Shame on Him

He dips his head and his lips make a trail of kisses up the side of my neck while his fingers slide my underwear to the side. I throw my head back to give him better access to my neck while the pads of his fingers glide through my wetness. My thighs ache with how tightly they’re clutching to his hips, but I don’t care. I want him to keep doing what he’s doing and never move from this spot.

As his mouth makes its way to mine and his fingers work me into a mindless frenzy, I can think of nothing but how good it feels to let go and just feel. His lips find mine and his tongue plunges into my mouth at the same time that his fingers push inside of me.

With one hand holding me up on top of the desk, I move the other hand to the back of his head and hold him in place. His mouth and his tongue move in sync with his fingers between my legs: push and pull, slide and swirl. My hips move against his hand and I forget how to breathe when I feel my orgasm creeping up on me. I’m a mindless ball of need and I have no idea what’s coming out of my mouth as he pushes me closer and closer to the edge with his expert fingers. His thumb circles me and I hear nothing but gibberish escaping my lips as my release explodes out of me. I clutch Dallas’s hair so tightly that I’m afraid I pull a few strands out.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I shout as the best orgasm I’ve ever had washes over me.

Dallas chuckles and brings his lips back to mine. He kisses me softly as I slowly come down from my high and my legs fall limply down from around his waist.

He pulls his hand from between my legs and rests it on the desk. The kiss continues for several minutes until I finally pull away.

“All right, we can still work together. As long as this can continue happening,” Dallas tells me.

I don’t say anything to him as he leans in and kisses me again. He was probably right the first time when he said this was a bad idea, but right now, I don’t care to argue with him.





CHAPTER 14




I can’t breathe in this thing,” I complain, tugging up the front of my dress.

Paige sighs and smacks my hands to stop the tugging. “Quit your bitching. You look hot. Breathing is a luxury.”

Staring at myself in the mirror, I actually have to agree with Paige. The dress she picked out for me to wear to Doug’s wedding is breathtaking. Literally. It’s so tight that I have to take small, short breaths. The dress is strapless with a plunging sweetheart bustline. Another reason why I should avoid breathing—my boobs are practically falling out of this thing already. It’s cream with a black lace overlay and it molds perfectly to my body. The skirt stops a few inches below my butt, so sitting down or attempting to cross my legs might pose a problem as well.

“Kennedy, what do you think?” I ask, turning around to face her. She’s sprawled across my bed on her stomach with her arms hanging down over the edge.

“It’s a dress.”

Paige rolls her eyes and grabs a can of hair spray, adding a few spritzes to my hair. She kept it wavy but pulled it back in a low, loose bun. “Don’t ask her what she thinks. She thinks wearing jeans and a T-shirt is perfectly fine for a proposal.”

Kennedy pushes herself up to her knees. “It IS perfectly acceptable. If I wear something fancy, Griffin will know that I know that he’s going to propose. He can’t know that I know.”

“I have no idea what you just said,” Paige grumbles. “So, how do you think he’ll do it? Maybe put the ring in your dessert? Spell out ‘Will you marry me’ in rose petals on the bed?”

Kennedy scrunches up her face and shakes her head. “Oh, hell no. He better not do any of those things if he knows what’s good for him.”

“Kennedy, this is your engagement to the man of your dreams. Your best friend. The man you should have married instead of that lying, cheating sack of shit you DID marry. It should be huge and romantic,” Paige complains.

“No, it should be small and to the point. I want to be curled up on the couch watching a Notre Dame game and have him hand me a ring along with a plate of salsa and chips.”

It’s Paige’s turn to make a face. “I just don’t understand you sometimes.” She sets the hair spray down and takes one last look at me. “Seriously, I am a genius. You really should have invited Dallas as your plus one.”

Walking over to my closet, I slip into my four-inch black-lace peep-toe Christian Louboutins. “Inviting Dallas to my gay ex-husband’s wedding is not at the top of my to-do list.”

Paige flops down on the bed next to Kennedy. “How many times have you sucked face with him now?”

I laugh uncomfortably. “Um, I don’t know. I stopped counting.”