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I look up him. “I’m so sorry. You must have felt like it was somehow partly your fault.”
He leans his head back against the plush pillows. The twisted regret is easy to read. “Good guess.”
“It’s not your fault, though. It’s okay for you to want to live your own life and not his.”
“He didn’t see things that way. Anyway, it turns out he might have been right.”
I brush the backs of my fingers against the stubble of his jaw gently. “Don’t say that. It’s not your fault that someone leaked some info they shouldn’t have leaked. You can’t control everything all the time.”
“I’m the CEO. It’s my job to control everything all the time.”
I ease him onto his back and climb up his body. My breasts press against the warm surface of his broad chest. “I’m sure the whole thing will blow over. Maybe they’ve already tracked the person down and isolated the incident.”
With one hand wound into my hair, he angles my head, contemplating me, assessing every detail of my face. “It’s possible. And it’s something I’ll need to deal with. On Monday. Right now I’m going to devour the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen because I really don’t know how to handle how hard and fast I’m fucking falling for her. Now I know why they call it falling.”
This is what he does. He convinces me.
I kiss him. His warm lips open mine and the kiss turns slippery and greedy. “Texas, I’m losing my goddamn mind over you.”
“Good,” I murmur against his mouth.
His fingers stroke me, finding the wetness he knew was there. He swirls it all over my pussy, painting me with my own arousal, sliding his fingers into my slick, fluttering core. “My girl is always so fucking wet for me.” He cups me, playing me with his fingers until I’m whimpering with need. “You’re ready for my big cock, aren’t you, Texas. You’re sore because you can’t get enough of me. But still, you want more.”
He lays me back, replacing his fingers with his hot, engorged length and I can feel every vein as he slowly, slowly drives in, and in. Gripping me, leaving marks as he sucks and bites on my neck.
Ace makes love to me with a passion he can’t quite contain.
I’ll admit it’s a strange feeling, to feel so incredibly treasured. He makes love to me with a kind of unrelenting joy that reaches deep into my body and soul. He doesn’t hold back. He’s gentle but commanding. He fucks me with a quiet desperation, like he wants to consume me, whispering words to me about how he’s never felt like this, how I’m the only thing he can see.
I can tell you this much: when a man like Cash Maddox growls very dirty sweet nothings into your ear as you’re having simultaneous crazy-intense orgasms, it creates a powerful, life-changing bond. His grip and his groans are real. They’re full of heartfelt lust that makes you believe him. And not just believe him, but to lean in and feel him.
I’m falling for him and I’m doing it willingly.
In fact I’ve fallen so hard for Cash Maddox over the course of one weekend—plus one hell of a one-night stand—the whole thing is kind of giving me vertigo.
For now, he gives in to his obsession and I give in to mine, because we seem to be incapable—at least tonight—of anything else.
Before I even open my eyes, I can feel the emptiness on his half of the bed.
My eyes blink open.
“Ace?” He’s gone but the duvet is wrapped snugly around me.
No answer.
So I get up and wrap the sheet around myself and wander into the living room. It must be Sunday morning. The slant of the golden rays of sunlight onto the rustic earth-tones of the art and the furniture and the wood make the apartment look like even more of a dream world. The opulent interior, framed by the insane view, gives the space a grand but also cozy atmosphere. Basically I never want to leave.
Ace isn’t on the patio so I keep wandering. I find him in the kitchen. It’s as over-the-top as I’ve now come to expect.
He glances up at me from the feast he’s setting out on the marble kitchen island. There are a dozen or more bags and boxes full of food.
“Hey, gorgeous.” There’s a huge fruit plate with mangoes, pineapple and papaya, bagels with cream cheese and lox, gourmet-looking donuts, an antipasto platter with olives and cheese, French bread, omelets, rashers of bacon, hash browns, maple syrup, fresh-squeezed orange juice and a bottle of champagne on ice. “I had some stuff delivered,” he says.
“Wow.”
“I hope you’re hungry.”
“I’m starving.”
