“Stay,” he said, his voice calm and commanding.
I froze as he buttoned his pants, as if he hadn’t just filled me with his cum. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out a silk handkerchief, and handed it to me.
“Clean up,” he said. “We’re not done yet.”
My fingers closed around the fabric, pressed it between my thighs, blotting the evidence of our encounter, and felt a fresh wave of arousal at his words.
We’re not done yet.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Lorenzo
I carried Zara from the car, through the lobby, and right through the penthouse doors.
The entire time, she melted into me, her head beneath my jaw, breath slow and warm. Thighs bare, hair wild, just breathing her in made me want to lose myself again; every floor of the elevator a new temptation.
I wanted to keep her like this forever. Soft, pliant, trusting.
I walked past the foyer, past the living room with its floor-to-ceiling windows and the city glittering beyond, past the hallway lined with art I barely remembered buying. None of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was the weight of her in my arms, the way her fingers curled loosely against my chest, the way she sighed when I adjusted my grip.
“You can put me down,” she murmured, her voice thick with exhaustion.
“I don’t want to.”
For the first time, she didn’t argue, just let herself be held, and it made something dangerous bloom in my chest.
I stopped outside her door, the guest room I’d given her the night she moved in. It was pristine. Untouched. The bed was made, the closet full of clothes still tagged and unworn, the bathroom stocked with products she hadn’t opened. She’d kept herself apart from the very beginning.
I hated it.
Hated feeling like at any moment she’d just pick up and leave.
So I turned toward my room instead, carrying her down the hall until I reached the double doors at the end.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her eyes fluttering open.
“Can I bring you to my room?”
She blinked, lips still swollen, pupils still blown wide. I waited for her to say no, to pull away, put up her walls, and remind me of the contract, the boundaries, the distance she kept insisting on.
Instead, she whispered, “Yes.”
I pushed the doors open with my shoulder and watched her take it all in.
My room was large, too large for one person. A king bed dominated the center, dressed in slate-grey linens with dark hardwood floors, and sheer curtains covering the windows. A fireplace sat across from the bed, unlit. On the other end, by the windows, sat two leather chairs and a low table held unread books.
It felt masculine, cold, and empty.
I laid her down on the bed before pulling off her shoes and unbuttoning my tattered shirt. I stared at her for a moment, the way her caramel skin lit up against the dark grey sheets, the way she looked completely spent.
I didn’t know what else to do but to climb into bed beside her, pulling her against me.
Her head rested on my chest, her hand splayed over my heart, her legs tangling with mine. I wrapped my arms around her, one hand stroking her hair, the other resting on the curve of her hip.
“This is your room?” she asked, her voice sleepy.
“Yeah.”
