Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
“Hell yes. Look at my guy,” Felicity shouts, twirling a boa in the air.
“Griffin,” Anya yells, laughing.
February covers her face as she laughs watching Harrison. Clara, Emma, and Shayne, the triplet’s wives, are screaming and dancing as they watch their husbands.
“Paxton, Oh my God,” Hartford shouts, laughing as he grinds against her to the beat of the song.
We continue our dance of arms up and down, hips swaying, and thrust forward as we move back and forth.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Lake moving closer to the front and toward Willow. I shake my head, still staying with the beat as I reach down and grab Willow’s hand. Ben said to improvise if we felt it, so that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.
I hold her close to me as I continue swaying my hips and thrusting them forward—against her.
“Brock,” she whispers, her eyes darkening.
“You look fucking sexy as hell,” I say, thrusting my hips.
“Fuck yeah, Willow and Brock,” Hartford shouts as Paxton moves back to us.
I lean forward and press a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth before releasing her. “I should’ve told you that earlier,” I say, moving back into position.
We all finish the dance by bending at the knees and going onto our sides, resting our heads on our hands.
The noise level from the girls is deafening as we finish. I stand up, breathing heavily as I look around. As my eyes move toward Willow, she’s stepping up to me, biting her lip.
“That was hot,” she says, wrapping her arms around my neck.
I don’t know if she’s being real or if she’s playing her part like a paid actress and fuck, I’m hoping it’s not the latter.
Because right now, nothing I’m feeling is fake.
Chapter 13
Willow
When Clara told us the guys would be dancing for us, I didn’t really know what to expect. I guess I thought I’d laugh as the men got up on the small makeshift stage and shook their asses.
What I never in a million years expected was to get turned on. Like what is wrong with me? However, when Brock stepped into the room it’s like a fuse lit between us. It traveled between us, gaining speed, until we both exploded in a want and needy mess.
Or at least I’m a needy mess.
I can’t tell how he’s feeling because he’s such a great actor. I swear he acts like he wants to devour me, but then he laughs it off when we’re alone together.
And right now? We’re in the elevator, heading up to our hotel room, in silence.
And the silence is deafening. It’s all-consuming, and I seriously want to scream. Or kiss the heck out of Brock. Either or.
“You okay?” he asks me as the elevator travels upward.
“Fine,” I peep out.
“Cool.”
This is the most awkward conversation ever. I hate it. I’d rather climb Brock like a tree. I’d rather sit on his face.
Oh my god. I blush at that thought.
Brock studies me. “Seriously, you all right?”
“You danced really good tonight,” I tell him, glancing down at the floor so I don’t lock eyes with him again.
I swear when our eyes lock it makes me want to strip naked for the man. I know, there’s something seriously wrong with me.
I’m not drunk, so I know it’s not that.
“Thanks,” he says, and then he kills me with his boyish charm. He smiles, and it’s all crooked and freakishly adorable. His eyes light up as he gazes at me, and seriously I wonder if he’s feeling the same way I am.
“I…” I start, but then my words fall away. Before I can finish my incomplete thought, Brock’s got me pinned against the elevator wall. His hands plunge into my hair, and his mouth attacks mine, his tongue pressing at the corner of my lips, begging for me to open for him.
And oh, I do. Boy, how I open for him.
Our tongues clash together, an electric current passing between us. His hard body pins me, and his hands roam over my body.
“I’ve been wanting to do this all fucking night,” he whispers against my lips.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I say as a mere statement, but don’t want him to take me seriously. Because we definitely should be doing this. A lot more of this.
“As always, I don’t agree with you,” he says between peppering kisses along my neck. “In fact, you’re so wrong it hurts.”
I smirk. “Even while making out you find a way to fight.”
He wraps a hand around one of my wrists and pins it above my head. “I’m not fighting. I’m just letting you know this is happening, whether it’s right or wrong.”
Our eyes lock. My pulse vibrates through my system.
“What happens in Vegas,” I say with a small shrug of my shoulder.
His eyes light on fire. “Stays in Vegas,” he finishes the phrase. “Willow,” he whispers, his eyes still connected with mine. “What are you saying? You’re going to need to spell it out for me.”