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“No wonder. You really worked up an appetite.” That crooked grin. His eyes are a light sky-blue this morning.
I smile, biting my lip. “Guilty as charged.”
All he’s wearing is a pair of gray sweatpants—Lord, help me—that hang low on his hips. He’s shirtless, barefoot, he needs a shave and his too-long hair is still a mess from bed. His chest hair and his muscles and the way his sweatpants hang low on his hips is just so…the kind of thing you fall in love with. On a second date. Or maybe we can count this as our third. “There’s enough food here to feed an army.”
“We need energy. For later.”
“What’s happening later?”
“We’re going to go back to bed. I’m going to give you a massage then you’re going to ride me into a gilded sunset after I fuck you from behind like an animal.”
I smile. God, this man. “Oh. Again?”
“Yes. Champagne?” I notice he’s already poured two glasses. One of them is only half full. He hands me the other one.
“What time is it?”
He checks his phone, which is sitting on the counter. “Two fifteen.”
This weekend feels like a fever dream. It’s gone so quickly.
And tonight’s our last night. Tomorrow morning we both have to be back at work. “Isn’t it a little early for champagne?”
“No. We’re on vacation for the weekend. Which I’ve never done before. And which I definitely shouldn’t be doing now, but I’m doing it anyway. So we’re going to make the most of it.”
He’s never taken a weekend off. Until me. It’s a heady thought, that I have this kind of power over him, to make him drop his billionaire lifestyle and his company/investigation/portfolio to hide me away in his apartment and keep me all to himself.
But we can’t keep the rest of the world at bay forever. Even now, his phone keeps vibrating on silent mode.
“Do you need to get that?”
“I’ll call them back.”
I’m really in over my head here. Maybe we both are.
Because what is this? What are we actually doing? I’m staring at my CEO with heart-shaped eyes while he pretends that there’s nothing happening outside our little lust bubble.
On the kitchen table, there are two wrapped packages, a big one and a small one. “Those are for you. Open them.”
“I don’t want you buying me anything, Ace. You’ve already done too much. This is too?—”
“Fast, yes. Inappropriate, possibly. Too good to deny, definitely. Open them anyway.”
He lifts me and sets me so I’m sitting near the corner of the huge kitchen island. He lowers the sheet I wrapped around myself to my waist. My exposed nipples tighten in the relative coolness of the open air. But by now, I’m so used to him licking, sucking and feasting on every inch of me that I barely even blush. “No gifts,” I tell him.
But Ace goes over and takes the smaller one and brings it to me, opening the sheet and pushing my knees apart so he can stand between them. Those gray sweatpants are doing nothing to conceal a very gigantic hard-on. “Please?”
It’s almost…adorable—if an alpha billionaire hunk can be described like that. He’s excited for me to open his presents.
So I unwrap the present, carefully removing the fancy wrapping paper—so he can save the wrapping paper if he wants to reuse it—to reveal a robin’s-egg-blue box. I open it.
Inside is a bracelet. “Ace.” Three rows of pink diamonds are held together by inter-locked gold nests, all the way around. “This is…not real, I hope.”
“Of course it’s real.” Like he’s insulted.
My huff of laughter is incredulous. “I can’t accept this. This must’ve cost?—”
“Tex. Jesus. You don’t analyze the cost of something when someone gives you a gift. You just say thank you.” He takes the bracelet and lays it over my wrist, doing up the clasp.
