Say You're Mine: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Southport Love Stories Book 4), Sarah Brooks [urban books to read .txt] 📗

“Sexy, mama,” Kyle grinned, picking me up and twirling me around. I laughed, smacking him on the shoulder so he would put me down.

“Shut up, Web,” I grumbled, loving the appreciation all the same.

I glanced up at Adam, who was still chatting with my dad and noticed his eyes on me. My heart fluttered wildly in my chest. Was I imagining that he looked at me with something that seemed a lot like desire?

Or was it wishful thinking? Because honestly, how would I even know what desire looked like? I had nothing to compare it to in my minimal experience with the opposite sex.

“There’s my girl,” Dad exclaimed, beaming at me proudly. I walked over and threw my arms around my dad’s neck, hugging him tightly. I never shied away from showing my parents affection. I didn’t subscribe to that silly teenage notion that you couldn’t still hug your mom and dad just because you had grown up.

Dad pulled back and looked at me, shaking his head. “Why did you have to go and grow up on me, Meggie Bear?” He kissed my cheek. “You look absolutely stunning. Doesn’t she, Adam?”

I glanced at my best friend and felt the world drop out from underneath me. I wasn’t imagining the look in his eyes at all.

He swallowed before answering. “She’s gorgeous.” There was a note in his voice that changed absolutely everything.

This was our night.

Finally.

“Everyone, get together so I can take a picture!” my mom called out, bustling into the room with the energy of a whirling dervish. Mom always brought an energy that could either be exciting or exhausting, depending on her mood.

Our group of four huddled together in the front foyer. We were a motley crew, but we worked. I felt Adam put his hand on my hip as he squeezed in close.

“You really do look amazing, Meg,” he murmured in my ear. I could smell his aftershave and the distinct scent that was all him.

His fingers burned through my dress, branding my skin.

This was it.

The moment it would all change.

I wanted to hold onto this feeling forever.

**

Of course, it all crashed and burned extraordinarily.

Because Adam Ducate was no longer my best friend.

Now he was simply the asshole that broke my heart.

Chapter 1

Adam

Present Day

I was about to cum—and cum hard.

I closed my eyes and thrust faster, my hips pumping in overtime.

My mind was blissfully blank. I could only focus on the feeling of pressure in my cock and the soft, satin feel of her skin. I gripped her thighs, spreading them wider so I could hit just the right spot. Her deep, rough moan let me know I was doing the job right.

I grinned, feeling high on it. If I was good at anything, it was fucking.

I flipped her over onto her stomach, her ass in the air as I pounded into her. I wrapped my hand into her long, blonde hair, giving it a yank as my dick spasmed. We both yelled our release, our bodies slick with sweat.

This was always the best part. Those few glorious seconds after I shot my load when I didn’t have to think about anything. Particularly what a lying bitch my soon to be ex-wife was. A lying, unfaithful, kick-a-man-in-the nuts bitch.

The lying ex-wife in question sighed beneath me, turning on her back and squeezing her legs around my waist, refusing to let me go. She’d swallow me whole if I weren’t careful. Lord knows she’d tried her hardest for the past ten years. And had almost succeeded.

Thank Christ, I had woken the hell up and kicked her traitorous ass to the curb.

Yet, here I was, cock deep in her succubus pussy like the dumbass I was trying so hard not to be anymore.

Sex with Chelsea was easy. Too easy. Old habits die hard, I guess. Our compatibility in the bedroom had never been our problem. It was everything else that was a goddamn mess.

Thirty minutes of excellent fucking couldn’t erase over a decade of deceit and manipulation, no matter how spectacular her skills were. Staring down at the woman I had stupidly shackled myself to when I was too young to make informed decisions, my dick softened, and I immediately pulled out, wishing I could fast forward through the next ten awkward minutes.

Chelsea—my soon to be ex-wife—arched her back, her magnificent breasts on proud display. I loved her tits—as well I should, considering how much I paid for them. She spread out in the middle of what used to be our shared king-sized bed, angling her body in a way that accentuated her very best parts. She was gorgeous, and she knew it. Which was part of the reason I should have known all along we’d never work out.

Yet here we were, post-coital, six months after I caught her in bed with Dave, the contractor I had hired to build the new extension on our 6,200 square foot house. And I was damn sure he wasn’t the only one she’d spread her legs for.

Cuckold wasn’t a good color on me.

Chelsea got off on admiration the way some people got off on drugs, or porn, or alcohol. She was addicted to making people want her. And it wasn’t hard; she was a man’s wet dream with lips that were full and perfect, particularly wrapped around a cock, and an hourglass frame that was all soft sensual curves and slim lines.

But she was a selfish woman, and when I had wanted to start a family, she had promised to go off her birth control and really try for a baby. I thought she had finally matured, that she was becoming the woman I had convinced myself she could be.

I was a complete moron.

Because of course, she lied. It was second nature to a woman like Chelsea. As natural as breathing. She had no intention of getting pregnant. It would have ruined her carefully crafted figure, after all. Instead of going off the pill, she had gotten the Depo-Provero