Shake It Up (Man of the Month 8)

"Have I mentioned that I love you?" he asked.

"I think I heard something along those lines." She flashed a quick, pained smile. "But feel free to repeat it as often as you want."

With a sigh, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

"Tired?"

She nodded. "And achy." She opened one eye. "I think there's only one place on me that's not bruised--and thank God for that." She shuddered at the thought of Beau touching her sexually. "But I'm in no condition to take advantage of it."

"Oh, I don't know," he said, his tone full of mischief as his fingers went to the tie of the oversized sweatpants she'd put on to travel home from the hospital.

"Landon," she protested. "I can't ... you know ... do anything for you."

He had her half-naked now, and he moved between her thighs, looking both sexy and devious. "That's okay. We have our whole lives for me to collect a rain check. Besides, I really want to taste you. So close your eyes and let me help you relax, baby. I promise, my turn will come."

She really didn't have the strength--or for that matter, the desire--to argue. So she did as he said and closed her eyes, letting herself float as his mouth danced over her skin, and his clever tongue teased and tasted, and lifted her up to the heavens.

He was right, she thought, as the pressure inside her built. As the aches and pains fell away under the rising pleasure. They had their whole lives together to make love.

And as soon as she was well, she intended to get right on that.

Epilogue

The last thing Easton wanted after his unexpected night of debauchery and sin was to be mingling at one of the many charity balls that served a dual function as a political mating ground, hooking up potential candidates with potential endorsements with as much efficiency as a finger swipe on Tinder.

And considering he could barely walk straight today, he wanted to be here even less.

Still, he was his firm's golden boy--the man they were trotting out and endorsing as their candidate, and with the firm's power behind him, it would be a huge red mark against him if he didn't manage to bring in at least three more stellar endorsements in the next few months. Ideally with significant funds behind them.

Which meant that despite the fact that Selma had essentially rode him to the moon and wrung him dry, he was at this party to work.

He drew a breath, straightened his tie, and stepped into the chaos of the ballroom. Immediately, a waitress handed him a glass of bourbon, and he took a sip, impressed by the smooth taste with just enough burn to make it worth drinking. He looked up, intending to ask her what label the whiskey was, but instead he froze. Because there she was on the other side of the ballroom.

In a sea of business suits and conservative dresses, Selma Herrington stood out like a sexy sore thumb. She wore skintight leather black pants paired with a black knit tank top. A red belt accentuated her small waist, and her legs seemed all the longer in her four inch heels. She wore a retro style bullet bra underneath the top, a look that some modern men probably didn't care for, but that he thought was erotic as hell, a fact proven out by the tightening in his balls, both from the sight of her and the memory of how she looked last night in nothing but that bra, stockings, and a garter belt.

Her lips were painted fire engine red and her short, spiky hair was tipped with pink and green.

She looked sexy as hell, wild as a forest fire, and completely out of place.

She was also heading straight for him.

"Hello, lover," she purred as she approached.

"Christ, Selma, keep your voice down."

"I enjoyed last night."

He swallowed. "So did I."

Her smile was smug. "I know."

"Why are you here?"

Her brows rose, but he wasn't sure if she was offended or amused. "That's my whiskey you're drinking." She nodded toward his glass. He should have known, of course. She owned one of Austin's fastest growing distilleries. Which was, in fact, part of the reason they'd been together last night.

"Listen, Selma, I need to mingle. I'm going to be announcing my--"

"Meet me in the ladies' lounge in fifteen."