Read Online The Bridesmaid by Julia London - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Julia London
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slowly now, savoring it.
Joe found the zipper in her skirt and pulled it down, and somehow, between the two of them, she shimmied out of it. Her blouse had come completely undone, and underneath it she wore a lacy red bra that made his blood boil. He rolled again, putting Kate on her back, and moved his hand higher, touching the soft flesh of her inner thigh.
When his fingers brushed the apex of her legs, Kate reached for his lounge pants, her fingers finding the tie and undoing it, then pushing them down his hips, wrapping her fingers around him. Joe stroked her and Kate moved against his hand. She made a small cry of pleasure and Joe couldn’t tolerate it another moment. He slid into her.
He began to move inside her, teetering on the edge of his own powerful climax, moving faster as Kate moved with him, her breath coming quicker and harder. Her fingers curled into his arms, and she suddenly lifted up, gasping with the sensation of her climax.
Joe couldn’t contain himself; he flew apart and rained down in tiny bits of himself onto that bed.
Moments passed—blissful, satiated moments—before Kate cupped his face and smiled.
He smiled, too, could feel the satisfaction of that smile reaching deep into him. He gathered her in his arms and kissed her cheek, her hair, and her mouth once more before settling down with her tucked into his side. He could feel her lips curve into a smile against his chest, her fingers tracing a long and lazy line down his side.
“I am so glad you missed your flight,” he said, still a little breathless.
“Me too,” she agreed and giggled.
Chapter 8
Sitting on the bed, nude but for the sheet wrapped loosely about her, eating half of a man’s burger and washing it down with his beer was the best post-coital experience Kate had ever had in her life.
She couldn’t stop grinning. She’d never had sex like that , and it was a revelation to her. So many thoughts and feelings were fighting for recognition in her, bits and pieces of them scattering about in euphoria.
This, Kate thought, was what she wanted. This, right here, with this guy, Joe Firretti.
She grinned at him again. Joe didn’t notice—he was too engrossed in the manuscript she was editing. He was propped up against a stack of pillows, the sheet covering him from the waist down. His brow was furrowed in concentration. Kate slipped her hand across his rock-hard abdomen, but Joe caught her wrist and squeezed lightly. “Stop that, you vixen,” he said without looking up from the pages. “I have never used the word ‘vixen’ in my life until this moment. But I have to find out if she’s going to let him in her house or not.”
“Of course she does.”
“Hey!” Joe protested, putting down the pages and casting a playfully stern frown at her. “Don’t tell me. That ruins it.”
Kate laughed. “If she doesn’t let him in, there’s no love story.”
“Oh. I get it.” He grinned and tossed the pages to the foot of the bed. “You’re an expert, I take it,” he said as he gathered her up in his arms. He kissed her, then snagged another fry. “Tell me what you like,” he said.
“What I like? ”
“Yes.” He ate another fry. “What makes you happy? Puppies and ribbons? Rugby and scuba diving?”
Kate thought about that. “Shoes,” she said with a definitive nod.
“I should have guessed that based on the weight of your suitcase alone. What else?”
This was what Kate was discovering she particularly liked about Joe. Yes, the sex was amazing, but better still, he was willing to talk. About everything. She tried to remember the last time she’d lounged on a bed—naked—and talked about sports and books and popular TV shows. She wondered if she’d ever known someone who would laugh with her about politics, or know the best sushi places in New York, or agree with her that Justin Bieber actually had put out a few catchy tunes.
Kate was not one for clichés. In the books she edited, she weeded them
Joe found the zipper in her skirt and pulled it down, and somehow, between the two of them, she shimmied out of it. Her blouse had come completely undone, and underneath it she wore a lacy red bra that made his blood boil. He rolled again, putting Kate on her back, and moved his hand higher, touching the soft flesh of her inner thigh.
When his fingers brushed the apex of her legs, Kate reached for his lounge pants, her fingers finding the tie and undoing it, then pushing them down his hips, wrapping her fingers around him. Joe stroked her and Kate moved against his hand. She made a small cry of pleasure and Joe couldn’t tolerate it another moment. He slid into her.
He began to move inside her, teetering on the edge of his own powerful climax, moving faster as Kate moved with him, her breath coming quicker and harder. Her fingers curled into his arms, and she suddenly lifted up, gasping with the sensation of her climax.
Joe couldn’t contain himself; he flew apart and rained down in tiny bits of himself onto that bed.
Moments passed—blissful, satiated moments—before Kate cupped his face and smiled.
He smiled, too, could feel the satisfaction of that smile reaching deep into him. He gathered her in his arms and kissed her cheek, her hair, and her mouth once more before settling down with her tucked into his side. He could feel her lips curve into a smile against his chest, her fingers tracing a long and lazy line down his side.
“I am so glad you missed your flight,” he said, still a little breathless.
“Me too,” she agreed and giggled.
Chapter 8
Sitting on the bed, nude but for the sheet wrapped loosely about her, eating half of a man’s burger and washing it down with his beer was the best post-coital experience Kate had ever had in her life.
She couldn’t stop grinning. She’d never had sex like that , and it was a revelation to her. So many thoughts and feelings were fighting for recognition in her, bits and pieces of them scattering about in euphoria.
This, Kate thought, was what she wanted. This, right here, with this guy, Joe Firretti.
She grinned at him again. Joe didn’t notice—he was too engrossed in the manuscript she was editing. He was propped up against a stack of pillows, the sheet covering him from the waist down. His brow was furrowed in concentration. Kate slipped her hand across his rock-hard abdomen, but Joe caught her wrist and squeezed lightly. “Stop that, you vixen,” he said without looking up from the pages. “I have never used the word ‘vixen’ in my life until this moment. But I have to find out if she’s going to let him in her house or not.”
“Of course she does.”
“Hey!” Joe protested, putting down the pages and casting a playfully stern frown at her. “Don’t tell me. That ruins it.”
Kate laughed. “If she doesn’t let him in, there’s no love story.”
“Oh. I get it.” He grinned and tossed the pages to the foot of the bed. “You’re an expert, I take it,” he said as he gathered her up in his arms. He kissed her, then snagged another fry. “Tell me what you like,” he said.
“What I like? ”
“Yes.” He ate another fry. “What makes you happy? Puppies and ribbons? Rugby and scuba diving?”
Kate thought about that. “Shoes,” she said with a definitive nod.
“I should have guessed that based on the weight of your suitcase alone. What else?”
This was what Kate was discovering she particularly liked about Joe. Yes, the sex was amazing, but better still, he was willing to talk. About everything. She tried to remember the last time she’d lounged on a bed—naked—and talked about sports and books and popular TV shows. She wondered if she’d ever known someone who would laugh with her about politics, or know the best sushi places in New York, or agree with her that Justin Bieber actually had put out a few catchy tunes.
Kate was not one for clichés. In the books she edited, she weeded them
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