It’s infuriating. But what’s more infuriating than the imprint of Brody McFadden’s large wiener on my hand is the fact that he gave me the best and most passionate kiss I’d ever experienced in my twenty-three years of life.

All the practice he had in college turned him into the Master of Mouths.

The Conqueror of Caresses.

The Sultan of Salacious Tongues!

I felt that kiss all the way to my champagne-painted toes that night.

He owned me with his mouth, dragging me into a vortex of his carnal hotbed.

I was useless.

Played like a fiddle by his large hands and his masterful lip-locking.

Pressed up against a wall, living out every romantic heart’s fantasy as the most attractive, tuxedo-clad man in the room devoured me with one simple slip of his lips over mine. It was a dream.

A fantasy turned reality.

And right as he cupped my breast over the burgundy chiffon of my dress, he lightly pinched my nipple, releasing the most feral sound I’ve ever produced.

The moan sounded like angels above to me, but to him…but to him…it apparently acted like a wet blanket, suffocating his monstrous erection and turning it into a shriveled-up bean pod.

He pulled away so fast that a string of saliva dangled between us before hitting me in the chin.

And then I’ll never…ever…forget this part. It was utterly humiliating.

Degrading.

Flat-out freaking rude.

Looking me square in the eyes, my hazel to his deep brown, he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, uh yeah…wiped it off in front of me—as if disposing of the layer of lust we created to avoid catching infection. What did he expect? Cholera?

Then without a word, just a snarl on his lips, he turned away and bolted, leaving me aroused, confused, and sexually annoyed…at my brother’s wedding.

Yup, let’s hear it. Go ahead, let in the boos.

Send your curses in his direction.

Any hate mail can be addressed to Brody McFadden, 233 Locked- Lipped Loser Lane.

You’re allowed to hate him. I actually hope that you do. I plead that you do.

So, after hearing all of that, you must be wondering, why am I letting this Henry Cavill look-alike—chin dimple and all—breathe heavily on my neck after he teased me with his tongue and then left me unsatisfied? Well, sometimes desperate times call for desperate measures.

Sometimes we’re dealt cards in our life that are harder to shuffle through than expected.

And sometimes you’re stuck on a small Polynesian island with no other option than to pretend the person you hate most in the entire world is actually your boyfriend…

KEEP READING HERE: Bridesmaid for Hire

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