Want You Moore (Moore Family Series Book 3) by Frankie Page

Author:Frankie Page [Page, Frankie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-07-14T16:00:00+00:00

20

Fuck Jacob Moore.

Fuck him. His stupidly handsome face. And his ability to see through my bullshit. I hate how he makes me want to throttle him and ride him, all within the same breath. That jackass knows exactly how to press my buttons—and I mean my button. It’s cruel and unusual that God would bless someone as annoying as him with the ability to make a girl go from zero to screaming with the flick of his tongue. Or maybe he sold his soul to Satan. Now that I think on it, there’s nothing holy about the things that tongue does to my body—well, except for how it sends me to the pearly gates when I climax. Besides that, it’s the devil’s tongue.

Seriously, does he have any idea how embarrassing it was to walk out of the bathroom and sit with his family, all the while pretending I hadn’t just come so hard I went cross-eyed?

Scratch that, of course he knew. It’s why he did it. The million-dollar question is why I allowed him to… Twice. The first time was understandable. I needed the release I knew he could give me. The second, though? I have no excuse other than I wanted him. A desire I’m not allowed to have.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Go away,” I yell. “We’re closed.”

This is no doubt the worst time for the bar to be out of commission. June is when the tourists and summer families trickle in. The current heat wave has the out-of-towners ahead of schedule. I’ve already had to deal with two pink-polo-shirt-wearing assholes down here on Daddy’s dime, who were pissed when they heard that the main bar in town was closed.

Me too, buddy. Me too.

I told them we would reopen on the 3rd (because if we don’t, I might die) and that they could have a free round on me for the inconvenience. After some douche from the newspaper stopped by for an interview, I shut and locked the door and hung a sign up advising people to come back next week.

The pounding on the door intensifies. Seriously, assholes?

I rest the mop against the bar and push back my disheveled hair. With the door shut and still no AC, to say it’s hot in here is an understatement. Grumbling, I fight with the lock that is sticking because of the humidity and push the door open. I plaster on my fakest smile, not wanting to scare away my customers. While the regulars are used to my resting bitch face, the visiting population doesn’t have quite enough time to fully appreciate my charm. Not that I go over the top. This is a lake town, which means we attract all the rich kids with water-sport equipment that costs more than the trailer I grew up in. The guys who come down here from the city make Keith McCalester look like a decent guy (he isn’t one). They all think us small-town girls are fanning ourselves, just waiting for a city slicker to pick us up out of the mud and whisk us away to their ivory towers.

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