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  • Home > Chelle Bliss > Men of Inked > Without Me (Page 66)     
    Without Me(Men of Inked #7) by Chelle Bliss
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    “Such a shit,” I said as I grabbed her sides and started to tickler her.

    “Anthony!” She giggled and lost her balance, falling backward.

    I landed on top of her and pushed myself up so I wouldn’t crush her. “I love you,” I whispered against her soft lips.

    She ran her hand through my hair. “I love you too. Thank you.”

    “For what?”

    “Being a cocky asshole,” she murmured against my mouth.

    “Speaking of assholes.” I wiggled my eyebrows.

    “After I say I do.”

    “Let’s elope,” I declared, feeling like it couldn’t get here soon enough.

    “No way! I’m going to wear the prettiest dress I can find. I’m not missing my walk down the aisle in a designer gown just so you can fuck me in the ass.”

    “You make it sounds so tawdry. I do remember you violating me the first night we spent together.”

    “And you fucking loved it. You were all twitchy and gasping for air.”

    “Enough,” I said, feeling slightly embarrassed.

    “When you were all, ‘Oh God. Yes, Max. Deeper, Max.’” She laughed.

    “I never said deeper,” I said as my cheeks heated.

    “We’ll see if you do tonight,” she added as she pulled my face against hers and kissed me.

    “Mm,” I mumbled into her kiss as my stiff prick pressed into her thigh.

    “Take me home,” she said as she released my lips.

    “Gladly, but only if you’re going to do that special thing with your finger.”

    She snickered, pressing her head into the sand. “I knew you liked it.”

    “Only when you do it, baby,” I said as I pushed myself up to my knees.

    “Tonight you get what you want and tomorrow I get what I want.”

    “Anal?” I asked, feeling hopeful.

    “Clothes.” She smiled as she used my arm to pull herself up.

    “Fuck me,” I muttered, and rolled my eyes.

    * * *

    Well, she had that shit right. She’d get exactly what she wanted, but only after I had a few mind-blowing orgasms. Even though I hated shopping, I felt completely okay with it as I stood in Nordstrom.

    “Would you like me to start a dressing room?” the salesman asked Max.

    I stood there with my arm outstretched as I held at least ten hangers of clothes that didn’t look comfortable.

    “Yes please.” She took the hangers from my arms and handed them to the man before he disappeared.

    “Got enough?” I asked, hoping that her answer would be yes.

    “Nope. Only a few more things.”

    I sighed and followed her to the next rack that held Armani suits. “What do I need a suit for?”

    She paid no attention to me as she looked through the jackets.

    “Do you just want to torture me?” I whined.

    “It’s for the rehearsal dinner.”

    She pulled the wedding card and she knew damn well I wouldn’t argue. “Okay,” I answered and felt completely pussy-whipped. “Can I wear a fedora?”

    She stopped dead and gawked at me. “You can’t be serious.”

    I nodded with my mouth set in a firm line. “Dead serious, woman.”

    “No hats.”

    “I heard they’re in style.”

    “Where? In the Rolling Stone?”

    “I think I look good in hats.”

    “This is my show, buddy. I say no hats. Especially for the rehearsal dinner.”

    “Wedding?”

    “No,” she snapped.

    “Bossy.”

    “Cocky.”

    “Hey, Max, if you’re really good, we can christen that dressing room with all my cockiness.”

    She laid her hand on my chest and brought her lips within an inch of mine. “You are not going to derail today with sex.”

    “Think of it as an accessory.”

    “It’s not happening.”

    “Killjoy.”

    “I am, and that’s why you love me.” She gave me a quick peck before turning her attention back to the rack of suits that cost more than I’d spent on my entire wardrobe to date.

    “Yeah, that must be it. It wouldn’t have anything to do with your amazing body and tight pussy. It was entirely your sparkling personality that made me fall in love.”

    “Anthony.”

    I could see her smile from the side profile as I watched her in her glory. “You owe me big for today.”

    “You owe me big for being your wife.”

    “Anal, baby.” I laughed as she hit me on the chest.

    I couldn’t be a happier man.

    This magnificent creature before me was going to be mine. Even with my bad sense of style—her words, not mine—and my checkered past, she still loved me. On paper we didn’t work. White boy with tattoos and a total asshole and a black girl with a chip on her shoulder.

    Hell, sometimes I wondered how we got to the point where she was my fiancée. But when my assholishness met her feisty attitude, everything clicked together.

    Honestly, I was drawn to her since she was the only female who hadn’t thrown themselves at me. I had to work for her love. Shit, I had to work just to get her name.

    I felt completely at peace and excited to see what the future held for us. I felt like I was starting life over again. Now I looked forward to each day with an open heart and a good woman by my side.

    Maxine Washington was mine, along with an Armani suit and about twenty other pieces of clothing by people I’d never heard of. My life overfloweth.

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