AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He drew me over to the sofa and sat down, one leg drawn up so he could face me fully. He looked almost hesitant. “Thatcher. You know how, just a minute ago, you told me that I should come to you if I need something? If I have… concerns?”
I frowned. “Yes, of course. What’s wrong, baby?”
“Well.” He licked his lips and met my eyes. The fact that his were dancing should have been my first clue. “I’m concerned that my boyfriend and I haven’t had sex in fucking ages, even though I’ve told him I’m fine, so I wanted to check in?—”
I pushed Reagan down into the cushions with a growl, and he shrieked with laughter until I levered myself over him. “Is that so?”
“It is.” He smoothed his hands up my chest and wrapped them around my neck. “So, Thatcher Pennington, how are you feeling right now?”
I leaned down and kissed him lightly on the lips. “I’m feeling lucky as fuck, Reagan Wellbridge. And how are you feeling?”
His lips turned up, and in his aquamarine eyes, I saw my future. “I feel loved. Cherished. And like I’m finally Mr. Important.”
I moved my hands up to hold his face. “I meant what I said during the interview, Reagan. As soon as you’re ready for more, I’m going to marry you without any hesitation. Do you understand?”
His answering grin was wild, free, and unhesitating, the way it was meant to be.
“Yes, sir.”
Epilogue
Reagan
The following New Year’s Eve
“Mask stays on. Clothes come off,” a deep, male voice rumbled in my ear. “You’re going to be good for me tonight, aren’t you?”
The man’s indecent proposal sent a trail of goose bumps washing over my skin, and I froze in surprise. Before he’d spoken, I’d been watching various couples twirl across the floor at the masked charity ball, wondering where the hell my husband was. I’d sent him to get me a vodka soda twenty minutes ago.
“Pardon me?” My words came out husky and flirtatious. “Do I know you?”
A familiar black brow lifted over the top of the man’s Roman warrior mask, and his plush lips set in a firm, unsmiling line that made my pulse race with arousal… and then with a sudden wave of affection as he handed me my favorite drink.
“I’m very interested in games,” he murmured, leaning closer. “Especially the kind where my sexy husband teases me by wearing absolutely nothing under his tuxedo.” His hand snuck down to brush across my ass, reminding me I’d had to toss my ruined boxer briefs in the trash after Thatcher had made me come in my pants like a teenager in our private elevator earlier.
I let out a laugh. “Yes, I’m a naughty, naughty boy.”
“Mm, thought so.” His hand brushed my pants again, only this time, it was the fabric over my half-hard cock.
I sucked in a breath. “You’re playing with fire,” I warned softly, glancing around at the throngs of high-profile people surrounding us in the ballroom.
“Room 5316, thirty minutes,” he said roughly, ignoring my warning. With two long, sure fingers, he slid a key card into the breast pocket of my tuxedo jacket, then leaned forward until I was wrapped in the scent of his cologne—smoky and deliciously familiar. “If you’re late, I’ll find another plaything.”
“Liar,” I breathed against the side of his face. The rumble of his laugh filled my chest with warmth.
“Maybe. But I have plans for you tonight. This time last year, I didn’t get to do everything I wanted.”
I closed my eyes and inhaled his presence, suddenly not giving a shit what anyone around us thought. I’d been at public events like this with Thatcher often enough in the past year to know he didn’t have a shred of modesty when it came to being affectionate with me in front of others. It never failed to make me feel valued and adored.
His arm wrapped around my waist. “I love you,” he murmured before pressing a firm kiss to my temple. “I need to say goodbye to Brant, but after that, I expect you to meet me in the room and let me do dirty, dirty things to your sexy body for hours on end.”
“Y-yes, sir,” I whispered.
Those two magic words seemed to seal the deal. The beautiful man in the Roman warrior mask nodded once, turned, and disappeared into the crowd.
I shuddered out a breath and pushed up my mask in an attempt to provide my lungs with oxygen. Thirty minutes, he’d said? My phone showed it was 11:02 p.m., less than an hour until the champagne corks popped, and suddenly, I was even more excited with my plans for ringing in the New Year.
I opened my phone, adjusted the settings, pulled my mask down, and posted a quick, unedited selfie—wild grin, skewed bow tie, and all. Remember, NYE sets the tone for the year! I captioned as my body tingled with anxious anticipation. Don’t waste time being polite. *champagne emoji*
