“Not even a little. I’d say you’re the scared one, since we both know you weren’t planning on getting anywhere near my bed. Don’t pick a fight. And don’t slam the—”

She slammed the door before he could finish and stalked toward the house. He waited while she disappeared down the steps. After a moment, he heard another slam, signifying she was safely inside.

He pulled away from the curb and started driving, not really sure where he was going, only sure he couldn’t park the truck and head inside knowing Roxy was one unreinforced interior door away. Follow through, in this case, meant keeping his distance until the rest of him got as strong and Roxy-proof as his better judgment. However long that took. He drove toward the river that bounded Bluelick’s eastern border.

The truck smelled like her—honeysuckle, cinnamon, and forbidden fruit. He could drive a thousand miles and never escape the potent blend. Instead, he took the narrow street leading up Overlook Road, past the occasional glowing window from one of the houses lining the winding route. The paved road transitioned to gravel and then a pitted dirt trail on the last part of the uphill climb, giving the tires, shocks, and his spine a workout as he bounced to the flat outcrop at the summit. He killed the engine. Silence reigned as he stepped out into the night. Then a symphony of insects resumed the nightly concert his arrival had interrupted.

He hauled himself over the tailgate and lay down in the bed of his truck. Stars riddled the sky overhead. The same stars he’d seen from the roof of the shitty Baltimore row house where he’d grown up, and the deck of a destroyer, and Times Square one freezing New Year’s Eve. He found the constancy reassuring. The constancy of his neglected hard-on? Not so much. He folded an arm behind his head and uncrossed his ankles, trying to get comfortable. Something small and wispy flew close to his face. He swatted it away, paused, and then brought his hand to his nose and inhaled. Roxy.

His cock responded like a beast scenting prey. Hunger flowed through his blood, into his groin, his balls. His stomach tightened. Giving in, he slid his fingers into his mouth. Her taste teased his tongue, faint but intoxicating.

He’d had her ready and willing. He could have spent all night with his mouth between her legs. Could have savored her orgasm as it ripened and burst over his tongue. But no, he’d put on the brakes and taken the high road. Where was his reward?

The stars didn’t answer, but his dick pounded with a forceful suggestion. Christ, she was turning him into some kind of deviant. He jerked his fly open, licked his palm, and fisted his Roxy-drenched fingers around his dumb-as-dirt dick that didn’t know when to quit. The stars blurred as he started the classic rub and tug. He let his eyelids drop and his fantasies run wild.

Enjoy it. This is the closest you’ll ever come to fucking her.

…

Roxy stood to the side of the crowded banquet room, resting her tray of cleared dishes on her shoulder, watching the increasingly antsy reception guests. Toasts had been made. Dinner completed. The room hummed louder as people filled an unplanned gap in the timeline with conversation and what was starting to resemble a second cocktail hour. Time to introduce the first dance and get the party started, but in the space by the dance floor where a DJ should have been set up, the bride, groom, and Mrs. Whelan, the event manager, stood speaking rapidly. Not a happy conversation judging by the way the bride’s impressive chest began to heave. Lou Ann Doubletree might have traded her last name for Tillman today, but her “Double D” nickname would stick for the rest of her life.

Lou Ann shook her head, flung her arms wide, and then stormed off toward the ladies’ lounge in a white cloud of flounced satin. Mrs. Whelan patted Junior’s shoulder and offered an apologetic look before following after his bride. Junior’s groomsmen surrounded him, and more conversation ensued. Roxy lingered by the wall a moment longer because a group of handsome men in tuxedos warranted an extended stare in her book, but when a tall, all-too-familiar figure in a dark suit joined them, she dragged her attention away and hustled to the kitchen.

After the sting of West’s rejection Wednesday night, not to mention the painful case of lady blueballs he’d left her with, she’d given him a wide berth. Unsurprisingly, he’d done the same, except when he’d knocked on his floor around one this morning, interrupted her insomnia-powered songwriting session, and growled, “Get some rest, Roxy.” Otherwise, between the two of them, they’d managed to steer clear of each other for the last three days. No small feat in a town the size of Bluelick, especially considering they slept under the same roof. That level of avoidance took cooperation. They’d finally bonded over a mutual desire not to clap eyes on each other. Hello, irony.

When she’d agreed to work the reception, she hadn’t given any thought to the likelihood of West being on the guest list, but the festivities took up a big, busy banquet room, and he wa

sn’t seated in her section, so their unspoken pact continued. True, she’d caught herself sneaking glances toward his table once or twice, but she’d lassoed her roving gaze every time. Maybe he’d attended solo, or maybe he’d brought a date. Either way, it was none of her business. He could see whomever he pleased. Bang the cocktail waitress like a kick-drum for all she cared.

Mrs. Whelan cruised in, cursing under her breath.

“What’s wrong?” She continued unloading dishes from her tray as she spoke.

“I’m going to kill Kenny.”

Now she paused. “Uh-oh. What’d he do?”

“He agreed to DJ the reception, but his car quit on the way back from God knows where with Dobie, and he’s telling me it will be at least an hour until he arrives.”

“Oops.”

“An hour!” She looked heavenward. “I’m covering the cost of the host bar during the delay, and you can bet your ass I’m taking that out of Kenny’s fee, but half the attendees are going to be in the bag by the time Lou Ann and Junior have their first dance. I include Junior in that half.”

“Maybe now’s a good time for coffee and cake?”

The older woman sighed and shook her head. “I tried to talk Lou Ann into going ahead and cutting the cake just to keep things moving, but she refused on the grounds people will leave once the cake is served.”

“Hmm. I guess she’s got a point.”

“I know she does, but she’s not going to like how the rest of the reception plays out if we don’t give people something to do besides sit around drinking.”

“If I had my guitar, I could play them a first dance. Maybe draw things out and take a few requests.”

Kenny’s mom blinked at her. “Are you serious?”

“I don’t know what song they chose, but I have a pretty good ear. As long as I’m familiar with the tune, I can jam it out.”

“How long would it take you to drive home and get your guitar?”

Tags: Samanthe Beck Private Pleasures Erotic
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