His eyes are still on me. “Everything looks great in here,” he says.
“You’ve barely looked around.”
“Like I said. Everything looks great.”
“Luca—”
“I know. I promised to behave. I—”
“It is fine,” I interrupt, noticing the way he hitches his weight. Then my gaze…travels.
“Uhh. Luca?”
“Yes?”
“Your penis is pointed at me and that was not in our contract. Please go and discard…” I pause, gesturing vaguely toward the insistent cylinder straining against the soft gray fabric of his sweatpants. “That. Somewhere else.”
He shrugs, a slow and lazy movement. “It’s the morning, Aspen. Nature happens.”
It looks delicious and I can’t stop staring at it. “It’s unprofessional, and I’d appreciate it if you wouldn't—”
“Wouldn't what?” He challenges, taking a half-step forward that makes the air between us vanish.
My panties are not far behind.
Shit. The bet.
“Luca? If you don’t get a hold of yourself right now.”
The asshole grins. “Gladly.”
He reaches down and actually grabs it, his fingers curling around the thickness in a slow, aching squeeze.
“Tell me you don’t like it, Ms. Mysterious,” he murmurs. “Tell me your memory isn’t replaying filthy images of me...of us...all across your frontal lobe while you try to hide the goosebumps spreading across your beautiful breasts.”
This fucker loves taunting me. How dare he taunt me the exact way I am taunting him. I know it’s hypocritical, but I don’t really care. I’m supposed to be the one making him suffer for how he left me. But right now, the only one who seems to be suffering is me.
But this is the man I remember. I’m getting another glimpse of the commanding, controlled version of him from Vegas. He is the type who doesn't just exist in a space, but bends it to his will. He stands there radiating a confidence that says he is absolutely sure about me.
However, I know better than to trust a sudden surge of certainty. All men are confident and sure when their dicks are hard.
He takes a step closer, not a limp in sight, and I instinctively lick my lips, my gaze anchored to… thewow.
When I was fifteen years old, at Vacation Bible School, I once met my church boyfriend in the back of the playground, and we kissed. It was the first time I’d kissed someone with tongue and the first time I’d seen an erection. I said, “Wow,” then too. Let’s just say this ‘wow’doesn’t do the word itself justice. It’s…massive and everything I remember from the countless times this man has had me all over this place.
Damn you, Chillmonger!
I can see a dark bloom of moisture pooling in the fabric of his sweatpants and it actually makes me feel better knowing I’m getting to him just as much. I wonder how long it’s been for him. I wonder if he’s been as starved for me as I have been for him.
The pull is a raw and forbidden thrum in my blood that makes me want to close the distance and finish what he’s starting.
On my knees.
My phone rings, and I have never been more grateful for a distraction. I am entirely too close to losing my resolve, and my bet, and giving this man exactly what he wants. Who am I kidding? It’s exactly what I want. What I crave. But it isn't just the sex or the passion. It is him.
My husband.
I clear my throat, trying to find my professional voice as I press the phone to my ear. “Aspen and Oak. How can we heal you?”
