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“It’s Carelli,” I say when the real estate mogul picks up. “I need a favor.”
I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this, but I see no other option.
The baying beast inside me needs Emma in his cave.
* * *
The rest of my day is insanely busy. After the jobs report comes out, market volatility goes through the roof, and I spend all afternoon with my PMs, deciding which investments to unload and which ones to double down on. As a result, I don’t leave the office until seven, a full hour later than planned, and when I finally get home, I learn that my plans to pounce on Emma have hit a major obstacle.
She’s asleep.
“She was exhausted when she arrived a half hour ago,” Geoffrey informs me as I’m taking off my coat. “Said she was too tired to eat and was going to take a nap.”
A spike of guilt pierces my chest. I must’ve completely exhausted her last night. “Did she say anything about packing and going home?”
“No, Mr. Carelli. She went straight up to the bedroom and hasn’t come down since.” He pauses, then asks carefully, “Shall I warm up dinner for you? Or would you like to wait for Ms. Walsh?”
“Give me a few minutes, and I’ll let you know.”
I head upstairs, pausing only to pet Cottonball, who’s taken to greeting me every evening by the door. Of course, a few seconds of head scratching is insufficient for the needy feline, so when he meows loudly, looking up at me with those big green eyes, I bend down and pick him up, taking him with me so I can stroke him as I walk.
Entering the bedroom with a purring Cottonball in my arms, I find Emma tucked under the blanket, with the two other cats curled up next to her on my pillow.
A month ago, I would’ve immediately stripped the sheets and had Geoffrey boil my pillowcase with bleach. But as I take in the scene in front of me, cat germs are the last thing on my mind.
If I hadn’t already realized that I love her, I would’ve known it in this instant. Lust and tenderness, possessiveness and adoration—all of it commingles in my chest. Emma in repose is a sight that melts my heart and turns my cock rock hard. She’s lying on her side, one pale arm draped over her pillow and her curls like flame spirals around her softly pretty face. With her eyes closed, her thick lashes are like auburn half-moons on her freckled cheeks and her rosebud lips are slightly parted, making me want to kneel in front of her and kiss them—then roll her onto her back and fuck her all night long.
Even with my kitten looking like a Botticelli angel, the savage inside me is alive and well.
Heart thudding heavily, I walk over and stop at the edge of the bed, staring down at her. Emma’s breathing is completely even; she’s deep in the throes of sleep. Both cats raise their heads at my approach, then lay them back down, unimpressed.
I don’t know how long I stand there watching her, but eventually, I quietly back away and go back downstairs. With Cottonball sitting on my lap, I eat the dinner Geoffrey prepared, then go into my home office to do more work. The cat follows me there, napping on my desk while I go through research reports. I consider shooing him away, but he’s not bothering me, and having him here is a little bit like having a part of Emma with me.
When I’m done, I do a few dozen laps in my pool, shower, and head into the bedroom to join my kitten, whose evening nap is transitioning into nightly sleep. Quietly, I approach the bed and turn on the bedside lamp. Mr. Puffs and Queen Elizabeth are still lying on my pillow, pointedly ignoring me. Since chasing them away might wake Emma, I grab another pillow from my closet and carefully move the pillow with the cats aside. Then I flick off the lamp and stretch out beside Emma, pulling her soft, warm body into my embrace.
She stirs at my touch, mumbling, “Marcus?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Sleep, my sweet.” My cock is painfully hard, but I want her to rest and recover. I’m used to the nonstop pace of my life, with business dinners that run late into the night, followed by early-morning exercise or meetings. But she’s new to this, and the last thing I want is to undermine her health by exhausting her with my sexual demands on top of everything else.
She snuggles closer, yawning against my shoulder. “I didn’t go home,” she says sleepily. “I was going to, but I didn’t.”
I suppress a smile. “I noticed.”
“And I don’t want to.” She sounds slightly more awake.
My heart skips a beat, then starts thumping. “You don’t have to.” Is she saying what I think she’s saying? Pulling back, I turn on the lamp and meet her gaze. “Kitten, you don’t have to go anywhere. I want you here always. You know that.”
