Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 33965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 113(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 113(@300wpm)
After the concert, we all went out to a local bar. Except everyone disappeared within half an hour, leaving me and Crue to our own devices. I decided tequila was the best way to handle the situation.
Probably because Crue kept looking at me like he wanted to eat me instead of his burger. And I kept thinking about what he said in his room yesterday. The man of my dreams isn't turned off by the fact that I'm a virgin. In fact…he seems to like the idea. A lot.
I giggle, fighting the urge to squeal into my pillow like a lunatic.
"What are you laughing at this early, sweet girl?" Crue groans, sliding an arm around my waist.
I squeal, flipping over so fast I manage to elbow him and kick myself at the same time. Sure enough, he's in my bed, watching me from hooded eyes. Shirtless and rumpled.
"You're in my bed. Why are you in my bed? And where are your clothes?" I pull the covers up, checking to see if he's completely naked. I don't know why. I'm curious and panicking and it seems like a good idea. Until I see his erection tenting the front of his boxers. I quickly drop the covers back into place.
And then my eyes catch on the simple platinum band adorning my ring finger. And the matching band on his. They weren't there yesterday. I choke on my tongue, wheezing as the floodgates open and memories from last night pop into my head in a giant parade.
Shots of tequila. Grinding on the dance floor. Talks of a late-night wedding. Him pulling me aside to tell me he had a judge on standby, all I had to do was say yes. Me laughing as we slipped out the back hand in hand.
A late-night wedding seemed like a good idea with my panties soaked and tequila clouding my mind. If we were married, we could have sex, and it wouldn't be bad. That's what my drunk brain seemed to think.
Apparently, his drunk brain agreed because we freaking got married.
It's not even like we maybe got married. We for sure got married because I remember signing the license. And I definitely remember him slipping a ring on my finger.
I even remember kissing him at the end.
Oh my god. Shelby is going to kill us.
"It's our bed," he growls. "And you invited me into it when you agreed to marry me last night, Ireland."
I close my eyes, pulling the covers back up over me.
"What are you doing?"
"Going back to sleep so I can wake up in a different reality."
He chuckles, and then the bed dips as he crawls over me. "Open your eyes, Éire."
"No, thank you. I'm manifesting my destiny."
"Yeah? Does this destiny include me as your husband? Because if it doesn't, I'm going to spank your perfect little ass, baby."
I pop my eyes open to glare at him. "You're interrupting me, Crue. Go to your own bed."
"This is my bed. My wife is in it," he growls.
"Stop saying that!"
"Why?"
Because I like it way too freaking much.
"Because…because it's insanity!" I cry instead of revealing that particular truth. "We got married last night, Crue. Do you have any idea what the world is going to say when they find out that every single member of this band has coupled up on this tour? They're going to lose their collective minds!"
"Mason isn't coupled up yet."
I shoot him a dirty glare. "That's beside the point. You said you didn't want to be fodder for the press. This is like ten steps beyond fodder. We met and got married on the same day."
"Technically, it was two different days. We got married after midnight."
I push him off me before clambering up over him and grabbing a pillow.
"What are you doing?" he asks, grinning up at me.
"Smothering you with this pillow," I say with false cheer. "No one will even blame me. Especially if they know you."
He chuckles, plucking the pillow from my hands and tossing it across the room. Before I can even protest, I'm on my back beneath him again, only this time, he's wedged his body between my thighs, and our fingers are linked beside my head.
"You're fucking cute when you're panicking, Ireland," he murmurs, his eyes locked on my lips. "And you're beautiful when you're annoyed."
"Stop being sweet. I'm trying to have a meltdown."
"Kiss me, and then you can continue." He dips his head, running his nose along the side of mine.
I quickly peck him on the lips, refusing to do anything more. I drank tequila last night, and I haven't brushed my teeth. No way am I making out with Crue Freaking Blake right now.
Except Crue Freaking Blake has other plans. As soon as my lips touch his, he swoops, licking into my mouth to kiss away every ounce of resistance and restraint I have. I wrap my legs around his waist, moaning when his erection grinds against my clit.