Marrying Mr. Wrong (Dirty Martini Running Club #3) - Claire Kingsley Page 0,82
home and I took it out on kids at school. Particularly you. It’s not an excuse, but it’s the truth. And I’m sorry.”
My heart ached for the little boy he’d been. “I’m sorry one of the people who should have loved you the most was hurting you.”
He kept playing with my hair and I had the strangest feeling that it made him feel better. “Do you want to hear something terrible?”
“Okay.”
“I liked you. In fact, I liked you so much, I was mad at you for the way you made me feel. I think that’s why I picked on you so much.”
“You liked me? I wouldn’t have known.”
“No, I was a dumbass. But you made some very confusing things happen in my pants.”
“Do you want to hear something else that’s terrible?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t like you at all.”
We both burst out laughing. It felt good, dispelling some of the yucky feeling in my stomach.
“Sugar, I don’t blame you one bit. I didn’t deserve to be liked by you.”
I traced a fingertip along his lips. “I like you now.”
“That’s good news. Because I still like you.” He took my hand in his and kissed the tips of my fingers.
A part of me wondered if we should have the dreaded divorce conversation. I knew we needed to eventually. But he kissed his way up my arm to my neck and the warmth of his mouth on my skin and the scratch of his stubble made it hard to think about anything else.
“I like you in this dress,” he murmured in my ear. “But I’ll like it even better when it’s on the floor.”
I laughed softly. “Me too.”
Still kissing my neck, he lowered the zipper. The dress slipped off my shoulders.
“Fuck,” he growled, looking down at me. “You’re wearing them.”
I was wearing them. The bra and panties he’d sent to my office right after Vegas.
He slid a thumb over my nipple and I gasped. The lace was rough against my sensitive skin. He traced a slow circle, the friction sending a burst of electricity through my body.
I stood and stepped out of my dress while he took off his clothes. This was what I needed—Cox inside me. I needed him filling me, silencing my worries over what was going to happen between us.
Grabbing my hips to pull me close, he sat on the edge of the bed and nuzzled my chest through the lacy fabric. “You’re so fucking sexy.”
Heat bloomed between my legs. “Cox, I need—”
“I know, sugar.” He dragged his tongue over my nipple, the rough lace and heat of his mouth making me gasp again. “I’ll give you everything you need.”
He took off my bra, then hooked his thumbs in the waistband of my panties to slide them down my legs. I loved the way he looked at me. He’d never once made me feel self-conscious about my curves. In fact, I’d never felt sexier.
His hands roamed over my body while his mouth left a hot trail on my skin. Just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore—I was going to die right here if he didn’t fuck me now—he got a condom out of the nightstand.
I climbed on the bed and he got on his knees in front of me. His erection jutted out, thick and ready.
“Come here,” he growled.
He stayed on his knees, resting back on his heels, and hauled me onto his lap. I was already so wet, his cock slid in easily, and I wrapped my legs around him. Grabbing my ass, he pulled me closer. His thickness stretched me open, filling me in all the best ways.
Our mouths tangled, velvety soft tongues sliding against each other. He held me close, staying deep inside me, his grip firm. As much as my body cried out for more—for movement and friction—I reveled in his kiss. In my skin against his and the way he held me tight against him.
My heart fluttered as he kept kissing me and a burst of emotion lit me up like a firework in the night sky. Because this wasn’t just sex. This moment, this feeling, was so much more. It was intimate and vulnerable. It was connection.
It was love.
Oh my god, it was. I was in love with Cox.
I whimpered against his mouth, feeling like I could cry. Or laugh. Or maybe both.
He kissed his way to my neck again and murmured in my ear. “Fuck, you feel so good. I don’t want this to end.”