She shakes her head.
"You don't want to come on my cock?"
"Don't even—" She tugs at my t-shirt.
I move forward.
She steps backward.
We dance like that until her ass hits the wall.
She looks up at me, her smile spreads over her cheeks, her eyes hazy with desire. "Okay."
"Okay?"
She nods. "We should christen it."
I push her skirt up her thighs. "Sweetness, I need a lot more than okay." My fingertips brush her skin. Just above her knee. Then higher. Higher.
"Walker…"
"Better."
"Don't tease. Please. I…" She rocks her hips as she looks up at me. "I need you. I need this."
"I need you too." I press my palm against her, over her panties. "I need you so fucking badly."
Her response is a groan.
I rub her over her panties.
"Walker…" She tugs at my t-shirt. Pulls my body into hers.
I pin her with my hips. I grind against her until she's groaning into my mouth.
She pulls my t-shirt over my head.
I suck on her bottom lip. Drag my hand up her thigh. Tug her panties to her knees.
She kicks them off her feet. Breaks our kiss to stare into my eyes. "Fuck me."
My fingers brush her cunt. "Not yet."
"Now."
My cock whines to be inside her. But not yet. Not until she's ready.
I tease her with one finger.
She digs her hands into my hair.
Two.
She pulls me into a long, deep kiss. Her tongue slides around mine. Soft. Then harder.
I push my fingers deeper.
She rocks her hips to meet me.
Deeper.
Her nails dig into my shoulder. "Walker. Please." She nips at my neck. "Please."
Fuck, that sound is music.
That sound is the best thing I've ever heard.
No. Iris coming is the best thing I've ever heard. But this is a close second.
She reaches for my jeans. Undoes the button. The zipper.
I push them—and my boxers—off my hips.
She wraps her hand around my cock. Pumps me with a steady rhythm. "Mmm. Please." Her eyelids press together. "I need you inside me."
My balls tighten. Fuck, the way those words fall off her lips…
"Legs around me." I sling my arms under her thighs, and pin her to the wall.
She stares up at me with every ounce of desire in the world.
My tip strains against her.
Then it's one delicious inch at a time.
"Fuck." My nails dig into her flesh.
Her hands knot in my hair.
She squeezes me tighter.
I pin her harder.
Kiss her deeper.
She holds my head against hers. She kisses me like she's claiming my mouth. She rocks her hips like she's claiming my body.
She doesn't have to. I'm already hers.
And she's already mine.
And now I'm going to wake up next to her every fucking day.
That's fucking everything.
With my next thrust, my last conscious thought slips away.
We stay locked like that, tongues dancing, limbs tangled, hips rocking together, until she's there.
She breaks our kiss to groan my name. She tugs at my hair as she pulses around me.
Fuck, that feels good.
A few more thrusts and I'm there. I groan her name into her neck. I pin her to the wall, thrusting through my orgasm, letting pleasure spill to every finger and toe.
I feel it everywhere. I feel her everywhere.
She sighs as her muscles go slack. "Fuck." She presses her lips to my neck. "I love you."
"I love you too."
Slowly, I untangle our bodies and set her on the ground.
She pulls on her panties.
I don my t-shirt. Return my jeans to their rightful place.
Well, I'd rather never wear these things. I'd rather live naked in our bed.
But there's too much shit I want to do. Too many places I want to see. Too many things I want to teach Iris.
I want the entire world for her.
I want to be by her side, for every single thing life throws at us.
Don’t miss the rest of the story! Find out what happens with brooding tattoo artist Ryan and his feisty best friend Leighton in, Pretending You’re Mine. Turn the page to start reading.
Pretend You’re Mine
Chapter One
Ryan
She cuts through my bullshit with six words. "You need to kiss me now."
My body takes over. My eyelids flutter closed. My fingers dig into her soft hips.
I pull her closer. Let my lips brush hers.
It's soft. Slow. Sweet.
Then it's harder.
She tugs at my hair.
I pin her to the wall.
My head spins.
She wants me.
It makes no sense.
And it makes every lick of sense in the world.
She sighs as she pulls back. "Inside. Now."
I shift my hips to release her.
Her ass brushes my crotch as she presses the door open and steps inside.
I follow. Lock the door behind us.
Her eyes find mine.
They beg for love, trust, satisfaction.
I still don't know shit about the first two.
But I can make her come.
I need to make her come.
Now.
Chapter Two
Ryan
Four Weeks Ago
My keys clink against the plastic table.
It's too quiet today.
Way too fucking quiet.
I tug at my t-shirt. Close my eyes. Let my thoughts drift back to the way this place used to be. The mass-produced paintings on the walls, the carefully arranged photos on the fridge, the decorative pillows on the leather couch.
I should have known shit was gonna end like this the second she brought home one of those pillows.
That was the type of thing we hated. The type of thing we mocked together.
No. I'm not doing this. Not tonight.
Not ever.
She's gone. And I'm going to get over it.
One day.
I toss my bag on the couch—right where that ugly Home, Sweet Home pillow used to rest—then I shuffle through the mail.
Bill. Credit card offer. Rolling Stone.
Thick, square envelope. Handwritten address. Familiar stamped return address.
I peel the envelope open.
It's there, in curvy silver letters.
You are cordially invited to the wedding of Penelope Winters and Francis Hobbs.
My stomach drops.
My throat tightens.
The air gets heavy. Hot. Suffocating.
This isn't fucking happening.
There's no way my ex-girlfriend is getting married in six short weeks.
There's no way she's walking down the aisle with the guy I caught her fucking in our bed.
There's no way she's inviting me to watch this train wreck.
For three days, I shove Penny's wedding to the back of my mind.
I focus on my routine.
I perfect every link of ink. I run. I spar. I cook dinner, for myself or for Leighton. I drown myself in tattoo mock-ups, at my desk, alone, or on my best friend's couch.