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“He was my doctor,” I blurt out.
Ay yo?!?!?
Summer: Please don’t do anything stupid while I’m at the staff meeting. I trust you to hold it together for one afternoon. Rhett: Shit, Princess. I don’t know. I might go crazy without you. Summer: For ducks’ sake. Summer: Duck Summer: *Duck Summer: FUCK. Ugh. Why can’t my phone learn that word? I’ll be back around dinnertime. Rhett: Quack.
What I refuse to acknowledge is that the risk of getting caught also brings the chance of attention.
I’d like to make them roll in other ways too, tip back as her lashes flutter down. The view from between her legs would be spectacular, I just know it.
“You making me ride bitch, Princess?”
She was rushing to help me. To be there for me.
She’s relaxed with me, and I get off on that.
She’s clearly pissed, and it seems ungentlemanlike to ogle her while she tries to storm off.
Because I am a gentleman. And I’ll respect her wishes, even when I don’t like them.
This protective streak. And I fucking live for that.
Summer gives so much of herself. Her dad. Her sister. Her stepmom. Everyone she meets. Me. But who the fuck is taking care of Summer?
Two characteristics about her I absolutely admire.
That last sentence is a slap to the face.
Which is why I only almost feel bad about touching Summer Hamilton. There isn’t a single other woman I want to play this game with.
“Wait. So, you didn’t kiss him?”
“Godspeed to the man who tries to tell Willa Grant what to do.”
He was the perfect gentleman, never taking more than I was willing to give.
knowing that I’m poking the bear and not really caring. He could use some poking.
“So, it’s just good moods in general that you have something against?”
A blush creeps over my cheeks, and I drop his gaze when I add, “I’m proud of you.”
With everyone around me screaming his name and cheering for him, someone who’s been theirs for over a decade now, he feels like mine. Because he’s staring at me.
So responsible, I drove a guy I might actually like to that.
I get a real kick out of watching him develop, and I love being there for him even if I wish it were his dad instead of me.
I have to remind myself he’s only twenty-two—and walking around with a constant boner—before I bite his head off.
“Yeah, I do. But she doesn’t. Keep your fucking hat to yourself.”
The scar that she doesn’t bother covering up because she’s so fucking strong. So brave.
Dad: Okay. You’re defensive too. Got it. Summer: I’m not being defensive. I’m just pointing something out. Dad: Defensively.
“Having you think I’m out fucking everything that moves when I’ve looked at nothing and no one since the first day I laid eyes on you. I stepped into that godforsaken boardroom, and you practically demanded I become obsessed with you.”
“Good girl. You wish that was my cum, don’t you?”
neck. “Now, tell me honestly, Summer. If this were your last moment on earth, what would you want me to do?”
“Good. I’m about fucking done being a gentleman with you. And the only thing I’m ruining you for is anyone else.”
She’d told me to ruin her. The only thing I’m going to ruin her for is any other man. I’m going to give her a night she’ll never get over. A night that will keep her coming back for more.
I don’t know what this is between Summer and me, but I want to worship at her throne. I want to give her the best of everything. The best of me.
I kiss just beside her mouth.
Fuck. It’s a prayer. It’s a plea. It’s my goddamn undoing. I kiss her cheek.
“I thought I got off on hearing fans scream my name ...
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I kiss her ...
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“Hearing you moan it is so much more satisfying.” I kiss the spot just below her ear, and she squirms against me.
The girl who is usually so put together and well-spoken is a puddle, all because of my beard.
And I get off on it. I get off on being the first man to give her beard burn. Her neck isn’t safe tonight, neither are her inner thighs.
And I love this look on her.
I groan and shut my eyes at the fucking wet dream before me.
Even the scar down the center of her chest suits her. A battle scar. A testament to how hard she’s fought. How fucking strong she is.
sounding almost embarrassed. And, well, that’s just not going to do. She needs to know how wild this makes me.
Doctor Douche really is the fucking worst.
“Head between these pretty little thighs, your pussy on my tongue.” I hold her wide open, drop my head, and get to work.
His tongue. His. Tongue. His goddamn tongue.
Kip: I was worried she might have killed you. Just looking out for you, son. Rhett: She almost did.
One more championship and maybe I’ll take my gold buckle and hang up my hat. Preferably on Summer Hamilton’s head.
Kip: Of course I’m not fired. That asshole is stuck with me.
