Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
The best fucking night of my life, in all honesty.
I don’t overanalyze anything.
I don’t question my choices to get us to where we are now.
I don’t feel guilty for the things I did in the past.
And I sure as hell don’t regret the depraved fucking things I did to her panties once I got back to my apartment.
Chapter 18
Whitney
“Wow,” I mutter as I watch the bride and groom slow dance in the center of the room, looking at each other as if none of us surrounding them exists.
What would it be like to have someone look at me like that?
“Disgusting, isn’t it?”
I look over at Wren, ready to bite his head off, but he’s grinning as his friend glides his new wife around the dance floor.
“That love is decades in the making,” he whispers, a longing tone to his voice.
“I’m just glad he’s no longer sitting in his truck refusing to talk to her,” Flynn grumbles, a glass of amber liquid in his hand and a dazzling grin on his handsome face.
It’s been three days since Wren commanded an orgasm from me right in the middle of the hallway. In that moment, same as with the couple smiling at each other across the room, we were the only two that existed. The apocalypse could’ve ravaged the city around us and we wouldn’t have known it until the walls started caving in, and I’m certain if his hands were still touching me, we might not have noticed even then.
But then I didn’t see him. I spent the next seventy-two hours alone. Yeah, we chatted online and played a few games in Orc’s Realm, but our tryst in the hallway wasn’t mentioned. Either he wasn’t very impressed with the sounds he forced from my throat, or he was an expert at building suspense.
When he invited me to this wedding late last night—like a woman didn’t need time to prepare mentally and physically for these things—I wanted to say no.
But then the thoughts of his hands on me, the fingers that have haunted my dreams since he pulled them from my body, made my mind up for me. Could five minutes of him touching me make me this obsessed, this desperate to feel him again?
I know the answer to that question, and it makes my cheeks heat because we’re surrounded by his closest friends and my mind is in the gutter.
“You’re quiet.” I look to Wren, expecting to find a knowing smirk on his face, but he looks uncomfortable at best.
And there’s the guilt I was hoping wouldn’t rear its ugly head.
After getting off the game last night, after accepting the invitation to attend this wedding with him, I got lost in my own head.
It took three days for me to build the courage to ask him about the distance between us, about why he hadn’t initiated a revisit of what happened earlier in the week.
His answer was good enough, and I didn’t feel so left out of the loop when he explained he was busy helping everyone nail down final details of the wedding. I didn’t take him for the type to worry with flowers and decorations, but I don’t know everything about him either.
Then he invited me to come, and I didn’t sense any reluctance until I logged off for the night. By the time I woke up this morning, I’d convinced myself that it was a pity invite. Going by the look of unease on his face, I’m betting I was correct.
“I feel like I bamboozled you.”
The lines between his brows crease, and it would be adorable if my nerves weren’t shattered in tiny pieces.
“You didn’t want to invite me,” I explain, somehow gaining the courage to be truthful with him when I really just want to duck out and hide in my apartment until he forgets he ever met me.
“I did,” he assures me, his hand circling my waist before settling at the small of my back.
I want to lean into his touch. I want to look up at him and find sincerity in his eyes, but the disappointment of knowing I’ll discover irritation keeps my eyes lowered to his chest.
I shake my head, trying to keep those same feelings that popped up when he knocked on my door earlier from rising again. Wren in a t-shirt and distressed jeans was a sight of the sexiest proportions, but the man in a slim-fitting tux with fabric straining against muscles no computer nerd has the right to possess is downright devastating.
“I was afraid you’d say no.” His words are whispered, meant only for my ears, and I try my best not to overanalyze those as well.
I’m on a sinking ship, and I know it. I hate the way I feel right now. I hate the doubts and questions. I hate everything in this moment, including the lovesick couple with hearts in their eyes. And that makes me the biggest dick in the universe.