Marrying Mr. Wrong (Dirty Martini Running Club #3) - Claire Kingsley Page 0,68

No need for a woman in my life except for the occasional pleasant diversion.

And then that woman—Sophie fucking Abbott—had walked out with her soft blond curls falling around her shoulders, looking like the cutest little wife on the planet in her t-shirt and leggings. Looking like she belonged here.

Like it was real.

I was self-aware enough to recognize that my feelings for Sophie had something to do with the way I’d snapped at her. Because the sight of her barefoot in my kitchen, getting plates out of the cupboard so we could have dinner together, had made me feel like something cracked in my chest.

I’d missed her.

No. I hadn’t just missed her, I’d ached for her.

Far from giving me some much-needed perspective, my week away had thoroughly fucked with my head.

I finished off my whiskey and got up. Regardless of the long-term ramifications of my feelings for Sophie, it was time to be a man and face the music.

She wasn’t in my bedroom, although I could see evidence of her in here. The comforter turned back, like the bed had been slept in, her running shoes set neatly by the door, and a pink sweater on the dresser. I checked the guest room, but she wasn’t there either, nor was she in my office or the other spare bedroom. Where the hell was she? I hadn’t heard the front door and her car was still in the garage.

Finally, I noticed that the door to the half bath was closed. I knocked. “Sophie?”

The door opened a crack and she peeked out. “What?”

Why was she sitting in the bathroom? “Honey, are you okay in there?”

She hesitated, then opened the door a little more. “I went into the wrong room and then didn’t want to come out.”

This girl was so goddamn cute, she was going to be the death of me. “Would you mind coming out now?”

“Okay.” Her lower lip protruded in the slightest pout. “But I’m still mad.”

“Yeah, I deserve it.”

I took her hand and led her to the living room. We both sat down on the couch. Sophie clasped her hands in her lap and wouldn’t quite look at me.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you like that. It was uncalled for.”

Her face angled toward me.

“As for Althea, I’ll talk to her and find out what’s going on.” I fingered one of her curls. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Am I forgiven, or are you still mad?”

She took a deep breath. “I know I’m not really your wife, but—”

I touched her lips with my finger. “In point of fact, you are.”

That made her smile. “You know what I mean.”

“I do. And I’m sorry if I made you feel like you aren’t important.”

“Thank you.”

Sliding my hand into her hair, I leaned in close and inhaled. “I sure missed you.”

“You did?”

I buried my face in her neck and took another deep breath. God, she smelled good. “Mm-hmm.”

“Good. Because I missed you too.” She pressed her lips to my neck and I felt a flick of her tongue across my skin.

That fire she’d lit inside me blazed, hotter than fucking Hades.

I pulled her onto my lap, her legs straddling me. My fingers tangled in her hair and I brought her lips to mine. Delved my tongue into her mouth. Her tits pressed against my chest and she tilted her hips to rub herself against me while I kissed her.

Groaning into her mouth, I thrust my hips up, pressing my hard erection into the soft, warm space between her legs. “You want this, don’t you?”

She nodded, answering between messy kisses. “Yes. Please, yes.”

I grabbed the bottom of her shirt and yanked it up over her head. I wanted those luscious tits in my face. She ground against me as I unfastened her bra clasp and slid the straps down her arms.

God, she was a fucking goddess.

Her tits were glorious. Full and flushed with delicious pink nipples. She moaned as I cupped them and squeezed, gently kneading her soft flesh.

I lapped my tongue against one nipple, then sucked it into my mouth. Her back arched and she leaned her head back, letting out another moan. I squeezed her tits, sucking and licking. Lavishing her beautiful body with attention while she rubbed up and down my hard length.

Shifting my weight, I twisted her around so she was on her back.

“Clothes off,” she said.

Who was I to argue? “Yes, ma’am.”

I shucked my pants and shirt while she pulled off her leggings and panties and let them drop to the