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Fast—way too fast—he pulls away. His breaths are ragged, lips swollen. My cock strains against my pants when Amara reaches up to swipe my saliva from his bottom lip.
“Aww, you two are so cute.”
Amara’s cooing sobers me the fuck up. First, I’m pussy-whipped by her and now…what? I’m dick-whipped?
And who’ll stick a knife into asshole members and people trying to attack her?
Yeah, no. I’m not fucking dick-whipped. Or pussy-whipped for that matter.
“You’re bad.” I tug on her free bun, knowing she’ll gasp. She does, and I spit between her beautiful, crimson lips. “So fucking bad.”
“Carter.” Killian clears his throat. “You didn’t call Amara here to fuck her. Right?”
“That’s right.”
“What’s going on, then?”
“You, flower girl, were invited to the wedding. By Luna.” I grab her by the neck, loving the feel of her throat bobbing when she swallows my spit. “You’re coming.”
Her eyes brighten. I cast my gaze up to find Killian’s pitch-black ones.
“We discussed this.” He pins me with a glare. One that says, You know damn well why she shouldn’t be there.
“Luna asked and I made an executive decision.”
My blatant disregard earns me his scowl and Amara’s excited yelp.
“Thank you, muffin,” she screeches in my ear.
As soon as Killian’s grip on her hair loosens, Amara throws herself at me and Killian. She kisses me first, hot and urgent and everywhere.
This warmth in my chest again. I’m fucking melting over here.
The tiniest smile flashes across Killian’s lips. Just as whipped as I am.
When she turns to him, his smile disappears. He’s worried.
Join the club. “We’ll be there, Kill.”
My reassurance doesn’t satisfy Amara. “Please say yes,” she pleads.
“Of course. Just remember—”
“You two are my bosses.” Amara mirrors Killian’s serious face, and it’s fucking hard to keep from cracking up. “Mr. Murdock. Mr. Steele.”
“Good girl,” I praise, tightening my grip around her middle and glancing at Killian. “Babysit the venue for an hour? I’ll drop A at home so she can change. That is, if you want to.”
“Of course,” Killian answers.
I don’t think he even notices his hand at the back of my neck, caressing me absentmindedly. But I do. Amara does too, grinning at me and purring because he’s doing the same to her.
What a dysfunctional Brady Bunch we make.
Refusing to ruin the moment, I don’t utter a word.
Until Amara’s face drops out of nowhere.
“What is it, pet?”
