“Well, I…”
“Ohhh, God,” I wail, holding on to the edges of the bar, white-knuckled, and throwing my head back shamelessly.
He uses his nose to massage my sensitive nub and digs his tongue so deep into me, I see stars. I lose my ability to keep my eyes open somewhere along the way.
“Is everything okay?”
I can practically hear her frown.
“You look like you’re getting sick or something.”
Mal can’t help it. He full-blown laughs into my pussy as he eats me, nibbling on my lips, sucking, tonguing me ruthlessly. He wants me to come on his face and in her face. And I do. I climax hard, spreading my legs apart while my dress is mostly hoisted up and biting my lower lip as I splay my fingers on the bar, my gin and tonic knocked to the floor.
After a few seconds, I open my eyes and bat my eyelashes at Brandy.
“Yeah, I’m good. I had a bit of a…” I clear my throat. “Pulled a muscle or something.”
Brandy takes a final step toward me and peers down, her eyebrows still drawn together in annoyance.
“Mal!” she gasps, clutching her invisible pearls while wearing a dress as short as a napkin.
I tumble away from my husband, watching as he flashes her a completely charming, casual smile and stands up. He is sporting a huge erection through his cargo pants, his lips are swollen and look as if he just ate a glazed doughnut, and his hair is messy and delicious and silky as flower petals.
Right now, he looks so delightful, I know there’s absolutely no way on Earth I will ever give him up.
“Hey, Britney.”
“Brandy.” She exposes her teeth, her cheeks red with fury.
“Right.” He puts his hands on his hips. “How can I help you?”
“Is this a fling or…?” She points her finger between us, narrowing her eyes at Mal.
He exhales sharply, blowing away a lock of his shiny, overgrown hair that has fallen across his bandana, and pretends to think about it.
“Well, I asked her to marry me this morning. Actually, that’s not entirely accurate. I asked her eight years ago, but she said no. This time she said yes. And so, for the past few hours we’ve been legally married, which makes me lean toward serious. What say you, Mrs. Doherty?” He turns to look at me, stroking his chin. “It’s not friendship bracelets, but it’s a step in the right direction, no?”
I offer him a noncommittal shrug. “Looks like I’m going to keep you for now. No offense, Brandy,” I mimic her condescending tone.
I’ve never seen anyone rush out of a room so fast. She looks horrified. I’m half-sad for her. But I’m completely happy for myself, because when Mal scoops me in his arms and lifts me in the air, and we’re both defying gravity and logic and the worlds we’ve built for the past decade.
I swear I don’t even notice when he puts me back down.
I’m floating on a thick, heavenly cloud.
But because I’m still in the dark, bathing in the unknown, a minute from forcing the truth out of him, I know the bubble is going to burst.
A NOTE FROM BRANDY
*Taps mic*
Is this thing on?
Oh. Hi. Brandy here. I guess I should explain myself.
Let me start by saying, the token trashy girl never knows she plays that role, you know?
No one would ever audition for the part, let alone willingly play along.
If you ask me, I had every right to go after the tortured poet. Every time I saw him with the weird silver-haired girl, they either looked like they were about to kill each other, or they actively tried to sabotage each other’s lives in one way or another. How was I to know there was more to them than just two professionals who weren’t getting along?
Oh, and don’t even try me with the whole sleeping-with-my-boss incident.
Yeah, yeah, I sleep with my single, available, generous, rock-star boss. The one with the huge dick and thirty-two million followers on Instagram. Who wouldn’t? He is effing Ashton Richards!
Besides, since when is it wrong to go after a single, hot man? And when the guy looks like Malachy Doherty, it is legit my duty to try to seduce him.
Also, let the record show that I’m not the worst, most dreadful person in the world.
Just ask my sister, Whitney, who works for Ryner.
She hooked me up with this job, and she knows better than to warn me off my gorgeous employer.
Because I might be sleeping with my boss (technically, I don’t, because I was hired by his manager), but she’s the one having a baby with an English banker who apparently has a girlfriend.
A fancy, hot, photographer girlfriend who has no freaking clue he’s been messing around for months behind her back.
The banker doesn’t even like Whit, but does she care? No. Because he’s going to pay her way through the next nineteen years.