Page 65 of Runaway Bride's Guide to Love

Her desperate words hit me square in the chest. I quickly lower the flannel pants I came downstairs in, freeing my aching dick that’s been begging to be freed since the moment I felt Stella’s arms around me.

I start to line myself up at her center when I realize I don’t have a condom down here.

“Fuck,” I groan as my arms fall to the island and I hang my head. “We need to go upstairs.”

I move myself so I can pick her up when her hands grab my forearms. “No. I want you here. Nothing between us.”

My eyes grow wide. “Are you sure? I’m clean, but…”

I don’t know where my sentence was headed, but I don’t need to as Stella shakes her head. “I’m on the pill. And clean.After…before I came here…I got a blood test. My results came back today that I’m clean. I just…I know this is almost over, and I want to feel you. All of you.”

Her words hit me straight in the heart as I crash my lips to hers. My hands reach behind her back as I pick her up and lift her up to bring her closer to the edge of the island. Our mouths stay fused together as I enter her, which is the only reason I don’t wake up the entire Florida Panhandle the second I feel Stella’s warm heat on my cock.

“Fuck, Tiger,” I groan, burying my head into her shoulder as I slowly start working in and out of her. “You feel so fucking good. Too good.”

Her hands reach around to my back, pulling me into her as if I can get any closer. “Make me yours, Emmett. Even if just for tonight. Make me yours.”

There’s no way Stella could’ve known what I’ve been thinking about all night, and I don’t tell her. Instead I do as she asks.

I make her mine. I pretend she’s mine. I fuck her like she’s mine.

Mine.

The single word lights a fire in me as I begin driving into Stella. She’s clutching onto my biceps, her nails leaving marks in my skin. It’s not long before I spill inside of her, her orgasm coming within seconds of mine.

We don’t say anything as we come down from our highs. Or anything as I slip out of her. Or when I take a warm towel to her throbbing pussy. We don’t say a word as we go back to bed.

Instead we slip under the covers, our bodies connecting like magnets. Her head finds my chest and her body wraps around me like if she doesn’t hold onto me I might disappear.

I’m not. At least not for another two days.

Because as long as we’re here, Stella Banks is mine.

guide to love rule #54

You can learn a lot about a man by how he treats you when you’re a passenger princess.

19

stella

“Stella? Wake up, sunshine.”

I slowly blink my eyes open, which is hard because at some point my sunglasses fell off my head and the bright mid-afternoon sun is reflecting straight into my eyes off the windshield of Emmett’s truck.

“Where are we?” I say groggily.

“At a rest stop. We’re just about to cross into Tennessee,” he says as he shuts off the truck. “I didn’t know if you needed to use the restroom or get any snacks. This will probably be the last stop.”

My heart sinks as those words hit me. “Thanks. No to the snacks. I’ll head in and splash some water on my face.”

Emmett leans in and kisses the top of my forehead before exiting out of the truck. I tilt my head back and forth as I walk into the rest stop, trying to get it to crack since I apparently fell asleep in the worst possible position in Emmett’s passenger seat.

I hate that I fell asleep. The whole reason I decided to cancel my flight back to Nashville and ride home with him was to spend our last few hours together. Instead, I passed out somewhere between Birmingham and wherever we are.

Then again, the sleep can’t all be blamed on me. There was anoutlet mall in Alabama I wanted to stop at real quick. Emmett said no, citing that there was no such thing as a quick trip when it came to me and shopping. I begged and even offered a quickie in the cab of his truck in exchange for just three stores. He countered by fingering me in the passenger seat, which not only put on a show for the semi-truck next to us, but also put me into a slumber so I slept as he drove past said outlets.

I really can’t be mad, though. Who needs new shoes when you can have an orgasm on I-65?

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