Page 117 of Fake Shot

She turns slowly so I can see the back, and along the thin strap that runs above her ass cheeks, she’s sewn gold letters that read: COLT. If it was anyone but her—anyone else at all—I don’t think I’d like seeing my name written across someone’s ass. But because it’s Jules, because it’s yet another way she’s marking herself as mine, the caveman deep inside me puffs up his chest.

With my hands on her hips, I lean in and kiss the side of her neck. “This is a whole new way of seeing my name across your back. I kind of love it.”

“I thought you might,” she says, her voice husky as she moves her hands to the hem of her T-shirt and pulls it over her head. Looking down over her shoulder, I can tell that the bra is made up of the sheer fabric from the front of her thong, no hearts or my name anywhere, just nearly transparent fabric shimmering across her breasts and doing nothing to hide the stiff peaks of her nipples.

My thumbs trace the letters across the back of her thong as I kiss my way down the side of her neck and across the ridge of muscles above her collarbone. Then I take the strap of the bra between my teeth and slide it over her shoulder. I’m about to do the same with the other side, but she’s impatient, as she so often is when it comes to sex, and doesn’t want to take it slow.

Reaching up, she pulls both straps down, then says, “You’re wearing entirely too many clothes,” as she hooks her thumbs into the stretchy fabric around her rib cage and slides the bra down over her hips, letting it fall to the floor.

Standing there in nothing but her thong, I wonder ifthere will ever come a day that all the blood in my body doesn’t rush to my dick when I see her naked. Hopefully not.

She steps forward, pushing my suit coat off my shoulders and tossing it onto the bench beneath the window. Then she’s undressing me with her eyes closed because I can’t stop kissing her, can’t take my hands off her, can’t stop touching every part of her until she’s sighing into the kiss, pressing her body forward until we’re skin to skin.

“That’s better,” she says.

“No.Betterwill be when I can taste you,” I tell her as I lift her hips and set her on the countertop of the island in the middle of her closet. “It’s been too long.”

I kneel before her, lifting her knees until they’re over my shoulders, and then I reach out, tracing the red heart to where the pointy end sits right over her clit. My fingers continue down to find her underwear soaked.

“Clearly, I missed you too,” she says. I know she’s perfectly capable of taking care of herself, but the thought of her, here without me for the last two nights, has me determined to provide her with multiple orgasms that will put her vibrator to shame.

Sweeping her thong to the side, I reach out with my tongue, savoring her taste as I lick up every last drop of her arousal. And then I feast, bringing her to orgasm in what has to be record time before I’m flipping her over so she’s bent forward over that island and sliding into her from behind, watching her take me inch by inch.

The pace is fast and hard, how she likes it best, and I enjoy every one of her cries as she chants my name while she comes. And when I carry her back to the bedroom, the sun is already rising. I smile to myself as I settle us in our bed,thinking how lucky I am to hold this woman in my arms every night.

When I envision my future, all I see is Jules. We can live here if that’s what she wants, or in my condo, or somewhere entirely new. I don’t care, as long as it’s with her.

And one day, when she’s ready, she’s going to be my wife. I’ll spend every day reminding her that she’s worthy of a forever kind of love...because that’s exactly what I intend to give her.

Epilogue

COLT & JULES

COLT

Two months later

“Are you nervous?” I ask Jameson as we walk toward the side door that will lead us from this small room out to the altar of the church. I can’t stop my hand from twitching so I shove it in my pocket.

He looks me up and down. “Not as nervous as you, apparently.” His voice is dry but amused. “What has you so fidgety?”

I haven’t told Jameson about my plan yet. Everyone knows we’re headed to Bora Bora for two weeks after the wedding. No one, except Drew, knows we’re headed somewhere else first. And because I want to make sureJules is surprised, I’m going to keep it that way until we get back from our vacation.

“Dude, if I’m feeling like this about seeing Jules walk down that aisle, why aren’t you more nervous to see Lauren?”

“I already saw her.”

“Isn’t it bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?” I ask. I don’t know a ton about weddings, but that seems like one of those superstitions that’s stood the test of time.

“Like I’d go a whole day without seeing her.”

“I knew you were whipped from the minute you asked about that marketing job with the Rebels two seasons ago.” I roll my eyes, remembering when Jameson first started talking about his former colleague who was relocating back to Boston—the way he was always going out of his way to help her, whether it was to set her up with an interview for a new job, or to go watch her kids when she couldn’t get home in time during a snowstorm. He’d claimed that she was just a friend, but even before I met her, I could tell something was different in the way he talked about her.

“You’re one to talk. When’s the last time you were away from Jules for more than eight hours?”

“Not since the semi-finals.” I’m not too proud to admit that I’ve been following her around like a puppy since we were knocked out of the playoffs in a very tough loss in Game 6 of the semi-finals. Professionally, there was nothing I wanted more than to advance to the finals. But getting an extra week or two of the off-season to spend with Jules this summer—that seriously took away any disappointment I was feeling.

She keeps joking that she’s going to get tired of me if I’malways around, but there’s no truth in her words, which she proves over and over as she rushes back to me any time she has to be away, too.

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