“Absolutely,” he nods. “Let me take a quick shower, I smell like a kitchen.”
“I don’t mind at all, come and tell me about your day.”
“I don’t want to talk about my day, I want to get into bed and have you tell me how very good I am at my new job.”
I laugh, heat pooling in my lower belly. I could get used to this. “And what’s that?”
“My job is to make sure I have you very ready for me before I get to be inside of you. So, what’s the verdict, boss? Do I get a pay raise? Promotion? Stock options?”
I pretend to mull this over. “It depends on how well you can handle taking direction.”
“I’m up for that. Shall we adjourn to the bedroom so I can start demonstrating my skills?”
“After you,” I say, waving out an arm for us to go to his bed.
“No, no. I insist, after you. It’ll always be after you.” I look at the couch too long. “I want to do this on a bed,” he whispers, voice gone hoarse.
“And I want to do this on a couch,” I tell him, sinking my teeth lightly into his earlobe. He groans and bucks his hips into me, easing the ache between my legs for all of two seconds as he’s pulled me close to his body.
“I don’t want the boys to watch us,” he says, and I start laughing uncontrollably, snaking my hands onto his back and clutching at the muscles there. “I don’t know why you’re laughing – we could scar them for the rest of their lives.”
“Pretty sure they won’t know what’s happening,” I say, shaking with laughter.
Dean shakes his head against the skin of my neck, grazing his teeth against my skin there.
My body goes up in goosebumps and now it’s my turn to grind against him, feel his cock against me, hitting me sweet and right where I need it.
“Bedroom it is, then.”
Dean throws me on the bed hard enough that I bounce a few times. He then gives me the sweetest grin when he climbs on top of me and starts kissing me with enough intensity that I’m pretty sure I start to lose my mind.
There’s a lot of laughter, a lot of smiling that turns into moaning. A lot of touches that turn into mind-melting caresses. A lot of sweating and calling out each other’s names; a lot of sucking and tasting, and nibbling all so that I can say with absolute certainty: if I can somehow make sure that this works, I’m going to be one hell of a lucky woman.
***
I don’t know why I agreed to this. I don’t know why I decided to meet him in the first place. Sera’s gonna think I’m conspirating - if that’s even a word. But I’m passed that now, and so should Russia be, too.
I took notes last night, and I did my research on Pinterest.
I’ve got a shit-ton of ideas for Sera’s Harry Potter wedding and hopefully she loves about eighty-percent of them. I see a re-read of the seven novels in my near future, just so I can make sure I get the details right. This is her day, after all, and I want it to be perfect. And if it can’t be perfect, it better be magical.
“Hey, Katie.” I almost don’t stand up, but we bump cheeks and then Russia settles down in front of me, undoing the button on his suit jacket like we’re at a business meeting. I don’t think I’ve seen him wear jeans and a t-shirt in the past six or so years.
“Hey. I didn’t think we needed this clandestine meeting, Russia. I told you already, by text and by phone call, Sera’s not going to leave Hunter. They’re engaged.”
Russia’s blue eyes are dimmed, and he looks like he hasn’t been eating. He’s not even oozing that special Russia-charm we’ve all come to know and love, and by know and love, I mean want to throttle him for.
Woah. He must really love her. A guy, not eating? Red flag, red flag!
“You said you were going to help me out,” his accent comes through thick enough that I have to give my head a chance to catch up. “I’m better for her, you know this. Now we just have to convince her.”
I shake my head. “No. She’s happy with Hunter. I’m the maid of honour. I’m not going to let you ruin this for her. Don’t you have some Christmas shopping to do? Just don’t be here when she gets here, okay?”
Russia rubs a hand over his mouth and sets his back against the chair, putting space between us. “I bought her a ring.”
“That better be a pretty little useless ring that doesn’t go on an important finger.” His face stays impassive. “Don’t fucking tell me you bought her an engagement ring. You’re such an idiot. Who the fuck impulsively buys an engagement ring? How much did you spend?”