“More, Dec…harder….” She whispered to him, reaching for the hard bubble of his ass and cupping him and pulling him against her.
His mouth touched hers, but she couldn’t remember how to kiss as he filled her and then began to thrust slowly and steadily. She could only move with him, it was all she had the headspace for, it was all she knew. He moved in her as if they were made to fit, he filled her until she was close to tears with overpowering ecstasy. She clung to him and writhed against him, let moans and whimpers and curses flee her lips unheeded. And with every sound she made, Declan moved harder and faster, gave her more of what she needed, more of himself, more of the aching burning explosive fullness. Lifting her hips off the mattress, she wrapped her legs around his waist and hooked her heels together, thrashed madly against him as a wildness overtook her.
Fingers scrabbling like claws at his back and shoulder, Holly heard herself calling his name like a raspy guttural plea, “Dec, Dec…oh god…Declan…”
“Holly, Jesus, Holly…”
She needed to feel him lose control. “I need you to come, Dec…I need you to—oh god, yes, yes, fuck me, Dec…”
As she spoke, he leaned back and took her hips in his hands, and as Holly kept her heels hooked around his waist, he lifted her off the mattress so only her shoulder blades touched the bed, and he thrust into her with furious abandon, not holding back any longer. The veins on his arms stood out and the tendons in his neck, and sweat coated his tanned, taut flesh with a glistening gleam, his hips pumped and his hands pulled her hips so she was slamming against him, his muscles shifting under his skin.
Holly felt the moment when her body cut loose. It was like a tidal wave crashing through her, yet another orgasm wrenching her body so her inner muscles clamped down on Declan’s sliding shaft, and she heard herself scream and watched as Dec groaned and cursed and growled, watched as he fell forward with his hair sticking to his forehead and his eyes primal and hungry and possessive. He buried himself into her, and she felt him thicken and throb, and then he was coming, his face burying in her bouncing breasts and his hands feathering in her tangled hair, and his body going heavy on hers, blessedly heavy as he lost control and heaved above her, his hips flying crazily, his body filling her and completing her own thrashing climax and milking every last wringing drop of pleasure out of her.
When he finished, he was limp on her and she was caressing his back and his ass and stroking his hair, marveling at the sense of utter happiness flushing through her.
“Jesus, Holly,” he gasped.
“Dec, I’ve never—I’ve never felt anything like that in my whole life.”
“Me neither, Holls. You…when you come it’s like…watching heaven break open.” He leaned up on one fist, brushing a wayward lock of her auburn curls away from her face. “You’re so responsive, so ready to come for me.”
She traced the bulge of his bicep idly, and then the ridge of his shoulder. “Dec, I—nothing in my entire life has ever felt that incredible. That first orgasm you gave me, with your mouth…it was…it was the most—the most amazing thing ever. And then touching myself while you watched? Holy shit…and then when you were inside me…oh my god.” She rolled against him so he was laying on his back and nestled her head on his shoulder, and touched his body everywhere she could reach.
“I could spend every single moment of my entire life making you come and never get enough,” he said. “In fact…” he reached for her core.
She batted his hand away from her thighs. “I’m too sensitive, still.” She traced the length of him. “And besides, isn’t it my turn to touch you for as long as I want?”
He smiled, and tucked his hands under his head. “I did promise you that, didn’t I?”
She grinned at him as she toyed with him. “I think you’ll enjoy what I have in mind, though…”
It wasn’t long before he was hardening again, and Holly touched her mouth to his salty skin, using her hands to grasp him and stroke him, and then she was tasting him there too, and he was groaning and cursing as she teased him her tongue, kissing him, fondling him, bringing him to writhing readiness and then bringing him back away from the edge.
When he was cursing and his eyes were wild with need, Holly found a condom in the drawer and slid it onto him, settled her weight on him, sank down on him with a long groan of bliss.
And this time she worked him with a slow and measured pace, never hurrying, no matter how much she wanted to. Slowly, slowly, she felt herself nearing the edge. And when she reached the edge, she leaned back on him and rode him with the same slow pace, crashing down on him harder and harder, but still slowly.
She fell forward as she lost control, burying her face in his neck and feeling him explode inside her, feeling his hands caress her body everywhere he could reach, and then she was limp on him and he just held her there, kissing her face and her hair and her temple.
“God, Dec.”
“I know.”
She peered up at him. “I don’t want this night to end.”
He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her until they were both breathless. “It doesn’t have to,” he murmured. Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, he kissed her again. “Happy New Year, Holls.”
She felt something twist inside her, a desperation, a breaking apart, a release. “Happy New Year, Dec.” A boldness overtook her, and she let her emotions speak for her. “I think I love you, Declan.”
He caressed her cheek. “And I know I love you, Holly.”
Her smile was one of utter happiness. “A Happy New Year indeed, then.”
* * *
THE END
BADD MOTHERF*CKER
A Badd Brothers novel
BADD MOTHERF*CKER: A BADD BROTHERS NOVEL
Copyright © 2016 by Jasinda Wilder
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All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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Cover art by Sarah Hansen of Okay Creations. Cover art copyright © 2016 Sarah Hansen.
Created with Vellum
1
Dru
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I smoothed the ruched white fabric over my hips and sucked in a breath; the dress was crazy tight around my chest, which did wonders for my cleavage, but left me unable to draw a full breath.
“I can’t really breathe,” I said, once again attempting to fully expand my lungs.
“It’s only for, like, an hour,” Annie said. “Soon as the service is over, you can change into your party dress for the reception.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I said. “Who breathes on their wedding day, anyway?” I joked.
Lisa, another of my three bridesmaids, put the finishing touches on my hair, tucking a few strands into bobby pins and leaving a few strands loose around my face. “My wedding dress was so tight I nearly passed out during the service,” she said. “Not breathing on your wedding day is a time-honored tradition.”
“Well…fuck that tradition,” I said. “I like breathing. Breathing is nice.”
Annie was in front of me, touching up my makeup. “That cleavage is nice. Looking hot on your wedding day is also nice. Breathing? Meh, it’s overrated.”
I tried another breath, feeling my breasts swell against the constraining material. My head spun, and I was glad I was sitting down. I was just dizzy from nerves, that’s all. I was nervous, that much was true. But I also legitimately couldn’t breathe. I was scared out of my mind. I loved Michael, I really, really did. I loved him. I was ready to get married. I was ready to become Dru Connolly-Morrison. Mrs. Michael Morriso
n. Dru Morrison.
God, none of those sound right.
But Michael insisted I take his name, even if it was hyphenated. “I’m traditional that way,” he had grumbled.
I liked my name, though, and I didn’t want to change it. Dru Connolly: it had a ring to it. It was a strong name and, more importantly, it was my name.
Breathing was becoming harder and harder with every passing moment—or maybe it was just the fact that I was close to hyperventilating. I tried to slow my breathing down, but my lungs didn’t seem to be getting the message.
“I need to see Michael,” I said.
He always had a way of calming me down when I started panicking and overthinking things. He’d kiss me and hold me and tell me it would be okay and, somehow, things always worked out. Not always how I wanted them to, or how I expected them to, but…they worked out.
This wedding would work out, and the marriage would, too.
But…I wanted more than just for my marriage to WORK OUT. I wanted it to be amazing.
Annie and Lisa exchanged glances. “Um…well...you know it’s bad luck for him to see you in your dress.”
“I’ll cover up or something. Can you just go get him?”
Another glance between the two ladies.
“It’s just nerves, hon,” Lisa said.
Annie zipped her makeup bag closed. “Just take lots of shallow breaths and focus on walking down the aisle. You’ll be fine.”
I looked from Annie to Lisa and back, feeling, perhaps unfairly, like they were hiding something, or avoiding. Something. I wasn’t close to either woman, since they were the significant others of Michael’s best friends, Nate and Eric—Lisa was Nate’s wife, and Annie was Eric’s girlfriend. There was one more groomsman, Tony, Michael’s cousin, and one more bridesmaid, Tawny, one of Lisa’s friends, added just to keep the sides even; I’d barely met Tawny, and didn’t really care for her all that much, but you couldn’t have two bridesmaids and three groomsmen, right?
I sighed. “I just need a few minutes alone, I guess.”
“Sure,” Annie said. “We’ll go help Tawny with the flowers.”
I frowned. “Help Tawny with the flowers? I had the flowers professionally arranged, and I checked them myself this morning.”
Lisa hesitated, and licked her lips. “I…she’s just double checking. You know, just…to be sure everything is golden.”
I honestly didn’t care what Tawny was doing, so I just shrugged. “Whatever. I just need a minute. Thanks, ladies.”
“Sure thing, Dru,” Lisa said, and then she and Annie were out the door, finger-waving at my dad as they passed him.
I really didn’t have any girlfriends of my own, not anyone I truly liked or trusted. I didn’t trust anyone but my dad.
And Michael. I trusted Michael.
Michael was amazing.
Handsome, successful, kind. Worked in marketing for Amazon. No beer belly, had all his hair, went to the gym two or three days a week, and could last longer than five minutes in bed. What wasn’t to love?
I had to see Michael. If I saw him, all my doubts would be erased.
That’s how it always worked.
Michael was a stickler for tradition, so I knew he wouldn’t want to see me in my dress before the moment I walked down the aisle to him, so I stuck my head out of the door of the Sunday school room I was using as a dressing room. My dad was sitting on a bench opposite my room, scrolling on his cell phone. He was my best friend, and my namesake: he was Drew Connolly, and I was Dru Connolly. Maybe that was cheesy, sure, but he was all I had.
“Daddy?”
He looked up, smiling at me. “What’s up, baby girl?”
“Do you have that stupid trench coat you’re always wearing?”
He frowned at me. “We live in the Pacific Northwest, Dru, so a trench coat isn’t stupid, it’s practical. So, yes, I do. Why?”
“I need to see Michael, but I don’t want him to see me in my dress yet.”
Dad nodded. “Ah, of course.” He stood up, moved to a coat rack down the hallway and lifted his beloved, twenty-year-old tan trench coat off the hook.
I hated that trench coat. It made him look like he was trying to be a gumshoe detective in a late-forties detective noir flick. But for the moment, it was what I needed, so I put it on and buttoned it over my dress, and then did a twirl, kicking my heel up and posing…with zero percent sarcasm, of course.
“How do I look?”
Dad smirked. “You look great, baby. See? A trench coat is always fashionable.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Don’t even get me started, Dad. Trench coats are never fashionable. Ever. Like, maybe for five minutes in the nineteen forties, sure, but that’s it.” I leaned up and kissed him. “I’ll be back, and then we’ll be ready to get started, right?”
Dad gave me the look, then. The one I hated. The look that told me he didn’t quite approve of Michael, or the wedding, but was supporting me because I was his only child and he loved me. “If you’re sure this is what you want, then yes, we’ll be ready. Michael’s family is here, all sixty-four of them.” He grinned. “Rolando, Vickers, Johnson, Benson, Ayers, and Mickelson are all here too with their families, so we’ve got a few people to fill up our side. But if you’re having any doubts, just say the word. We’ll organize a getaway.”
“I’m sure, Daddy. I promise.” I leaned up and kissed him. “Now wait here, I’ll be right back.”
He sat back down, pulled his cell phone out, and resumed scrolling, content to wait as long as it took, as long as he had his Buzzfeed app to scroll through. “I’ll be here, then.”
Michael’s dressing room was down the hallway and around a corner. His two best friends, Nate and Eric, were lounging on a bench like Dad had been, passing a flask back and forth and cackling about something on Eric’s cell phone. Lisa and Annie were crowded around Eric and his cell phone, cackling right along and taking hits from the flask when it got passed around.
I strode up to them, and they were so involved with whatever they were watching that they didn’t notice me. I was close enough to hear Eric’s phone. It sounded like porn, and as I got close enough to see it, it looked like porn. Eric had his phone held away from himself, so everyone could see, his palms cupped around the back to reflect the sound. I stood next to Lisa and crowded in.
“What are you watching?” I asked, but I was able to see enough to know what they were watching.
Only, it didn’t make any sense.
It couldn’t be.
Eric did an actual double take: looking at me, looking back at the phone and then looking back at me in total surprise, which quickly morphed to panic.
“Shit! Dru, I—we—we’re watching…nothing.” He clicked the phone off and stuffed it in his pocket. “Don’t worry about it. A stupid video my buddy sent me.”
I was staying calm, so far.
It’s not what I think.
He wouldn’t.
Would he?
“That’s not what it looked like,” I said.
Eric shifted, looking to his friends to help him out.
Lisa glanced at Michael’s dressing room door, eyes wide, and then looked back at me, speaking a little louder than necessary. “You want a shot, Dru?” She snatched the flask out of Nate’s hand and shoved it at me. “Have a shot. It’s Jim Beam.”
I pushed past her, ignoring her and the flask, reaching for the doorknob.
“You’re not supposed to see him before the wedding, Dru!” Lisa shouted, getting between the door and me. “It’s bad luck!”
“He’s not supposed to see me in my dress before the wedding, you idiot.” I had never liked Lisa, I realized. She was vapid and stupid and now she was getting in the way of me seeing my fiancé on the day of our wedding? “Which is why I’m wearing the trench coat. Now get out of the way.”
I heard it, then.
Michael.
Making certain…sounds.
Lisa heard it too, which was why she�
��d tried to talk louder than necessary.
I bit my lip, blinked hard, and forced my imminent breakdown aside. Turning to Eric, I held out my hand. “Phone, Eric. Now.”
He hesitated. “Why do you want to see it? You know what it is, obviously.”
I got in his face. “Phone…now.” I used the hard voice I’d learned from Dad, the one with the snap of authority.
Dad was a cop, a former USMC drill instructor, and an overall badass, so he was an expert in what he called The Voice of Authority. He’d also taught me self-defense from the time I was old enough to walk, so I could hand most men their own asses in thirty seconds or less, and Eric knew it. Hell, he’d seen me do it more than once.
He dug his phone out of his pocket, unlocked it, and handed it to me—the video was cued up, on pause.
It showed the door behind me, the door to Michael’s dressing room. It was cracked open, and the video was being shot through the crack. Michael was visible through the crack, tuxedo pants around his ankles. His bowtie perfectly tied, his vest buttoned up, his coat left open, white shirt hanging below the vest and coat.
In front of him, bent over the back of a chair, was Tawny, Lisa’s best friend and my third bridesmaid. Yes, her name really was Tawny. And she fit the name, too: fake blond hair, big fake tits, skanky, had done a turn as a stripper. In the video, she was taking Michael’s cock and, from the sounds she was making, she was loving it. Loudly.
The Naughty Boxset Page 6
