The Cornerstone (6 page)

“You can go now,” I snapped, finger-combing my hair from my face.

Will paid no attention to me, and instead of getting dressed, he kicked off his jeans from where they were bunched at his ankles. He sauntered toward the bathroom, and I listened, fuming, while the faucet ran. He returned with a glass of water and he shot a cocky grin in my direction.

“I said, you can go now.”

Will flopped down beside me with a laugh. “Yeah, I’m not going to do that.”

He pried the blanket away from my chest and brought his lips to my nipple, and my annoyance with him started dissolving into the background.

I dug my hands through his hair, angling him where I wanted and yanking him back to remind him he wasn’t the only one in charge. His teeth closed around me, and the sound I made—God help me, it was shameful—was one part sob, one part screech, one part newborn kitten mewl, all whore.

Will released my nipple with a gentle kiss and stared at me for a long beat. It gave me a moment to study his tattoos: a frog skeleton on his bicep, and an anchor crossed with a trident over his heart. They were tastefully done but I didn’t love tattoos; just not my style. Come to think of it, I couldn’t remember being with an inked guy. But Will’s were nice. Different. Intriguing. Maybe even sexy.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Will said, breaking me out of my thoughts. “I’m going to fuck you a couple more times, Shortcake. Teach you a few things about real orgasms. If that goes well, we’ll talk about rope.”

“Don’t call me Shortcake,” I warned.

He dropped his forehead to my belly and laughed. “But you’re good with the orgasms and rope?”

I shrugged. There was no way in hell I’d let anyone tie me up. “Like I said, you talk a big game. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“In that case…” Will pounced on me, sucking my other nipple into his mouth while he hardened against my thigh.

Then we heard a tremendous crack and the right side of the bed buckled beneath us. Will locked his arm around my waist as the bed teetered on a steep angle, and before we could move, the other side of the bed crumbled, too.

“That means we’re doing it right,” he said, and I laughed against his chest.

We broke the bed that night.

And the side table.

And the desk.

And the complimentary bathrobe belts, which that fucker definitely used to tie me up.

And that was all on top of trashing a bar.

*

I didn’t believe
in avoiding issues. My philosophy leaned toward grabbing those issues by the balls and twisting until I made them my bitches. Sure, it sounded severe, but avoidance only left problems out to rot until they were too obnoxious to ignore anymore.

But I was avoiding Will like it was my reason for being.

It wasn’t about after-the-fact awkwardness; I didn’t believe in that either. No, it was about him pushing every one of my buttons and driving me to homicidal urges. He was rude and narrow-minded, and I didn’t intend to start another feminist debate on my best friend’s wedding day.

And his cock turned me into a dumb, drooling orgasm factory.

Nope, none of that had a spot at Matt and Lauren’s nuptials.

Of course, I wasn’t able to avoid Will or his shenanigans when it came to the post-ceremony photographs. It was as if the photographer knew exactly what we did last night and she thought,
Now this would be an awesome way to mess with people and capture it on film.
She parked me and Will together in every group shot, and repeatedly instructed us to “squeeze a bit closer.”

I subtly flipped the photographer off every time, and it seemed she, and everyone else, was oblivious to my discomfort.

Sam was still drunk.

Nick was asking Erin every conceivable question about Portugal.

Riley was flirting with the photographer’s assistant.

Andy and Patrick were having another one of those silent conversations I’d ignored for months. I thought they were glaring at each other. Turned out it was foreplay. Who knew?

Matt and Lauren were busy being the happiest people in the world, and a tiny, tiny fraction of me wanted this to be mine. For a split second, I wanted all of this, but more than the beachside ceremony, pink wedding dress, and champagne everywhere, someone who saw only me.

Someone who adored me.

“Squeeze in!” the photographer called.

Will’s hand curled around my hip, drawing me closer to his hard body, and annoyance quickly replaced my jealousy. “Paws to yourself, commando.”

“Relax, buttercup.”

That voice was right in my ear, and it sounded exactly the same as when he was too deep inside me for my brain to function. Like I meant something to him. Like he wanted to mean something to me. Like all of this was more than one wild night.

Manipulative fucking orgasms.

“We are
not
doing this,” I said, and then I thought better of it. We were both here for another night, right? “Not right now.”

“Always so serious.” He rocked against me, and I felt every inch of him, half-hard against my back. “How are you in a bad mood after last night? You enjoyed it. You
enjoyed
it six or seven times. I know. I was there.”

“You’re an arrogant asshole,” I whisper-hissed. “My heels are bigger than your dick, and accomplish far more.”

“Hmm,” he said. His finger trailed between my exposed shoulder blades while the photographer switched lenses. We were on the far end of the group and close enough together so no one noticed his hand shifting from my hip to cup my ass over the layers of floaty mint green chiffon. “You phrased it differently last night.”

I didn’t respond because he was right about that, yet his cock didn’t need another vote of confidence from me.

“Just one more,” the photographer said. “Squeeze in super tight.”

Will’s fingers brushed down my back as the photographer clicked away, and I knew I’d be the fool grinning with her eyes closed in every one of these shots. If there was any possibility of disappearing from this reception and letting those fingers finish what they were starting, I would have snapped it right up.

But that wasn’t happening. Not for me, not tonight. My brother and my best friend were getting the best goddamn reception I could conjure, and if that meant sacrificing some screeching orgasms, I’d survive. All told, I sacrificed more than my share of screeching orgasms for my family.

“Perfect,” the photographer said. “Now, bride and groom only.”

I huffed out a sigh of relief and stepped forward, but Will’s hand tightened around my dress. “Not so fast, Shortcake.”

“Would you shove the Shortcake up your ass, please?” That fucking nickname. Did he think he was the first person to call me Strawberry Shortcake? Or Pippi Longstocking? Or Little Orphan Annie? I’d heard every tired, unoriginal redhead nickname known to man, and the only less-inventive names he could throw at me would be Red or Freckles.

“You really need to loosen up,” he said. “Why don’t you let me help you with that?”

“Why don’t you suck my dick?” I asked, my elbow landing on his stomach. I heard a soft grunt behind me, and this time, he didn’t protest when I marched away.

It was obvious things were not going according to plan when I arrived at the reception area, and it was a good thing I pressed pause on today’s showing of
Orgasm Hour with Will
. The bar line stretched all the way across the tent, there were no appetizers on the tables, and the band was still setting up. ‘Tyrant’ would be a fair assessment of my behavior when I stormed into the kitchen.

The next couple of hours flew by in a blur. I missed dinner entirely and didn’t catch much of the first dance, cake cutting, or bouquet toss, but the inn staff that I deputized was finally keeping things running on schedule. For a minute there, I almost got behind the bar and handled service myself. It was days like this that convinced me I’d be able to pull off a successful jewel heist if I set my mind to it.

I shuffled toward the bar, my feet aching and my body too tightly strung with tension to register my exhaustion. With a glass of champagne in hand, I counted heads. Matt and Lauren were circling the dance floor. Sam was getting drunker. Riley was grinding on Lauren’s mother—she was getting a kick out of it, thankfully. Patrick was still moping. Erin was seated at a far table with Andy and Lauren’s brother Wes, and I couldn’t decide whether I was relieved Erin was still here or concerned that she was telling them all our ugly secrets.

Nick waved as he approached the bar, and I responded with a chin lift. Too damn tired for words.

He tapped his beer bottle against my champagne glass and slung an arm around my shoulder. “One hell of a party, Shan. When are we doing this again?”

I dropped my head to his chest and sighed. “Beats the shit outta me.”

A laugh rumbled through Nick’s chest, and he said, “Let’s run the line up.”

Everything was a sports metaphor to Nick, and if a slot opened up on the Red Sox or Patriots coaching staff, he’d leave pediatric neurosurgery behind in a heartbeat.

He pointed his beer bottle toward Riley, who was dirty dancing all by himself now that Lauren’s parents were headed back to their room. “He’s still on the farm team, and not moving up to the majors any time soon.” He pointed toward the opposite side of the tent where Sam and Patrick were standing together. “Now those two…definitely in the majors, but their stats are inconclusive. Outliers. We need to watch the season play out.”

“You don’t think it’s going to work out with Andy?”

Nick shrugged. “It probably
will
work out, but I don’t think we’re walking them down the aisle for a few years. He’s cautious. If he gets her back, he’s going to take his time. And she’s young as fuck. She’s in no rush.”

“And what about that one?” I nodded toward Erin.

“Ah, speaking of young as fuck. The free agent,” Nick said. “What’s her story?”

It was what everyone wanted to know: why didn’t I speak to my sister? But there wasn’t one reason. It started as a pebble rippling across a pond, but that ripple turned into a wave and then a tsunami, and everything that used to exist between us was gone.

“What’s
your
story?” I challenged.

He chuckled and engulfed me in a warm hug. “Diversion. Good tactic.”

Nick’s was an easy comfort, and it came with no expectations. Really, there was
nothing
there.

We got drunk together last February when I held a Valentine’s Day party at my place, and after everyone left, we made an indescribably awkward (and failed) attempt at hooking up. We blamed it on the liquor and laughed it off as the worst idea ever, but we both knew the truth: we didn’t have enough chemistry to fill a shot glass.

“Sam’s hosting the after-party again,” Nick said. “Are you headed that way?”

I shook my head as I stared at the table where Erin, Andy, and Wes sat. “No,” I said. “Tired.”

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll make sure the kids behave themselves.”

“You do that,” I mumbled. Nick was good at riding herd. There were times when I wondered whether he was a sheep dog in a past life.

I rounded the bar to grab another bottle of champagne when Nick stepped away. Once the cork was popped, I reached for my glass only to find Will smiling at me from the other side of the counter.

Fuck, he was pretty. It was the wrong word for a man who was undeniably jacked, lethal by training and trade, and into some serious shit in the bedroom but…it was also very right. Those hazel eyes, that sun-streaked hair, the clean-cut, All-American look, the long, lean muscles that felt incredible under my fingers. Pretty was right.

Pretty fucking hot.

He was tanned to the darkest shade of gold imaginable, and seeing it peeking out from his shirtsleeves made me think of his hands on my skin last night. It was almost drool-worthy.

“What’ll it be, commando?”

He stroked his finger and thumb over the scruff on his chin.

Yes, I had beard rash all over my thighs. And some other spots. And yes, it was totally worth it.

Will lifted his brows and swiped his tongue over his upper lip, and it was like a silent directive to drop my panties and fall to my knees.

I was doing neither, but…fuck. A part of me really,
really
wanted to.

“How’s this going to go, Shortcake?” he asked.

WILL

Eighteen months ago

I
didn’t spend
much time in suits and ties. I lived in combat gear and camo, and I’d been trapped in this get-up for too long. I wasn’t one for the long arm of the government, but there needed to be a law prohibiting suit coats and ties after the I Dos. I ditched the jacket, rolled up my sleeves, and loosened my tie during the cocktail hour, but I was still irritable.

My only distraction was Shannon Walsh and the faint mark on the backside of her shoulder that was most definitely a product of my teeth.

And now, after hours spent playing nice with every random person my mother insisted I meet at this wedding, I wanted to play dirty with Shortcake. Yeah, I knew she hated that nickname, but there was nothing better than seeing her fired up. I was sticking with it until I found something that pissed her off even more.