Hold Me - Anne Marsh Page 0,11
then waste a wish asking the genie for a pizza.”
He slants me a look. “Do we each get three turns?”
God. “That would be a lot of sex to fit in one night.”
A wicked smirk lights up his face, warning me that epic bad pun-ness is headed my way. “I’m up for it if you are.”
Right. This is a one-night deal. It has to be because tomorrow—no, later today—I become Peony 2.0, the new, responsible, career-mind, settled-down best version of me. He’s my Fat Tuesday before a lifetime of Lent, so I need to make him count.
His monster size raises the possibility of Viking raider, but I’m not in the mood for quick, hard sex. Making my past-due bill up to my landlord, stern boss and the screwed-up employee—too close to home—bad boy rebel and the country club sweetheart, or...
“Virgin bride.” The words pop out of my mouth.
Wow. I’m not totally sure where that came from. It’s not like I’ve fantasized much about finding The One. Weddings mean settling down and writing The End and They lived happily ever after to the story and I’m more of a Choose Your Own Adventure gal. But...
Right now, that’s what I want.
He runs his hands down my arms, his fingers tangling with mine. “Okay. Tell me the rules. Tell me what makes you hot about a wedding night. What do you like? Am I a virgin, too, or do I take charge? Do we know what we’re doing or is one of us surprised?”
It’s like ordering from the menu at the fast-food drive-through. So many choices that you’ll regret later but that you’re greedy for now.
“Peony?”
“You talk too much, Jax.”
His big fingers caress my jaw, skin callused and a little rough. Maybe he’s a lumberjack or a firefighter on the weekdays?
He snorts. “First time I’ve been accused of that. Tell me how you want to play the next scene.”
“We’re high school sweethearts.” I place a kiss on his jaw. “And we’ve both been waiting for the main event. Lots of petting, lots of kissing.”
He smirks. “Have we had anal?”
“No.” I mock frown, poking him in the chest.
If I’m totally honest, what I really want is the illusion of feeling cherished, loved, having someone who will take care of me no matter how much work I am, because he loves me. That’s way too much to ask from a scene, however.
He thinks for a moment and then stands. I’d sort of forgotten temporarily just how bear-size he is. He’s a big, protective, mountain of a man and I’m staking a temporary claim to him for tonight only.
He holds his hand out to me, regarding me with a strong, warm gaze. “Come on. Let’s find your clothes.”
I let him pull me to my feet. “Where are we going?”
“We’re eloping, Firefly. We’re gonna go to the chapel and get married so I can have my wicked way with you.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, we’re fully clothed and standing in front of a guy dressed up like a ringmaster. Someone’s pinned a length of white tulle into my hair in keeping with the spirit of things. My “veil” has sequins that catch the lights of the big top and I keep turning my head to see the sparkle. I’ve even got a bouquet, stolen from the grapevines that surround the tent. Even if I never get married for real, at least I have this memory.
Jax takes my hands, turning me to face him as he repeats the vows the ringmaster dude rattles off. His dark eyes watch my face so carefully that it’s hard to remember that this is pretend. The man deserves the biggest acting prize of them all.
My insides twist, my voice coming out in a nervous squeak when I parrot my I dos. Jax’s thumb rubs the back of my hand and I focus on that small, delicious motion. It feels almost too real.
When the ringmaster announces that Jax may kiss the bride, Jax’s face lights up as if he really has been waiting months for this moment. He cups my face with his hands, tilting my mouth up.
“My Firefly,” he whispers. “Here you are.”
His lips touch mine and I forget about our audience. There’s just me and him and a magical, electric heat that starts where we touch and fills me up.
His mouth is curious, and warm.
So confident.
And yet somehow it asks questions. May I? Do you like this? Do I? What do you taste like? His lips brush mine, retreat, come back and