Page 31 of The Best Man
And there it is. I shoot a knowing glance in Molly’s direction, indicating that I’m not the only caveman at the table.
I’ve got to handle this carefully. I don’t want to spook Molly, or come on too strong. On the other hand, these guys—her friends—need to know that I’m not just dicking around.
“I’m staying for awhile, at least until Elaine gets through these next few weeks. So, Molly’s stuck with me for a bit.” I place my hand on the table, right next to hers, and to my surprise, she covers my left hand with her right.
And that’s all it takes. Her boys are satisfied, at least for now, though I have no doubt I’ll get a litany of questions or a brotherly lecture if I should see them when Molly’s not around.
Our conversation veers easily to other topics. We update them on Elaine and they tell us that Betsy and Duncan are visiting his family in Pittsburgh this weekend.
Nick tells us about a few crazy clients he’s had at the tattoo shop this week, and he and Molly catch up for a bit.
I ask Gav about local gyms and that seems to be his love language, so he opens up and gives me a few good leads. He also tells me about some trails he likes, and I agree to meet him for a run next week.
The band starts up, and I have to admit, they’re really good. Not necessarily my style, I’m more classic rock than indie, but it’s good stuff, and I don’t complain when Molly drags me out to dance a little and get a closer look.
By this time, I’ve rolled up my sleeves and loosened my collar, and I’m totally on board for a t-shirt and jeans shopping spree with Molly. It’s fucking hot in here.
We dance, and though it’s hardly the place to show off my ballroom moves, the fact that I have a sense of rhythm seems to impress her.
The band segues into a slower tune, and I pull Molly closer, her back to my front. Wrapping my arms around her, I keep us steady as we sway to the music. I guess we’d appear odd to anyone looking on, positioned the way we are, but I can’t spare a moment to care about that. I’m enveloped in the sensations around me—the scent of her perfume, the tilt of her hips, the warmth of her skin. I haven’t been this close to her for two months—and even then, it was short-lived. So I savor every detail—the skip of her pulse as I gently bite the tender flesh of her neck, the gasp that escapes when she rocks back into me, cradling the bulge in my pants against her full, ripe ass.
Just when I’ve had as much as I can take, Molly turns in my arms, tilts her head up, and presses her lips to mine. That’s all the invitation I need, but I’m a grown-ass man and I’ve gotten used to creature comforts like beds and pillows and sheets.
Unable to resist, I deepen the kiss and pull her closer. Christ, I’m hard as a rock, and we need to get out of here.
Molly steps back, reaches up to trace a finger along my jawline, and says, “Come with me.”
If she knows a fast way out of here, I’m all for it.
“Lemme guess. You’re a bar-bathroom-sex virgin?” I ask.
He stares at me, probably for a variety of reasons. The first of which is that we’re standing in a single-use restroom in the basement of Mahady’s bar. I’m pretty sure he thought we were leaving, but I can’t wait. I can’t even think of the second because he pins me to the wall, stretching my arms over my head and leaning in close. “Not for long.”
His kiss envelops me, and I totally surrender to it. There is something heady and delicious about succumbing to his touch, and I’m not a woman who gives up control easily. But with Ev, it’s as though I have no choice. I’ve been fighting this pull for too long, and I won’t do it anymore. The pleasure he promises is so addicting, so fulfilling, that I willingly release my hold and give in to the physical escape he offers.
“Damn Molly.” His hand grips my hip to draw us closer together, his thick length rocking against my core. “You’re driving me insane. You know that, right? I walk around half-hard just thinking about you. And when I get near you? I’m about to lose my fucking mind.”
“Really?” I ask, trying like hell for saucy, but likely reaching desperate and wanton.
He answers with a punishing, satisfying bite just where my neck and shoulders meet. No boatneck tops for me this week. I whimper in response to his touch, hoping he’ll do it again, only harder this time.
“Yes, really. God, my need for you is so fucking real.” He punctuates each word with kisses that trail down my collarbone and end right at the apex of my cleavage.
Unable to resist, I stretch out my arms and drape them around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer.
He stills at that, his voice deep and gravelly. “Put your arms back up, baby.”
“And if I don’t?” I sass.
“I’m gonna spank that gorgeous ass.”
All teasing comments die on my lips. I can do nothing but moan into his kiss, that action, my silent but unequivocal acquiescence.
His hands follow the curve of my waist and glide over my hips, stopping at the hem of my dress. His eyes look to mine for permission, which I gladly give. He inches the fabric up slowly, enjoying every second of torturing me. Fabric gathers at my waist, as he slides his hand between my thighs. As much as I’ve denied it or downplayed it, I’ve been dying to get to this moment. I’ve been dreaming of the feeling of his fingers on my flesh. Parting my legs, I press my back into the hard, cool tile, tilting my hips up a fraction to give him access.
His thumbs hook into the lace of my panties, grazing my center and causing me to cry out. “Holy hell. I need you to touch me.”
At that very second, I hear the door handle rattle. “And I need you guys to hurry the hell up in there. Christ! I gotta piss!”
