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She tasted like hot coffee and fresh pastries. I knew because the taste of her lips still lingered on mine, and every time my tongue flicked out to wet them, I tasted her.
I had no fucking clue why I kissed her. She was so fired up. Her eyes shone brightly as she shouted insults at me, and it was an impulse.
I didn’t want to kiss her.
I needed to kiss her.
I needed to feel those soft lips against mine. I needed to fucking feel if she kissed me as hard as she tore me apart.
I knew one thing: Lani Montana was the only woman who could bring me to my knees.
That’s where I felt like I should have been then. In my bedroom on my knees, trying to wipe the memory of her kiss from my mind. The more I tried, the harder it was. The stronger the taste became on my lips. The stronger the memory of her hands wound in my t-shirt became.
I should have been on my knees, not standing in the shower with my hand wrapped around my cock. It wasn’t nice or easy. It was harsh, fast pumps of my fist around my hard dick as I braced myself with one hand flattened against the tiles. The hot water beat down on the back of my neck and dripped off my body as I got myself off to the thought of Lani Montana on her knees in front of me with her pussy clearly exposed and ready for me. To the thought of me pushing myself inside her wetness and cupping her round tits. To the thought of her ass pressing against my skin as I buried myself inside her. My finger on her clit and rubbing as I fucked her. Her pussy tightening around my cock. My name falling from her lips.
To the thought of fucking owning her. Her and her smart mouth and her aching cunt.
I gripped my cock at its base as my hot cum escaped and fell to the shower floor. Slowly, I pumped, riding out the pleasure, but I felt sick. I felt fucking sick because it was wrong and I shouldn’t have done it.
Shit, she was Lani.
I’d kissed her, and I’d just jacked myself off to the thought of me fucking her with her ass in the air and her face buried in a pillow.
She was right. Everything she’d said earlier was right. I was all those things and more. Fuck, I was disgusted at myself.
“Shit.” I smacked my hand against the wall and leaned forward until my forehead was pressed against it. The stream of water from the shower cascaded down my back and ass onto the floor.
Why the fuck did I have to show her that side of me?
I loved him more than life.
He broke me and he didn't even know it.
I ran from him.
He didn't chase me.
He never needed to, because he knew I'd come back.
He was right.
Death brought me home to him.
Drop dead gorgeous and filthy-mouthed with a smile that turns saints to sinners.
A casanova to his core.
My ex-best friend.
And the bad boy whose reputation precedes him—the same reputation I'm tasked with turning to gold... Or so they think.
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Emma is working on Top Secret projects she will share with her followers and fans at every available opportunity. Naturally, all Top Secret projects involve a dashingly hot guy who likes to forget to wear a shirt, a sprinkling (or several) of hold-onto-your-panties hot scenes, and a whole lotta love.
She likes to be busy - unless busy involves doing the dishes, but that seems to be when all the ideas come to life.
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