Free Wrong Man, Right Kiss by Red Garnier

delicious he was salivating like a dog.
    He’d had mile-long legs wrapped around his body, centerfold lips around his privates and breasts the size of melons in his hands. And he had never, ever, been so turned on.
    He wanted Molly so bad he’d die for it.
    He wanted to cup her breasts and suckle her until his jaw ached. He wanted to unpin her hair and watch as every fiery-red strand fell to caress the lovely curve of her nape and shoulders. He wanted to take a plunge into her cleavage and lick his way downward until he found the very center of her being—and he wanted to stay there, all night, drinking and feasting and adoring every prized and special inch of her.
    He knew this girl like he knew himself. And he still wanted to know her more.
    He knew he only had Lucky Charms for breakfast when she did, so he could eat her marshmallows. He knew she had her cereal with almond milk. He knew when she got painting fever she would disappear into her studio for months and not care whether the world kept spinning or fell apart, except for taking a moment each day to see him and Kate. He knew she’d secretly donated the first million she’d made to an orphanage and that when she was younger she’d watched The Princess Bride about twenty times, rewinding and replaying the part when the hero tells the princess, “As you wish,” rather than, “I love you.”
    He knew that she wanted his praise tonight.
    He had seen the uncertainty underneath the confidence in those striking blue eyes of hers, could see the eager rise and fall of her pretty breasts.
    More than anything, he wanted to shower her with the praise she wanted. He wanted to take off that slinky black dress with his teeth so she knew how badly he craved her. Then he wanted to take his teeth from her tiny toes and drag them up her shapely ankles, her firm calves, her slim beautiful thighs, and roam his hands up her tiny waist and her beautiful breasts while he buried his lips between her legs and drowned in the intoxicating taste of her. He wanted to take her to heaven, because that was the place where angels live, and he wanted her to ask something of him—anything—so that he could look into her eyes and tell her, “As you wish.”
    But he did none of that.
    Could not do it. Not yet.
    Because she’d worn this dress tonight for another man. And the thought of that alone made him feel like kicking a kitten.
    “I can feel your eyes on my back, Jules.” Molly broke into his thoughts, probably sensing his overwhelming testosterone encircling her.
    He leaned on the door frame with his wide shoulders, still struggling to process this new feeling of complete and utter jealousy. “You’re showing off so much skin I’m concerned you’re contracting pneumonia as you stand there,” he said.
    She swung around in surprise. Her mouth hung open, and then she tossed her head back and laughed. “Really? You’re concerned about my health? Or about your ego and the fact that you can’t even admit to me for one night in my life that I don’t look like I came out of a fistfight and a blender?”
    His fingers curled into his palms and his lips clamped shut. So…she thought he’d insulted her?
    “If you don’t want to be mauled the entire evening, I suggest you at least find a sweater,” he instructed. He was trying to sound friendly. Like a good friend. A best friend would make such a suggestion, wouldn’t he?
    “It’s a hundred degrees outside. Why would I need a sweater?”
    He stared down pointedly at her breasts—yes, so that she noticed—then back up at her until she squirmed under his stare. “Need I remind you you’re my lover for the time being? You’re like a property of mine and I won’t have any of those bastards…staring at your…your assets. ”
    “I’m like five feet tall and almost invisible, Jules. Nobody’s going to stare except, hopefully, Garrett. And then he’ll propose and we’ll have babies together.”
    Over my dead, rotting body, you