Only One Love (Only One 7)

"Nah." I lean forward and rub my nose with hers. I’m so close I could just lean in and taste her lips, but the next time I kiss her, she’ll be the one begging me for it. "I don’t think I can ever get the memory of your pussy out of my head." I can see her holding her breath while my heart hammers in my chest. I look into her eyes so she can see that I remember. "I definitely remember what you taste like."

Chapter 9

Frances

"I don’t think I can ever get the memory of your pussy out of my head." I hold my breath, trying to get the hammering in my heart to slow before he sees it coming out of my chest. He looks me in the eye, and I can see that same look he had that night. "I definitely remember what you taste like." All the words come to my head, except nothing comes out of my mouth. Not a single sound escapes me. "I remember what you taste like." He rubs his nose on mine again, and I want to arch my back and lunge for his lips. "I remember that noise you make right before you come." His words hypnotize me. "What I wouldn’t do to make you come right now." My hand itches to come up and hold his hips and pull them to me while I hike my leg over his hip.

I’m about to say something to him when the walkie-talkie goes off, and we hear static. "We can’t find Wilson," Catherine says, and I just look at him.

"Seems there is a search party looking for you," I say, grabbing the walkie-talkie from my back pocket.

"I have him," I confirm. "He was a runner, but I caught him. He’s in the little boys' room." I smirk at that comment. "I’ll bring him right over." I clip the walkie-talkie back on my pocket.

"I’ve never seen you as a liar," he says, stepping away from me, and I want him to come back to me.

"Excuse me?" I ask him, confused.

"You said I was in the little boys' room.” He starts to joke. "We both know it’s not little. I believe …” He tilts his head to the side and puts his finger on his chin, looking up. "Someone said it’s the biggest they ever had."

I roll my eyes. "I was just trying not to make you feel bad." I’m lying, bald-face lying straight to him. He was the biggest I’ve ever had, but no one but me needed to know this.

"You’re lying." He points at me. "I can tell from your eyes. When you try to lie, one eye is a bit darker than the other." I try not to show how shocked I am that he noticed that. The only ones who know this are my mother and sister.

"Whatever," I mumble like a child because there is nothing else I can say.

"I’m so full." He throws my words at me again. "I’m going to feel you for days."

"I was drunk." I try to pass it off as me being drunk, trying not to let him see he’s getting to me. "And delusional."

He claps his hands together, and his whole body shakes with his laughter. "Good one." He points at me, and I grab the door handle to open the door. I hold the handle, looking back at him.

"We need to get you on the set." I ignore the way he stands there with his hands in his pockets. His pants fit him perfectly, no doubt custom-made. The white dress shirt he is wearing, the first two buttons are undone, and his sleeves are rolled up so you can see his forearms. The same forearm I held when he finger-fucked me in the shower. I shake my head to get the memories to go away.

"Yes, let’s get me to set," he says, his voice smooth as he walks to the open door. "However." He stops in front of me. "This conversation isn’t done."

I cock my hip now. "What do you want to do? Sit down and go over it play-by-play?" I ask.

"It’s better if it’s a reenactment," he says and walks out of the room. This time, I’m the one left with my mouth hanging open. He looks back now. "You coming?" he says, and my eyes go big. "To the set, I mean."

I walk out of the room toward the set. The two cameras face the stage with two chairs on it and a table between with a bottle of water on each end for them. "Bill," I say to the host we hired for the show. He has been a sports reporter for the past twenty years, so he knows the drill. He was my first pick, and he jumped at the chance to do this when I called him. "Brad Wilson," I say. "Mr. Wilson, this is Bill …"