The Cornerstone by Kate Canterbary Read Free Book Online Page B

Like all of this was more than one wild night.
    Manipulative fucking orgasms.
    “We are not doing this,” I said, and then I thought better of it. We were both here for another night, right? “Not right now.”
    “Always so serious.” He rocked against me, and I felt every inch of him, half-hard against my back. “How are you in a bad mood after last night? You enjoyed it. You enjoyed it six or seven times. I know. I was there.”
    “You’re an arrogant asshole,” I whisper-hissed. “My heels are bigger than your dick, and accomplish far more.”
    “Hmm,” he said. His finger trailed between my exposed shoulder blades while the photographer switched lenses. We were on the far end of the group and close enough together so no one noticed his hand shifting from my hip to cup my ass over the layers of floaty mint green chiffon. “You phrased it differently last night.”
    I didn’t respond because he was right about that, yet his cock didn’t need another vote of confidence from me.
    “Just one more,” the photographer said. “Squeeze in super tight.”
    Will’s fingers brushed down my back as the photographer clicked away, and I knew I’d be the fool grinning with her eyes closed in every one of these shots. If there was any possibility of disappearing from this reception and letting those fingers finish what they were starting, I would have snapped it right up.
    But that wasn’t happening. Not for me, not tonight. My brother and my best friend were getting the best goddamn reception I could conjure, and if that meant sacrificing some screeching orgasms, I’d survive. All told, I sacrificed more than my share of screeching orgasms for my family.
    “Perfect,” the photographer said. “Now, bride and groom only.”
    I huffed out a sigh of relief and stepped forward, but Will’s hand tightened around my dress. “Not so fast, Shortcake.”
    “Would you shove the Shortcake up your ass, please?” That fucking nickname. Did he think he was the first person to call me Strawberry Shortcake? Or Pippi Longstocking? Or Little Orphan Annie? I’d heard every tired, unoriginal redhead nickname known to man, and the only less-inventive names he could throw at me would be Red or Freckles.
    “You really need to loosen up,” he said. “Why don’t you let me help you with that?”
    “Why don’t you suck my dick?” I asked, my elbow landing on his stomach. I heard a soft grunt behind me, and this time, he didn’t protest when I marched away.
    It was obvious things were not going according to plan when I arrived at the reception area, and it was a good thing I pressed pause on today’s showing of Orgasm Hour with Will . The bar line stretched all the way across the tent, there were no appetizers on the tables, and the band was still setting up. ‘Tyrant’ would be a fair assessment of my behavior when I stormed into the kitchen.
    The next couple of hours flew by in a blur. I missed dinner entirely and didn’t catch much of the first dance, cake cutting, or bouquet toss, but the inn staff that I deputized was finally keeping things running on schedule. For a minute there, I almost got behind the bar and handled service myself. It was days like this that convinced me I’d be able to pull off a successful jewel heist if I set my mind to it.
    I shuffled toward the bar, my feet aching and my body too tightly strung with tension to register my exhaustion. With a glass of champagne in hand, I counted heads. Matt and Lauren were circling the dance floor. Sam was getting drunker. Riley was grinding on Lauren’s mother—she was getting a kick out of it, thankfully. Patrick was still moping. Erin was seated at a far table with Andy and Lauren’s brother Wes, and I couldn’t decide whether I was relieved Erin was still here or concerned that she was telling them all our ugly secrets.
    Nick waved as he approached the bar, and I responded with a chin lift. Too damn tired for words.
    He tapped his beer bottle against my