Page 61 of Rory Rides Her Fake Fiancé
Underneath my palm, Morgan’s rock hard. The moment he placed my hand there I felt like I lit on fire. The one-eighty from his inspection of my teeth gave me whiplash, but the best kind.
I slide my hand up to his waistband and tug. Morgan closes the tiny space between us and leans into me, his mouth firmly against mine, his kiss getting harder as his erection presses into me. My back hits the door and I tilt my hips to meet his.
He moves, running kisses down my jaw to the pulse point under my ear, and I sigh and shift against him. My fingers graze the edge of his jeans to the back where I can pull him closer—as if we could get closer—and I barely notice when somewhere nearby a car door slams shut.
“Morgan—”
His mouth is on mine again, this time it’s forceful and he’s asking me to let him in and I do. Morgan gives me these sweeping, open kisses, our tongues just barely teasing each other with every dip, and my heart’s beating so loudly I think I can hear it in my ears instead of inside my chest.
Wait, those are footsteps.
The moment I realize it there’s a crash on the other side of the door. I feel it in my bones in an instant, and then I’m pulled away, Morgan spinning me to put his body between mine and the door. Princess barks madly and rushes to the front window, growling.
This time I don’t mistake the footsteps running away for my own heartbeat, and Morgan throws the door open.
“Pervert!” someone shouts, and then a truck—big, black, and shiny—peels away from the curb.
We both watch Morgan’s brother drive down the street.
“What the fuck?” Morgan shouts as the truck squeals around the corner.
He stands amid a mess, the porch littered with gleaming plastic and bulky shapes. The porch light isn’t on, so I retreat into the house and flip the switch.
“What the actual fuck?” Morgan says again, this time looking down. I follow his gaze.
There are sex toys on the porch. Lots of sex toys. They are all in plastic packages, and there’s all kinds of them. I spy a Rabbit, a butt plug, the glint of metal nipple clamps . . .
Morgan starts laughing with an edge of hysteria and bewilderment. “What the fuck?” he repeats. “It rained sex toys on my porch.”
There’s also a large cardboard box slumped on its side against the front of the house. I step carefully over to it and pick it up. The bottom’s busted out, and the packing tape at the top has been sliced open.
There’s a label with Morgan’s address on it, written out to Morgan Law and Rory Fox.
“Someone mailed us this.”
Morgan turns and runs a hand through his hair. “Seriously?” He takes a step toward me and leans down to read the address. He looks back down at the X-rated debris around us. “Who is it from?”
The only return address is the local UPS store, and I turn the cardboard around looking for clues. On the side of the box is a brand name that I recognize. Even if I didn’t, the sketch of the coffee machine on the side would give it away.
“This box,” I say, holding the drawing up to him. “This is from a very expensive coffee machine.”
“More expensive than the five dollars I paid for the coffee machine I bought you?” His lips curl into a half smile.
“More expensive than the five-hundred-dollar coffee machine I bought myself.”
Morgan’s eyebrows shoot up.
“This is a fifteen-hundred-dollar espresso machine. Someone has expensive taste.”
“Expensive taste in coffee,” he says, looking around again. “And a lewd mind. Let’s gather this stuff up.”
I fix the box as best I can and hold the bottom while Morgan scoops up the toys and deposits them back inside. Once we’re done, he opens the door for me. “Let’s take it in the kitchen.”
Princess bounds up to me, sniffing loudly at the box. Morgan picks up his phone off the coffee table and types something in before following me.
I set the box on the counter and we peer in together. Each toy is still in its plastic packaging; sometimes there’s even price tags.
“This is . . . quite the collection,” he says. Our gazes meet and we both burst into laughter.
