“And she is a model. For a luxury skin-care brand. She has no pores.”
“But she’s not you,” I whisper, weaving my fingers through her silky hair.
“I saw that girl who tagged you on social media. Your ex, Noelle. She’s?—”
“Not you,” I whisper. “None of them are.”
I pull back, searching her eyes before pressing my lips to hers.
She sinks into me, her body relaxing against mine, instantly spineless. I cup the back of her head, my other hand pressing her lower back closer. She tastes like chocolate and wine.
She gasps when my erection rubs against her thigh. I need to feel the inside of her right now, but first, I want to see her. I lift her up, and she instantly wraps her legs around my waist.
My tongue dives into her mouth as I walk her toward my bedroom. She sighs, sucking on my bottom lip and biting down. My arms are easily supporting her weight, crushing her against my erection. She wiggles, trying to increase the friction.
When I get to the bed, I turn and sit down. I lean back, breaking the kiss.
“Go into the bathroom and change,” I tell her.
She looks over at the door to the left, gripping my shoulders. I ordered her three different sets of lingerie. They’reall pink, like the one she sent me a picture in. I laid them out on the bathroom counter.
Whatever happened with Summer and her ex-husband and ex-boyfriend did something to destroy her confidence. For a reason that is beyond my comprehension, she doesn’t see herself in the way I see her—a goddess with the ability to bring me to my knees.
She licks her lips before sliding off my lap. With one last exhale, she walks toward the bathroom and shuts the door behind her. I groan, wondering what good deed I did in a past life to deserve to live in this moment. I grab the remote off my nightstand, turning down the dimmable lights.
When I press the button to light up the TV screen, it automatically goes back to the last thing I was watching—the security cameras at the beach house. I panic, scrambling to redirect to my music streaming service. I exhale when it switches over, turning back to see that the bathroom door is still closed.
I select a date-night playlist rated Mature with the Explicit warning label on the cover. Sensual music starts pouring through the surround-sound speakers. The stripper pole in the corner of the room has its own lighting. It automatically switches to a glowing red, which I didn’t know was possible.
I walk back into the kitchen to grab the wine bottle and our glasses. When I return to the room, I top both of our glasses off before lying back against the pillows.
The bathroom door creaks open. I stay reclined, my erection now only at half-mast. It twitches in anticipation when I see her. I exhale, shivers running over the surface of my skin.
She chose my favorite one. It’s a dusty-rose pink with velvet triangle cups covering her breasts and sheer lace over her stomach. A little pink bow decorates the center of her chest. It hits the top of her thighs, but I know that when she turnsaround, I’ll have a salacious view of her ass with only the matching G-string covering it.
Her cheeks are flushed as she faces me, awaiting my perusal.
I swallow over the lump in my throat, letting my eyes travel slowly down her curves. Her bikini tan lines are visible through the sheer lace, and I want nothing more than to throw her on the bed and get to the good part.
I force myself to remain still. Her honey hair is tumbling down her shoulders in waves, just waiting for me to wrap it around my fist. Her lips are in a pout, but she licks the top one and looks up at me with a doe-eyed expression before she turns and walks toward the dresser along the wall. The air in my lungs disappears when I catch sight of her backside.
Her full, round ass, toned from hours of yoga, isbeggingfor my handprints. She picks up her wineglass, sipping slowly. She pushes her hair back over her shoulder so that it hangs down past the curve of her waist. My mouth waters.
Holy fuck.
I grab my phone off the end table, lifting it up to take a photo of her. She turns, seeing me poised with the phone. She smirks, holding the pose. I tap the screen to take the picture.
“New background?” she asks, sipping the wine.
I nod.
Her tongue brushes across the top of her lip. “I’m starting to realize you might be … obsessed with me.”
I don’t respond because I don’t trust my voice not to admit the truth. That I’m much more than obsessed.
I’m consumed with her.
She sets the glass down, sashaying toward the pole. A song by The Weeknd starts playing over the surround-sound speakers. My dick is fully hard now, poking up visibly throughmy sweatpants. I don’t bother hiding it. She knows what she does to me.
