"And the best part?" I pull back to look at her face—her hazel eyes hooded, pink lips puffy and parted. "I'm going to do it again. And again. All night if you let me. Because I’ve spent too many days of wanting you, watching you walk around my apartment in those little sleep shorts, of listening to you hum while you cook—" My voice roughens. "I have a lot of lost time to make up for, sweetheart."
My hand slides up to palm one gorgeous tit, my thumb circling her tightened nipple, my touch gentling even as my cock strains against my slacks, pressed against her stomach so she can feel exactly what she does to me.
“We don’t have to hide this anymore, Harper. And you sure as hell don’t need to keep ducking from me by jumping into supply closets every time I walk down the StreamEats halls.”
That pulls a breathless laugh from her, and something in my chest settles.
This. This is what I want. Her laughter. Her trust. Her surrender.
All of it.
All of her.
"So," I start again, stepping back and pulling the robe closed around her. "You're going to get dressed. I'm going to get myself under control, which is going to take significantly longer than it should." I exhale hard, as if the mere act will make my erection subside. "And we're going to go to this dinner like the professionals we are.”
"And after?" Her voice is barely a whisper now.
"After, we talk. You tell me whatever it is you're afraid to tell me." I cup her face with both hands. "And then I show you exactly what you mean to me. With my hands, my mouth, my cock. Until there's no doubt in your mind that you're mine."
The vulnerability in that last part costs me, and I can see her recognize it.
"Victor." She rises up on her toes, pressing a soft kiss to my mouth. "I'm already yours. That's what terrifies me."
"Then let me terrify you properly." I smile against her lips. "With multiple orgasms and zero regrets."
She laughs, a soft raspy sound that shoots straight to my groin. "You're ridiculous."
"I'm determined. There's a difference." I turn her toward her room, swatting her ass lightly through the robe. "Now go. Before I change my mind and we don't make it to dinner at all."
Clutching the robe closed, she spins on her bare heel, practically fleeing.
Then she's gone, closing the connecting door behind her, and in the aftermath, I stand there in my partially buttoned shirt, fully hard and in serious trouble.
Because Harper Beaumont isn't just getting under my skin.
She's burrowing into my chest cavity and making a home there.
And I'm not even angry about it.
I button my shirt, straighten my tie, and prepare for battle.
Tonight, I close the acquisition.
And then I claim my wife—professional arrangements and boundaries be damned.
18
CLEARED FOR TAKEOFF (AND FEELINGS)
HARPER
By six PM that evening, I'm standing on the rooftop helipad of the Bellagio wondering if I've accidentally stumbled into a James Bond film.
It's been exactly three hours since Victor kissed me senseless and nearly made me come on the spot in his hotel room. Three hours since he told me exactly what he planned to do to me when we got back from dinner.
Three hours of replaying every filthy word in my head on an endless loop.
The November sun is setting over Vegas—all orange and pink and purple like the sky is showing off. The temperature has dropped to a pleasant sixty-eight degrees, and there's a breeze that makes my hair whip around my face.
