All or Nothing:A Love by Design Novel

By: Kendall Ryan


“Ahhhhh . . .” A deep male groan broke from behind the closed door.

Sex noises seemed really out of place in a church. Call me old-fashioned, but I was certain of two things: One, doggie style should be reserved for the bedroom, and two, we were all going to hell. “Come on,” I urged Braydon, tugging his tuxedo-clad elbow. “We can’t listen to this.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” His feet remained planted to the floor, despite my efforts to shove him farther down the hall.

A loud, thundering moan vibrated the door.

My eyes jerked up to Braydon’s. His mouth quirked up in a lopsided grin, showing off his perfect dimple. He lowered himself to the floor, leaning his back against the wall with his long legs stretched out in front of him, and crossed his feet at the ankles.

“What are you doing?” I hissed. Shouldn’t we give our friends some privacy?

“Guarding the door.” He shrugged. “I’m sure one of those photographers outside would love a shot of the action in there.” He gestured with a nod toward the door of the church library where our friends were currently getting it on.

I couldn’t argue with that. There was a fleet of paparazzi outside who’d give their left testicle to get a shot of the action today. This wedding was practically the event of the summer in Manhattan. World-famous male supermodel Ben Shaw’s wedding to my best friend, Emmy, would be front-page news on the celebrity gossip sites.

I looked down at Braydon’s stretched-out form. He was dressed in a tailored black Armani tuxedo, crisp white shirt, and sleek Italian leather shoes that tapered just slightly at the toe. His bow tie was hanging loose around his open collar, and he was sipping from a silver flask, watching me curiously.

“Come sit with me.” He tapped the floor beside him with his knuckles. “Those shoes can’t be comfortable.” His eyes slowly lowered, wandering the length of my black strapless gown and all the way down to my strappy five-inch heels.

He was right again; I’d been in them for thirty minutes and already I could feel my toes becoming numb. The price of beauty. Sometimes it sucked being a girl. I sighed, not wanting to admit he was right.

“I won’t bite, kitten. Unless you want it rough.” He flashed his dimpled grin at me again and my stomach knotted.

Braydon tested my willpower like no one else. I’d sworn off men, so why did I want to take off my panties and give in to him? Lord, this wasn’t healthy. Not one bit. I forced my eyes from his. Gazing into his navy blue depths felt entirely too intimate. He saw too much. I wondered if he knew just how much he got my heart racing. I’d met him last year through our mutual friends, Ben and Emmy. He was a sinfully sexy male model, often working with Emmy’s soon-to-be husband, and trouble with a capital T.

Defeated, I slipped off my heels and sunk down on the floor next to him. Trying to maintain a sense of modesty, I arranged heaps of black satin and organza around my legs in the hallway of the church where my best friend was about to wed the man of her dreams. Pity party, your table of one is now available. I knew it was cliché, but weddings depressed me. Always have. I’d helped Emmy into her dress and fussed with her veil until it was just perfect. And now, I could only imagine what was going on in that church library, and the mess I’d have to clean up before their wedding ceremony even began.

“Ben wanted a quick fuck.” Braydon shrugged like this situation was completely normal.

Oh, that was romantic. Men were disgusting. I rolled my eyes at him; I felt like sticking out my tongue, too, but I didn’t. Weren’t most people nervous before their wedding? Apparently Ben and Emmy were just horny.

But this was fucking ridiculous. Their wedding ceremony was scheduled to begin in twenty minutes, and I could see the stream of guests already filtering in and sitting with the assistance of the ushers. When Ben had come knocking at the door, looking for Emmy, I hadn’t argued; I’d just helped her out of the one-of-a-kind white lace gown made just for her by Vera Wang, and let him inside the little library where we’d been getting ready.

His eyes had drunk her in, moving down from the little white bra and panty set to the pale blue garter around her thigh. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he’d murmured.

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