Moore To Love (29 page)

“Lane,” I cry, when he enters another long digit into my warmth and sends me into a frenzy of stimulation. I buck against his hand and with each harmonizing thrust, Lane’s smile grows wide against my lips.

“You like this?” he asks, as if he has to. He’d have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to know what he’s doing to me.

“Yes!” I whimper, appreciating that men like that sort of affirmation in that kind of tone—it keeps them going, and he
must
keep going. But he doesn’t. He stops. He jolts up and retreats, his fingers and lips leaving me hollow and aching for his touch again. This time, if he leaves me high and dry, I might deck him right in the balls.
He ain’t using them anyway.

Faster than I can think about why he’s torturing me, he slithers down my body. His hands grasp my thighs to unclench them and his tongue finds a different set of lips to enjoy. “Holy hell!” I shout when he delves between my legs and makes up for every bad thought that just crossed my mind.
No high and dry for you tonight, Leni-poo!
I almost fist pump the air, but the heavenly sensations brought on by Lane’s wonderfully skilled tongue have turned all thought processes to mush. I’m stupid right now. Absolutely senseless.
What a fantastic feeling.

Lane’s tongue stiffens as it beautifully violates me and then, and if it’s not enough that he’s heightening every one of my senses with the literal flick of a tongue, his thumb finds my clit and circles it until the throbbing vibrates from that one tiny spot to my entire body.

“Yes! Lane! Yes!” I unravel beneath him, thrashing my arms against the bed with each potent wave of paradise. “We need to cancel dinner. Now.” I shouldn’t be greedy, but I most definitely need more of wherever the hell
that
came from.

Lane slowly inches up my motionless yet still trembling body, and then rests beside me on the bed. With one hand over my galloping heart, and the other sweeping tousled hair from my face, my boyfriend whispers the most reassuring words I’ve ever heard. “Baby, we’ll go to dinner and I’ll make sure to save room for dessert.” He licks his lips so sensually, so methodically, that I wonder where shy, reserved Lane has gone. Doesn’t matter, though, because I’ve come to appreciate all sides of Lane and I’m hoping to explore every delicious part of him as my zero-calorie dessert later on.

“WHY DOES IT SEEM LIKE
you’re in such a rush? Got somewhere else you’d rather be?” Reynold playfully but forcefully elbows me in the arm, knocking me closer to Lane. When my body grazes his again a warm rush of memory engulfs me.

I ignore my annoying brother and face Lane, who’s all smiles now that I’ve almost landed in his lap again. I right myself in my chair and then crane my neck to lean in for a chaste but direct kiss. “I know exactly where I want to be.” I whisper so only Lane can hear.

“None of that.” Ashley waves her hand in front of me. “You’re making me really jealous.”

“It was your dumb idea.” Reynold looks down at his plate of half-eaten steak, sulking.

Jealous? They’re getting married, for Pete’s sake. Why would she be jealous of me and Lane? “What am I missing?” I ask, darting my concentration between the two lovebirds.

Lane rests his hand over mine on the table and squeezes. “PDA not your thing?”

“
Pfft!
” I laugh, almost showering the rest of the table with my mouthful of wine. “I think Reynold and Ashley
invented
PDA. Thank God my parents love her, because they’ve seen more of her itty bitty body than any in-laws should ever have to!”

Lane laughs, triggering his dimples to attention. He takes another long pull from his beer and then rests his elbows on the table, propping his face on his fists. “Huh, interesting. I’d love to hear this.”

I have many first hand accounts and no issue sharing with the table. “Well, first there was the time that my father saw Ashley’s—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Ashley interrupts. “If we’re sharing war stories, Lane, I have quite a few doozies in my arsenal that will make your girlfriend’s runway issue look like a regular walk in the park.”

I perk to attention. “You wouldn’t dare.” Embarrassing moments from my past flash before me like some comical blooper real of a sitcom.

Ashley tilts her head and grins. “Don’t give me a reason.” She then turns to Lane and winks. “If you ever want an inside scoop, you know who to call.”

Lane nods his head and accepts Ashley’s sneaky offer. “Definitely. Now, what is it that has your groom-to-be looking so—unattended to?” Maybe it’s some guy code thing or just Reynold’s blank stare, but come to think of it, Reynold does seem kind of distant. I’ve never really brought a guy around him so maybe this is weird for him. I might have been laying it on too thick with the kissing and flirting and—
shit
—I really hope he didn’t overhear me bragging to Ashley about what happened back at the apartment before we met up.

Reynold finishes chewing a mouthful of blood-dripping-rare Porterhouse and nods his head up and down while glowering at Ashley.

Trouble in paradise this close to the wedding?

Before I can bust a nut over an imaginary lover’s quarrel between my second favorite couple in the universe, Ashley sips her dirty martini and deadpans. “Rey and I stopped having sex a month ago so the wedding night can be really special.”

Reynold drops his fork and knife with a loud clanking of silverware against porcelain. He leans back against his chair and huffs. “I don’t know where she got this ridiculous idea—some stupid wedding blog or something—but, dude,” he turns to Lane for support, “I’m freaking dying. No man should have to go this long without touching his girl. It’s unhealthy. It’s—it’s—it’s not like she can unpop her cherry and magically become a virgin again overnight. I don’t get it. Do you?”

Lane laughs and shakes his head. He better be speechless because he’s put me through the same sexless hell since we became a couple.

Even still, I’m not about to hash that out with him over dinner with my brother. I bite my lip and shut my trap. Ashley’s had some eccentric ideas in the past, but this one takes the cake. I never thought I’d be able to relate to my brother on a level like this, but I totally get it. I mean, thank God I got a little something something tonight, but I’m dying to have sex with Lane and the only thing stopping us is him.

Ashley breaks the silence, throwing her hands on her hips. “Well, it doesn’t matter how stupid you think it is. We’ve gone this long, and we can last another two weeks. It’s not the end of the world.”

“Says you!” Reynold laughs. “I’m a man in my twenties. This is my prime. I need sex from my woman. Every night. It’s a stress reliever and this wedding crap has me completely stressed.”

“Oh my God, Reynold. Are you serious?
You’re
stressed? You’ve barely lifted a finger to do one thing. Your sister picked out our wedding cake today!”

“I knew you were going to throw that in my face! I just knew it! Someone has to pay for that cake, you know, and I’m busting my ass with extra shifts to give you the wedding you want.”

“Whoa, hold up! Are you saying I don’t work? Because last I checked I brought in a decent paycheck, too. I don’t know why you’re bringing this up now, when we still have to . . .”

The two of them go on and on, ignoring Lane and me as we look at each other and shrug. Luckily, the restaurant isn’t too crowded and Ashley and Reynold aren’t overly loud. But they are noisy and heated enough to forget that they have us as an audience.

“Is this serious?” Lane asks, spreading his lips into a tight, straight line.

“Absolutely not. That PDA you asked about—they’ll be pawing at each other again in ten minutes.”

“You did
not
just go there, Reynold Moore! I already told you the groomsmen will not be wearing ruffled tuxedos. This isn’t a joke. This is supposed to be the happiest day of my life!” Ashley’s neck is redder than the Bolognese sauce on her chicken as she throws her napkin across the table and it lands in my brother’s face.

“Nice shot,” Lane mumbles, but the two wedding crazed nuts are so enthralled in their argument they don’t even hear him. He leans closer to me and whispers in my ear, “Is it safe to leave, or will they kill each other?”

“Nah. And honestly, I don’t want to be a witness to it, so—”

“Wanna blow this popsicle stand?”

“Totally.”

We throw down enough money to cover our portion of the bill and slink out of the restaurant without so much as a “see ya later” from Ashley and Reynold. What may seem like a shitty sisterly thing to do is actually in everyone’s best interest. If I had intervened, someone would have reamed me, and if we stuck around, Lane would have gotten a little too much family drama for my taste.

Once outside, Lane pulls me close as we make our way down the street. “So, is it safe to say you’re the
normal
Moore?”

“Ha! Define normal.”

Laughter rolls through him but his gentle touch never wavers. His hand travels from where it’s wrapped around my shoulder to down around my waist. “Believe it or not, I’ve seen worse. My brothers are kind of rowdy and Leo’s wife makes Ashley look like a pushover.”

“You never really talk about them. You must miss everyone back in Tuscarora.”

“Meh.” He shrugs against my frame as we stride along the street without a care in the world. Out of nowhere, he leans in and pecks my cheek. “I like it here a lot better.”

A giddy warmth tingles within and even though our dinner was cut short and I was sure we’d be rushing home for that dessert he promised earlier, I’m eager to hear more and enjoy this beautiful fall evening. “Come on.” I prod. “Tell me more about where you came from.”

“There’s not much to tell. It’s nothing like New York, at all.”

“Funny, because when I picture Illinois I think of Chicago which seems to be exactly like New York.”

“Not where I’m from, babe. It’s a
whole
different ball game. You’d be quite a sight on my grandparents’ farm.”

“Hey! You think I’m too city to handle a little barnyard livin’?”

He throws his hands up in defense and flashes the dimples. Even if I wanted to be mad at him for discounting my country bumpkin skills, those things make all sensibility melt into a puddle of mush. “Let’s just say, I think of you as
refined—
your beautiful hands do not belong anywhere near cow manure or pig slop.”

“Wow. So you’re talking the real deal. Very interesting.” Call me small minded, but I never got around to doing my Tuscarora research to learn how the other half live. Besides, I’m too taken aback by his compliment. “And refined? I’m not quite sure that’s an adjective that’s ever been used in the same sentence with my name.”

“I can think of a lot of adjectives you’ve probably never used to describe yourself.”

Placing a hand over my pitter pattering heart, I smile thinking of all the lovely ways Lane reminds me that I’m beautiful. “I’d love to let you throw some out there, but we’re talking about you, remember?”

“How could I forget?” He half groans, half huffs. Either way, I can tell he doesn’t like being the topic of conversation.

“Lane, you’re so closed off. Either you were an axe murderer back in Illinois or you’re even more timid than you let on. I like hearing about you. You know everything there is to know about me and I still feel as if you’re an enigma.”