Falling for the Groomsman (Wedding Dare, #1)(20)
And she panicked.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. She’d known she couldn’t be with him, but she’d completely ignored that in the interest of getting an orgasm. In all fairness, it had been an incredible orgasm, but still. She couldn’t do this with him again.
When his pants dropped to the floor at his feet, she swallowed the moan that tried to escape. His erection strained against his boxers, showing his cock off to perfection, demanding to be touched. And God, she wanted to touch so freaking badly. He grabbed his shirt and hauled it over his head, his six-pack flexing with every single motion. His skin was flawless, as was his physique. Hot damn, he was perfect.
She could have him, if she let herself forget…
He reached for the boxers, ready to yank them down. Even though she wanted to see what lay beneath, she knew if she did…she would never be the same again. She shook her head and slapped herself back into reality. She yanked her dress back over her thighs, straightened her panties, and stumbled to her feet.
Thank God she hadn’t gotten naked.
He froze with his hands on his boxers, his hot eyes watching her every move. “What are you doing?”
Even though she didn’t even want to leave, she lifted her chin and edged toward the door. Once she had her hand on the knob, she turned it. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”
“Christine…”
“No.” She opened the door. “This isn’t happening again.”
He followed her. “Don’t—”
She slammed the door in his face and took off running, not letting herself look back or stumble. Jeez, she’d just been thoroughly pleased, and he hadn’t removed anything except her pantyhose. The fact that he was able to make her feel more incredible than any other man ever had when given a compass and a map was just ludicrous.
Even now, after having just left his side, she wanted to go back and crawl all over him. Sheer lunacy. What would it take to break his hold over her? Would she ever get over this incessant infatuation with Tyler Dresco?
Or would he forever haunt her?
Chapter Eight
The next morning, Tyler groaned and closed his eyes tight. Christine knelt at his feet, her glorious red hair brushing against his bare thighs. She rolled her tongue over his cock, moaning low in her throat. Fucking magical. “Don’t stop,” he moaned. “Harder.”
She pulled back, and he squeezed his eyes tighter. No, she couldn’t leave him again. Not now. Not when he needed her so damn much. If she ever tried to pull a stunt like that again…f*ck, he’d go insane.
Maybe he already had.
He squeezed his eyes shut even more, turning off his thoughts. In his imagination, Christine’s hands worked over his cock, closing over the head and squeezing with the perfect amount of pressure. Pretending his hand was hers, he tugged on his shaft even harder, his breath escaping his lips in a whoosh.
In his mind, she closed her delicious lips over him, looking up at him with those blue eyes of hers, taking him in so deep he couldn’t breathe. Looking up at him as if he was the best thing on this f*cking earth since peanut butter met jelly. He grunted and arched his hips higher, pumping into his hand. His balls drew closer to his body, tightening painfully, and he knew he was close.
He moved his hand faster, picturing Christine bent between his knees with her bare ass in the air. God, she was f*cking gorgeous like that. In his mind, he cupped her perfect little ass and smacked it gently. She cried out, pressing closer and begging for more. Begging for him and only him.
With a tortured groan, he came with an explosive pleasure even he couldn’t believe had come from a fantasy. All from a dream that wasn’t real. He collapsed against the pillow, holding his other arm over his eyes to hide from the sunlight for another minute or two at the very least.
He’d spent the whole night tossing and turning with a raging hard-on. After waking up with his erection even more painfully obvious than when he’d fallen asleep, he’d finally decided he needed to take care of it himself. But he had a feeling even that hadn’t helped. If anything, it had made the discomfort worse.
He needed Christine, damn it.
He yawned, checked the time, and then cleaned himself off from his solo session. Damn it, he still felt like he hadn’t even closed his eyes at all. Of course, it wasn’t every night he got left high and dry by a certain investigative journalist who would probably ask him how he felt when she’d left, taking notes in her little notebook as she nodded her head.
And he’d tell her.
He felt f*cking lousy.
A part of him had to wonder if this had all been planned on her part. If she’d deliberately set out to seduce him, get him all hot and horny, and then walk away. But he couldn’t believe she could be so cruel and calculated. Not his Christine. He didn’t think she could fake the panic he’d seen in her eyes as she clung to the doorknob.
She’d looked as if she was about to cry, scream, or both.
He kicked off the covers and then padded barefoot into the bathroom to turn the shower on. He was still hard as a rock. His body wasn’t satisfied with the half-assed replacement of his hand—and neither was he. But he was ready to face the day again, and he had a lot to figure out.
He’d hurt Christine, and he owed her a hell of a lot of ass-kissing to make up for it. But he wasn’t walking away. Not this time. Hearing what he already knew, how much he affected her, had hurt him more than he expected. But she wanted him anyway. There was no denying that. Nothing would stop him from winning her over now.