Page 29 of Don't Fall For Your Fake Boyfriend
“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.”
“I’m thinking—” Oh god, what am I even thinking? “—bridesmaid-with-benefits.”
His dark eyes search mine. “We are in a different time zone, so I guess this doesn’t count, right?”
I’m willing to rationalize this any way I can so it happens. Because not letting Brock touch me right now is a no-go. I need him. Unlike I’ve ever needed anyone before.
He lets go of my wrist, his hand trailing through my hair, over my cheek, across my jaw, and landing on my collarbone as the elevator dings open.
“Fuck,” he whispers, stepping away from me.
My mind’s frazzled and I’m seriously not expecting to see Lake standing on the other side of the elevator doors.
“I was hoping we could talk, Willow,” Lake says, his blue eyes bouncing between mine and Brock’s.
“Now’s not a good time, buddy,” Brock says, grabbing my hand and leading me out of the elevator. “Now, I suggest you run on back to your room like a good little boy, or else you’re going to be hearing Willow screaming my name all night long.”
Lake’s mouth hangs open, and Brock doesn’t even wait for a reply as we brush past him and head down the hallway toward our room.
We fumble together as we try to get the keycard to open the door. I giggle as the card falls to the floor, and I swiftly retrieve it. In the quick second I was down there, grabbing the card, I noticed how the bulge in Brock’s pants was ginormous.
“Uh,” I say, as the door pushes open.
Brock and I rush inside, slamming the door behind us.
“You have about three seconds to get that sexy-ass dress off,” Brock says, kicking off his shoes.
“Or what?” I sass back, watching the match ignite behind his eyes.
“Or else I’m going to make you pay for not doing as you're told.”