Sweet Cheeks(66)

“Is that so?”

“Mm-hmm.” He even makes that sound seem seductive.

“What exactly do women say?”

“Oh, yes. Fuck me. You last longer than I do. Harder. It’s so big. You’re. A. God.”

I can’t help but laugh again at his breathless voice as he says the words. Know he’s making fun of himself and love that he’s confident enough in his more-than-adept sexual skills to do so. “Really?”

“Most definitely.” He laughs. “But that’s not how a man knows he’s doing it right. Words are cheap. Actions prove everything.”

“So how does he know he’s doing it right?”

He spins me out and then back against him. In the few seconds apart, I’m already ready for the warmth of his body. His mouth is near my ear so the heat of his breath teases me. “A man knows he’s doing the job right when a woman pushes him away, tells him to stop licking her, and begs for his cock.”

That slow, sweet ache that has been simmering during this whole conversation—hell, who am I kidding, since he walked out of his room looking mouth-wateringly delicious in his suit and tie—has just been stoked brighter.

“Oh.”

He chuckles in my ear and I feel the rumble of it against my chest. Love the feel of his thigh rubbing between mine. “You still think you’re not going to beg, Saylor?”

“Words are cheap, Whitley. Actions prove everything.”




“Hayes Whitley? Seriously, Say? That’s who you left me for?” Mitch’s voice from behind me so bitter in tone, startles me, and yet I outwardly remain calm as can be.

So many responses flicker through my mind.

Married after only eight months?

Carbon-copy-of-Saylor-Sarah?

Still an *, huh?

I wish that were the truth.

I choose the higher road. Know even in the thirty seconds I’ve been in his presence that I made the right decision. I have absolutely zero love for him, and I can’t believe I wasted six years of my life with him.

So I don’t answer his question but rather decide to let him believe whatever he wants about Hayes being here with me and how that came to be. I’m not lying per se, rather just not giving any answers.

“You always did resent him, didn’t you?” I murmur softly, figuring it to be my best plan of approach and more than aware of the sudden shift of attention over to us despite the music playing loudly.

I think back to the few times Mitch would see Hayes on television or a magazine cover and make some snide remark. Criticize him. For no other reason than because Hayes had me first. Caveman theory at its best, and Mitch’s fragile ego at its worst.

“Seems I had every right to resent him, didn’t I? I love Sarah. I really do. And yet all of her blabbing on about the ghost of you hanging around was driving me crazy so I’m here trying to give her what she’s asked of me.”

“My ghost?”

“Yeah. She says you’re still everywhere even though you’re not.”

“That’s because you moved on before the scent of my perfume even cleared the bedroom.” There’s a bite to my voice and I don’t try to hide it.

“You’re the one who left.”

“Yes. I did.” There is not an ounce of apology in my tone. Why should there be when he was the one who made it clear he didn’t care if I did? And is already married.

Silence smothers the space between us. I take a sip of my wine and look toward the door to see if Hayes is back from the restroom yet. Shift in my chair.

“If you wanted to get rid of my ghost, then maybe you should have had your own wedding, instead of ours.” I turn to look at him. Raise my eyebrows. “A little originality makes a girl feel a whole lot more secure.”

“It’s complicated.” He shuffles his feet, looks down at his beer, and then back up to me. “You know how my mom is.”

“Yes, I do.” He hasn’t changed. He never will. Maybe I thought my leaving might help him realize that while he can love his mother and want to appease her, having a wife means you put her first, and not your mom. “Let me give you an opinion from someone who has in fact walked in Sarah’s shoes. Your mom can’t control your marriage, Mitch. You gave her a good start thinking she will by letting her orchestrate this entire wedding. The funny thing is, you were so busy being Golf Boy with your buddies and not caring about the details I was planning, that you have zero clue about how identical your wedding today is to the one I had planned. For us. Surely you realize the location and the invitations were the same, but did you notice everything else? The color scheme, the linens, the flowers? All my choices. And Sarah just happily accepted all of that?”

His features shift and evolve from disbelief to anger. And I know him well enough to know that as pissed as he is, he’ll never confront his mom over it. God forbid, he ever stands up to her. Instead, he’s about to take the brunt of his anger out on me.

I guess he’s never heard the saying, “Don’t kill the messenger.”

“You don’t get to have any opinion, Saylor. You don’t get to criticize or judge or say anything other than thank you for inviting me, Mitch.”

Asshole. I bite my tongue. Make the conscious decision not to engage when I’d prefer to stand and shout and accuse and purge the lingering bitterness I feel toward him. Let everyone know the real reasons we’re not together.