Page 1 of Bridesmaid Undercover
Prologue
HARDY
My penis feels phenomenal.
Like it’s floating on a puffy white cloud being blown around by whispers of “you had sex” last night.
Not just any kind of sex, but mind-altering sex.
Sex that made me see stars.
As if my head was stuck in an erotic wormhole where luminous spheroids were glittering all around me.
To keep it simple for you…I am not the same man that I was before last night.
A new standard has been set, an impossible standard, and there’s only one person to blame…well, not blame, but celebrate.
Fucking Everly Plum.
Not to be corny, but she took my breath away last night.
Stole it.
Made me believe that I’d actually died of asphyxiation and risen to orgasmic heaven.
And before you say I’m being a bit overdramatic about a night of sex, I swear on my left nut that I’ve never felt this way before.
Ever.
Also, and this is very, very important…I never saw this dark mistress of the night coming.
A total wild card.
A loop that was thrown my way and I took it.
Sure, yes, we’re friends.
And, of course, I’ve always thought she was beautiful.
But did I think when looking at her, “Oh hey, there’s coupling in our future”?
Never.
But hell, just look at her peacefully sleeping, her nearly pitch-black hair strewn across the white of her pillow, creating a stark contrast of innocence and sin. Beard burn mars the soft, silky skin on her cheeks, neck, and chest. Yeah, I was feral over the feel of her beneath me. And those lips, which drove me absolutely insane last night, are puffy, pink, and swollen.
I can see myself all over her.
I can recall the feel of her hands caressing my back, her nails digging into my skin.
I can smell her sweet perfume surrounding us like an erotic cloud of mischief.
And if I hold my breath, I can faintly still hear the way she gasped when I entered her.
Fuck…I can still feel it…
I drag my hands over my face as I roll to my back, very unfamiliar with my surroundings, but feeling comfortable at the same time. I prop myself up on my elbows and glance around her studio apartment. It’s tiny compared to the farmhouse I have outside of San Francisco and my apartment here in town. Pretty sure the primary bedroom in my farmhouse is bigger than herstudio. But whereas my place feels starkly decorated by someone I paid, Everly’s apartment is full of warmth and character.
Velvet curtains drape the exposed brick wall that offers a rather large window and view of the bay. Gold-framed black and white pictures hang around her apartment, while an impressive ficus soaks up the sun from the corner of her apartment. Across from the bedroom space, she’s created a dining nook right next to the kitchen with a wood table that is flawed with imperfections but decorated with a smooth, matte black vase. Her apartment is a combination of old world and modern functionality, something I didn’t get to appreciate last night as I was pushing her up against the door and mauling her mouth.
