My Big Fat Fake Wedding(79)

I take his hand. “We’ll get through this together. We can do it.”

He leans over me, pressing one fist to the mattress by my hip and caging me in. “Sealed with a kiss,” he says softly before pressing his lips to mine. As the kiss heats, he says in stilted words, “Thank you for not hating me back then, and thank you for helping me now.”

I return the words. “Thank you for helping me. But to be clear, I did hate you just a little in high school.” I hold my finger and thumb up an inch apart with a flirty smile. “But I thought you hated me too.”

But the sentiment is lost to the fire as everything we’ve been through to get to this point fades away—all the silly insults, all the ridiculous pranks, all the life we’ve lived apart, all the promises we’ve made together.

“Never,” Ross growls against the tender skin of my neck.

I turn my head, giving him better access. “So since we’re playing true confessions, I have one too.”

“Later,” he says, not stopping his progress toward my bare breast.

“You’ll want to hear this one, I think. You see, I didn’t always hate you. I did have a bit of a crush on you . . . sometimes. And teenage me heard things about you from Abi, and then the gossip from every girl in the school as they gushed over the gorgeous Ross Andrews.” I can feel the lift of his lips as he smiles, and even though I can’t see it, I know it’s his cocky grin.

“One of the girls, Savannah DeMiles, said she gave you a blowjob under the bleachers after a game. She described it in rather intimate detail. To my innocent mind, I was stockpiling the details away like a tips and tricks to-do list.” I drop my voice down, making it slow and sultry and full of heated promise.

Ross looks up, a question in his eyes. “What are you saying?”

I bite my lip and look at him hungrily. “Stand up.”

He moves curiously but quickly, standing with his feet spread wide and his arms at his sides beside the bed. I climb out too, dropping to my knees in front of him. “Violet?” he says, but his voice sounds choked.

I look up at him through my lashes. “Back then, I imagined it was me under the bleachers, your cock in my mouth and your hands in my hair, guiding and taking me. I imagined you losing control because of little old me. Back then, I was nervous and figured I could spit it out discretely so it wouldn’t be weird. But now, when you come, I want to swallow you. I want it all . . . all of you.”

“Fuck, Violet,’ he says, nodding, though I don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it.

I lay a sweet kiss, soft as a butterfly’s kiss, to his crown, and he hisses as his hips surge forward. I lick a swirl of a loop around the mushroom head and murmur appreciatively, “I can’t believe I got all this inside me. Finally, Ross Andrews fucked me, Violet Russo.” It may have happened within the last week, hell, within the last days, but I’m talking about who we used to be. Back then, I don’t think either of us would’ve ever predicted this degree of chemistry between us. Maybe in high school, we wouldn’t have even had chemistry, too young and not ready for whatever this is.

I’m still not sure of what label to slap on this because we’ve moved well beyond fuck buddies and no strings attached, and I know there’s something bigger growing in my heart, but I’m not sure Ross is feeling that at all. And with everything on the line, I won’t risk asking. But this right here, the fireworks that ignite between us, doesn’t feel like a gamble at all because this part, at least, is a certainty.

Ross chuckles a bit at my disbelieving brag at being one of his conquests, but it turns into a gaspy moan of pleasure as I swallow him inch by inch. I wrap my fist around the base of his shaft, pumping him with my hand as I suck his cock in and out of my mouth, worshipping him but also controlling this sexy man with my power.

He slides his hands into my hair, gripping but not forcing me. No, he lets me take him, drive him wild, and I delight in the way he loses control, his hips starting to thrust gently, helping me work him.

“Mmm . . . that’s it, honey. Your mouth feels so good. Reach down. Play with yourself for me. I want to see you on your knees, coming apart as you suck me down.” His voice is gravelly, the image he paints powerful.

I whimper around him in answer, spreading my knees and sliding my middle finger through my folds to gather the wetness there. I hold my hand up for him, and he leans forward to suck my finger clean, his tongue swirling over my finger mimicking what I’m doing to his cock.

My fingers and my mouth move together as I bob up and down on Ross’s cock and stroke between my lips and over my clit.

“I can’t,” he groans. His fingers tighten in my hair, holding me still as he takes over and starts to fuck my mouth. He thrusts deeper and deeper, edging into my throat as I slide first one, then two fingers in my molten pussy. He’s powerful but restrained, our eyes locked on each other the whole time.

I moan around him as a mini-orgasm, a precursor of what’s to come, sweeps through me, and he groans at the vibration, gifting my tongue with a sweet dollop of his precum.

“You sure?” he grits out, and I suck harder, my fingers a blur across my pussy.

He plunges hard into me, and any thoughts, doubts, or words I have are obliterated as he shatters me. I gasp and spasm around him, my whole body quivering as I rise up to get more and more of him.