’s shirt before he quickly looked away again, trying to be polite despite the open invitation.

“Very…um…impressive,” he finally said.

Somehow Bubbles had managed to find an extremely lowcut sequined, zebra-print shirt that revealed no less than six inches of cleavage. Darcy figured chances were good they’d all get an eyeful of an escaped nipple at some point during the day, and there was no question in her mind every partygoer would be invited to “lift” one of Bubbles’s tits to feel their weight.

“They’re heavy as a dead donkey. Been carrying these girls around for too long. My back aches something awful these days,” Bubbles explained.

“I’ve told her for years she should consider getting them reduced,” Mom said.

“And as I told Riley,” Bubbles continued, “these beauties were my moneymakers for a