Page 2 of Bridesmaid for Hire
And it wasn’t just some kissing.
Ohhhh no, there was groping.
Huffing.
Grunting.
Smacking lips.
He felt my boob.
I touched his erection.
Cupped it, actually.
Sometimes I can still feel him in the palm of my hand.There was girth, damn it.
It’s infuriating. But what’s more infuriating than the imprint of Brody McFadden’s large wiener on my hand is the fact that he gave me the best and most passionate kiss I’d ever experienced in my twenty-three years of life.
All the practice he had in college turned him into the Master of Mouths.
The Conqueror of Caresses.
The Sultan of Salacious Tongues!
I felt that kiss all the way to my champagne-painted toes that night.
He owned me with his mouth, dragging me into a vortex of his carnal hotbed.
I was useless.
Played like a fiddle by his large hands and his masterful lip-locking.
Pressed up against a wall, living out every romantic heart’s fantasy as the most attractive, tuxedo-clad man in the room devoured me with one simple slip of his lips over mine. It was a dream.
A fantasy turned reality.
And right as he cupped my breast over the burgundy chiffon of my dress, he lightly pinched my nipple, releasing the most feral sound I’ve ever produced.
The moan sounded like angels above to me, but to him…but to him…it apparently acted like a wet blanket, suffocating his monstrous erection and turning it into a shriveled-up bean pod.
He pulled away so fast that a string of saliva dangled between us before hitting me in the chin.
And then I’ll never…ever…forget this part. It was utterly humiliating.
Degrading.
Flat-out freaking rude.
Looking me square in the eyes, my hazel to his deep brown, he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth,uh yeah…wiped it off in front of me—as if disposing of the layer of lust we created to avoid catching infection.What did he expect? Cholera?
Then without a word, just a snarl on his lips, he turned away and bolted, leaving me aroused, confused, and sexually annoyed…at my brother’s wedding.
Yup, let’s hear it. Go ahead, let in the boos.
Send your curses in his direction.
Any hate mail can be addressed to Brody McFadden, 233 Locked- Lipped Loser Lane.
