Page 64 of Resist

She throws her head back, and something falls to the floor with a crash that drives me harder to get her where she needs to be.

The door behind me is thrown open.

My beautiful, blushing bride gasps. “Michael.”

“Uh. I... Uh... I heard a bang.”

Lying bastard. The old pervert probably wanted visual confirmation of copulation so he could write on the paperwork that our relationship is legit. I’m surprised he didn’t ask to stand over our bed tonight to make sure we consummate the marriage.

I manage to look up at Corabelle through my sweat-blurred eyes. She raises her brows. “I’m kind of busy here.” She points at me.

“Uh. Of course. Uh. I. Uh. I’ll leave you to it.”

I pause, grunt, and look over my shoulder so he sees my face is soaked with my fake wife’s arousal. “Stop looking at my wife’s fucking pussy, Michael.”

The door snaps closed behind me, and Corabelle glides her fingers through my hair, guiding me back to her pussy. “Eat.”

If there’s a single bone in my body that wants to argue, I can’t feel it. And right now, what I want more than anything in the whole world, is to make this supernatural being detonate.

It takes another few minutes but the tell-tale tensing of her body, the twitching of her inner walls, and the whimpers that slip from her mouth make me push harder as her salty-sweet arousal trickles down my chin.

She comes on a grunt that’s followed by a soft sigh. “I needed that.”

I don’t tell her I know, or that I told her so, I simply hum and appreciate the small pool of cum on the floor between her legs. “Let me clean that up.” As I reach for a roll of tissue paper from one of the shelves the door opens behind me once again. “Fuck off, Michael. I’m not finished pleasuring my wife.”

“Whoa.” Thor’s amused voice echoes around the small space. “They’re almost ready to serve dinner. I figured I gave you enough time topleasure your wife.”

The aching bulge pressing against my wedding tux pants begs to differ, but my bride’s face has more color in it, her mouth is relaxed and not pulled into a flat line with tension lines emanating from her lips, and her shoulders aren’t stuck up around her ears.

I did what I came to do. If I have to fist my dick in the bathroom between courses, so my fake wife can relax and enjoy her meal and a party with our friends, then so be it. That son of a bitch Michael isn’t going to ruin this for her.

Fake or not, she deserves to have a good time.

“Thank you, Sterling.” She smiles down at me beforerunning her tongue over her bottom lip. “We’ll find some more time before the tenets kick in so I can return the favor.”

Thor snorts from the door. “Tenets my fucking ass.” By the time I push to my feet and turn around, he’s gone. I hold my hand out to my fake wife and flash her a grin. “You ready to rejoin the party?”

CHAPTER 22

Cora

If this was a real wedding,I wouldn’t hate it. It’s not too over the top, it’s simplistic, chic, gorgeous, and my fake husband already ate me out in a storage closet. As “best days of your life” go, this one’s certainly up there.

The man in question’s standing to my right. He’s talking to his friends, an easy smile on his face, his bow tie still fixed in place because the night is still young.

We’ve done pictures, we’ve done speeches and dinner, and any second now, someone’s going to appear with a giant knife and tell me it’s time to cut the cake.

Dread swirls in my stomach with the half glass of champagne I managed to drink with my dinner. The food wasn’t bad either, once the hotel got its shit together. The chicken was flavorful and moist, the potatoes were cheesy, and the vegetables had just enough crunch and flavor to be delicious, for vegetables, anyway.

There is a list of things I’ve been dreading today, our kiss, cutting the cake, and our first dance. Essentially anything that demands for me to be close to Sterling.

Don’t get me wrong, he smells delicious, like a summerday with hints of mint, but that’s the problem. He’s so into this, so relaxed and at ease at our supposed-to-be very fake wedding that in some moments when I catch him with his head thrown back in an honest to god belly laugh, I start to wonder what a future could look like where this wasn’t pretend.

Alarm bells ring in my head. This isn’t about love, or long term. It’s about a two year contract with a nice man who doesn’t mind putting a pin in his own life in favor of helping a damsel in distress with hers.

Ugh.

Damsel in distress.

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