Two Bar Mitzvahs (No Weddings #3)(28)
She took a step closer. “I bought it at Nordstrom, but it’s made by Agent Provocateur.”
“I like this Agent Provocateur. Why did you buy a baby-doll over anything else?”
She smirked. “Because they don’t sell burlap bags.”
“Fuck burlap bags. New rule: baby-dolls are the new burlap bag.”
She pursed her lips together as her gaze drifted over me. “Watcha got under there, Cade?”
I looked down. My bare legs had tangled in the sheet. One was exposed all the way to my hip with the sheet covering only part of my waist and groin. I leaned back, crossing my hands behind my head on the pillow. “Why don’t you come over here and find out?”
She sucked her lip in for a third time, capturing it between her teeth.
“You know that drives me crazy, right?” Part of me wondered if she knew she pushed my buttons, but the other part hoped it was coincidence—like everything she did, and all that she was, had been made just for me.
“What?” She stepped closer and pressed her breasts together. One of the little lace straps fell off her shoulder.
I swallowed when her teeth released what she’d bitten. “Your lip. When you pull it into your mouth. Jealousy has me torn between wanting to be the one to bite it and needing you to put that pretty mouth all over me.”
She gave me a slow smile as the other strap fell off her shoulder. My gaze drifted down to her breasts. When she pulled her arms away, the gauzy fabric clung to her body only by her curves. “On or off?”
“Off.” My voice sounded gruff. The time for talking had passed. I wanted Hannah naked, on me. I needed to be in her.
Fabric fluttered to the ground.
My breath caught at her beauty, every dip and curve, delicate skin over deceptive strength. Exquisite.
Mine.
She’d left her thong on. But as she knelt down and crawled over me, the tiny scrap of lace between us ceased to matter.
“Cade?” She pulled the sheet away, and my erection sprang free, hot and pulsing. I sucked in a sharp breath, hoping her warm mouth might soothe it, those plump lips and teeth finally finding a better use than chewing on her lower lip. Then I exhaled slowly, my cock twitching, as I imagined sinking deep into her.
“Mmm?” I blinked, focusing on her face.
She hadn’t touched me yet. Only stared at me, reading me.
When she opened her mouth, I leaned up and captured it in a hard kiss, silencing her. Then I pulled away, eyes narrowing. “Not words from your mouth. Actions by your mouth.”
“So bossy.” She shoved hard on one shoulder, and I relaxed, letting her push me back down onto the pillow.
She gave me a mischievous grin as she crawled down my body. Then she pulled her damned lip inside her mouth again. “No. No more lip biting. Cock sucking.”
She released her lip, hovering her mouth over me. Hot air fogged across my skin, and my breath caught while she watched me. A deep ache fired through my cock, and I clenched my fists in the sheets to hold still. My brows furrowed as my chest rose and fell in shallow breaths.
“Yes, sir.”
Her lips pressed against my tip. Then she sucked—hard. Sweet. Hot. Excruciating. Her smirk was the last thing I remembered as my head fell back on a sharp inhale.
I’d missed the f*ck out of her.
When we came together, nothing else existed. I needed what she provided: grounding, understanding, comfort. To be lost and found—with her.
I let out a ragged groan as Hannah showed me I had nothing to be jealous of with her abused lower lip. She’d been saving all of the talented things her mouth did for me.
13
Taste and a Test
The day had come for our scheduled sample run at Madison’s country club. As we stepped into the ballroom Suzanne led us to, an understanding about one thing hit me with clarity: Madison had no intention of making anything easy for us.
In the past week, she’d completely disregarded my demand to deal with her private event coordinator, Suzanne, directly. Every email I sent to Suzanne, Madison replied to it. When I redirected my response to Suzanne, Madison replied again.
Putting an end to her game, I decided to pick my battles. I began to send the damn emails to both of them. Let them sort out their shit.
My sisters, Hannah, and I stood in the ballroom set with various examples of how Madison’s team envisioned the event, complete with ridiculous floral centerpieces, fine bone china, and thousand-plus thread count table linens.
No need to guess whether or not Madison would show her new kinder-gentler side. She stood on the far side of the room, arms crossed, glacial expression.
Message received. Her territory? No chance in hell she’d show vulnerability.
Worked for me. This whole ordeal put me in a piss-poor mood, and my sadistic side clamored to butt heads with her.
I blinked. “You’re kidding, right? What part of bar mitzvah did you not understand?” I gave Madison a weary stare. “It looks like a f*cking spring garden explosion in here.”
Ivory tablecloths, green linen napkins, frilly centerpieces with pink, purple, and yellow flowers arching out of small vases made every male cell in my body twitch to dump the tables in rebellion. The other two tables were worse. One actually had gold-rimmed crystal goblets. The other… “Are those pink napkins?”
Blinking in confusion, I lifted the offending color up toward the overhead lights, thinking I had to have gone colorblind from the bright sunlight outside.