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A Perfect Wreck Mila Crawford, Aria Cole 2022/8/3 13:46:54

Asa spins me out of his arms until we’re stretched in a line joined only by our clasped hands. I look at his handsome face and remember him as a boy. Protective, moody, ready to jump all over anyone who got too close to what he loved. In some ways, he hasn’t changed much. He’s still gorgeous, just bigger; still overprotective, just less hot-headed; still moody, but he’s always willing to talk things through with me.

I twirl into his chest, and he holds me fast and tight to him. These arms have both comforted and sustained me, and mine have done the same for him. I bring both hands to his jaw and cradle his face. He closes his eyes, and when he opens them, he’s looking at me with so much trust and love, my heart inflates.

“Know anybody in real estate?”

Asa’s smile is priceless, and he dips me on the crescendo, biting my neck for good measure.

I can barely make it through the reception, which, when it’s your sister’s, isn’t such a great thing. Callie has me hard, enraptured, euphoric with glee. She agreed to get a place together, and it makes me feel like we’re finally embarking on a real life together.

Callie and I both deliver speeches, we eat, dance more, toast the bride and groom until I cut myself off because someone has to drive us back to the hotel room. Crosby wears a perma-grin that’s pretty fucking cute. Weston’s chest is puffed out, and his protective arm around my sister—Christ, correction, his wife—makes me happy they’ve found true love.

Meanwhile, the goodbyes are endless, and Callie is tipsy. I keep a hand at her back constantly because heels and champagne might not be her strong suit.

“I’m ready,” she whispers into my ear. My aunt Roberta from Ohio has been asking Callie about her feet for the last half an hour.

“Auntie, Callie is a rehab specialist—not a podiatrist.”

“Well, they all charge an arm and a leg!” Roberta shakes a finger at us. I kiss my aged aunt and hug uncles and cousins. When we say goodbye to the bride and groom, they have the same look of trapped birds in a roomful of windows that Callie and I are wearing.

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“Holy crud, BeBe, get the hell out of here. They’ll keep partying, and this is your night. You already did all the important parts—go be with your husband!” Callie shrieks. She and Crosby hug for what seems like ten minutes. Weston and I discuss what the work schedule will look like while they’re on their honeymoon.

Finally, parking lot, slammed doors, Callie in my arms. She straddles me in the cab of my truck, her tongue pushing down my throat with a newfound fluidity.

“Should I drive? Hotel? Bed?” I ask through the kiss without coming up for air. She’s grinding on my erection, nothing between us but my pants and a very wet pair of panties. She pulls the top of her dress down and guides her breast to my mouth, feeding me her nipple. I make a lame attempt to glance around the parking lot, but fuck it. I eagerly suck the tit she’s shoving in my mouth. With both hands pressing down on her thighs, I torture her nipples, nipping, biting, and licking until involuntary sounds pass her plush lips. Slipping my fingers between her legs, I rub her engorged clit through the thin material and register the slickness of her desire.

“Can you stick it in? Right here?” she asks me. She’s kitten-like when she’s horny, adorable and clawed. I don’t want to deny her, but she’s been drinking, and I don’t want us to end up on the news.

“Right here in this spot?” Pushing her panties to the side, I penetrate her with a long finger. “Or right here in the parking lot?”

“Asa!” she moans. I can’t help but laugh at her frustration. She crosses her arms over her naked breasts and sticks out her already swollen lower lip.

“I’d rather have a bed,” I say. Callie rolls off my lap sideways and huffs and curses as she turns around, aggressively yanking the seat belt across her chest.

“Maybe pull up the dress. I’d hate to have seat belt burn on your uncovered flesh.” She huffs some more and jerks up the top of the dress.

I’m afraid she’ll pass out, but when we close the door to the hotel room, she’s transformed back into a wildcat. She removes my jacket and my shirt with careless fingers, flinging her own things across the floor. She falls to her knees in front of me and begins unbuckling my belt. My cock is already misbehaving, engorged and straining against my black boxer briefs. Callie takes it in her hands, and I let my head fall back, exhaling all the tension the wedding kept pent up in me.