Down and Dirty (Hot Jocks #5)(5)
“Damn, you’re sexy,” he murmured, trailing one large palm over my hip, sending little sparks of heat racing down my spine.
While he leaned closer, kissing my neck, I arched into him and trailed my hand down his back, enjoying the feel of warm, sculpted muscle beneath my fingertips.
With one more sweet kiss, he pulled back so he was kneeling between my parted thighs. I worked my dress off over my head, which was no small feat. Landon groaned at the sight of me, his gaze locked on my bare breasts.
“Jesus, Aubree.” His voice was little more than a harsh pant.
He tested the weight of my breast in his hand, his thumb skating across my nipple, and I sucked in a shaky breath.
“I really like these,” he murmured.
“Yeah?” I could hardly get the word out, I was breathing so hard.
“So much.”
He watched me with a dark, hooded stare, seeming unsure, like he was hesitating. But I knew he wanted me, as evidenced by the enormous erection tenting the front of his dress pants.
I worked my hand under his waistband and ran my palm along his impressive length. Wow. There’s a lot of him. His eyes sank closed and his mouth dropped open as he moved his hips, seeking more friction against my palm. Holy hell, that’s hot.
His face was flushed, and when he opened his eyes, they were bluer than I’d ever seen them.
He expelled a breath, and his pelvis lifted.
“Holy fucking—” He didn’t finish, just groaned loudly as my palm wrapped around him.
? ? ?
And then the memory fades.
I blink at the softer, sleepier-looking version of Landon sitting on the bed beside me. His hair is a mess. It’s kind of adorable, if I were in a state to notice such things, anyway.
“I sort of remember that,” I say, blinking the memory away as I reemerge into reality. “But I could use some clearing up on what happened after we made it to the bed.”
“Well, we kissed,” he says, his voice steady but measured.
“I remember the kissing.”
He nods. “And you took off your dress.”
I draw in a breath, feeling my face turn warm at the memory of shoving my hand in the front of his underwear. “And then?”
“And then?” His thumb touches his bottom lip. “Then you, um, fell asleep. So I covered you up and placed a glass of water on the nightstand for you.”
Landon’s expression is calm, his tone matter-of-fact. I have no idea why he’s not freaking the heck out right now like I am.
My gaze wanders to the full glass of water still on the nightstand. “You’re shockingly casual about this whole thing, you know that?” I hurl the accusation at him, my frustration rising.
He shrugs. When he runs a hand along the stubble at his jaw, I notice something else.
“Why don’t you have a ring?”
He looks down at his naked left hand, his brows pushed together as though he’s working to recall the hazy details. “When I bought your ring, we looked at some for me too, but you said you’d get mine after your next payday.”
“Oh.” My stomach plummets. “Sorry about that.” Even my drunk self knew that my nonprofit salary couldn’t accommodate an unplanned wedding ring. And definitely not on the same paycheck that paid for this Vegas trip.
“Don’t be sorry. I offered to pay for both rings, but you insisted. It was kinda . . . sweet.”
I do my best to smile, but it comes off more as a grimace.
What’s so sweet about a drunken Vegas marriage you can hardly remember? And why is he so cavalier about this whole thing?
Before I can formulate a question, the sound of both of our phones buzzing in unison drags me away. It’s a group text to both of us from Becca.
Good morning, lovebirds! Come down to breakfast in the lobby! We’ve got two seats calling your name. <3
“I guess we should get ready.” I sigh, tossing my phone onto the duvet with a huff. “We’re wanted at the breakfast table.”
Landon tugs on last night’s clothes to make the trip down the hall to his own room.
Meanwhile, I barely make it through my shower routine without throwing up. Between the nausea, the headache, and the life-altering decisions I made last night, it looks like vodka and I won’t be seeing each other for quite some time.
Landon must take his sweet time getting ready, because even with the time it takes for me to dry my hair and put on half a face of makeup to conceal the dark circles under my eyes, we still arrive at the elevator at the same time. Great. Looks like the newlyweds will be walking into breakfast together.
“You look nice,” he says, nodding toward my navy-blue T-shirt dress.
“No need to flatter me,” I remind him, biting my cheek to maintain my composure. “We’re already married, remember?”
Landon’s expression is unreadable, except for the slight tic in his jaw. I wish I knew how to read him better, because I have no idea what he’s thinking.
When the elevator doors open on the ground level, it doesn’t take long for us to find our friends. Mostly because the second they spot us, the whole table starts whooping and whistling about the newlyweds. A drop of nervous sweat slides down my spine. This is going to be worse than I thought.
Justin, the hockey team’s star center, who’s normally pretty reserved, is the first to jump to his feet, leading a dramatic slow clap as we walk up to the table. “Look who decided to show up. The mister and missus!”