Page 48 of If You Claim Me
Unfortunately, my body is starting to react to her closeness in highly inconvenient ways. If I don’t get some space soon, she’ll be made aware. “Looking at you is quite the challenge.”
Her smile falters. “Dick of the Millennium award is coming your way.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what?—”
“Everything okay up there, you two?” the photographer calls.
“Everything’s fantastic!” Mildred lies. “My fiancé isn’t used to being photographed out of his hockey equipment.”
The photographer laughs. “Why don’t you kiss your husband-to-be?”
“I don’t—” I start to object.
“You didn’t have a problem kissing me in front of your family at our engagement party, but three people you don’t know is a problem?” Mildred mutters through a fake smile.
“Meems is watching.”
“Meems was at the engagement party,” Mildred argues.
“Everyone is watching us.” And we’re arguing. About kissing.
“Well, give them something to watch, Connor,” she challenges.
My gaze drops to her pretty, full lips.
She drags her pink tongue across them, arching a brow in challenge. “Better make it good.”
My dick gets irritatingly excited about her sass and the prospect of tasting her mouth again. I tuck a finger under her chin and dip down, bracing for the onslaught of sensation.
The camera goes off in rapid-fire succession as I brush my lips over hers. She’s sweet like strawberries. The tiniest whimper escapes her. I start to pull back, but her nails bite into my skin and she tilts her head, lips parting, stroking along the seam of my mouth with her tongue.
It’s like tossing a lit match into a vat of gasoline. My need for more is all-consuming.
I open for her, which is an exceptionally awful idea. Because the moment our tongues brush, kissing her like this is all I ever want to do for the rest of my miserable fucking life. The world could turn to dust around us, and I wouldn’t care. I snake anarm around her waist, pulling her tighter against me. My hand slides into her hair, angling her head so I can deepen the kiss.
Mildred makes a soft, surprised sound as I sweep her mouth again and again. I want to get lost in this feeling, in her softness, in feeling something good. In her. I run my other hand over her hip, curving around the generous swell of her ass.
“Connor, dear, remember where you are,” Meems calls, her voice laced with humor.
“We definitely got the shot,” the photographer says with a slightly uncomfortable chuckle.
Which is when I realize I’ve been trying to climb inside my fiancée’s mouth. I wrench free and put some space between us. Mildred stumbles back, eyes wide and glassy. I catch her before she can tumble down the stairs. A flush works its way up her chest and into her cheeks.
“I need a minute.” I spin around and rush up the stairs.
“Just, um…I’ll be back, too.” Mildred’s voice is pitchy.
I stride down the hall, heading for my bedroom, my self-loathing on fire. Mildred is on my heels, making it impossible for me to close the door behind me without slamming it in her face.
She glances around at my bedroom. She’s never been in here before.
I grip the back of my neck. I’m such a fucking asshole. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
She moves closer, deeper into my bedroom. I don’t want the memory of her in here. I don’t want her to leave.
Her eyes glitter with emotions. “Run away, you mean?”
