Page 102 of The One-Night Heist

“Yes!” I gasped as he spit into his other hand and wrapped it around my dick. “And I need your cum inside me, please…”

The begging was entirely genuine at this point. I was so far gone, I legitimately thought I might die if what I needed didn’t happen.

“I know you do, baby,” he cooed in my ear, nipping at my earlobe. “I’m gonna fill you up then plug you up, so you can feel what a slut you are for the rest of the night.”

Fuuuuck.

“Rowen…” I whimpered, feeling my balls draw up tight as I bounced in his lap, both of us chasing release with a wild desperation. “Please, kiss me.”

He turned my head until I was staring directly at Poppy #5. “After, baby. I want your eyes on your silly flower painting when you paint my sheets. I want you to think about me fucking you every time you look at it from now on.”

As if I wasn’t already.

“Yes… Mr…. Quincy,” I choked out, my words turning into a long, pathetic whine as I coated his hand and his bed with what felt like an endless stream of cum.

I kept my eyes on Poppy #5 as I spilled and shook, until the bright orange dots scattered across the dominant foreground blurred into a mesmerizing memory of love at first sight. Rowen joined me a moment later, releasing an animalistic snarl as he buried his teeth into the crook of my neck, slamming into me one last time, pumping me full, and finally, finally, claiming me as his.

Even though I already was.

We both caught our breath for a moment before he gently lowered me back down to the mattress—mindful to avoid the wet spot—and slowly, carefully withdrew.

He can be sweet when he wants to be.

Instead of immediately reinserting the plug, Rowen traced my sensitive rim with his finger, making me whimper as he pushed the tip inside.

“I hate to break it to ya, Mr. Luxford, but your expensive hole is looking a helluva lot more Dollar Store at the moment.”

That had me erupting into laughter and rolling onto my back to better see the shit-eating grin I was obsessed with.

The one I hope to see every day for the rest of my life.

“I hate to break it to you, Mr. Quincy,” I replied. “But your hole is classified as expensive now too.”

That had his smile softening, as did mine when an adorable blush crept over his freckles. Even two months later, I’d insisted the black card stay in his possession and made it abundantly clear that everything that was mine was now his as well.

And hopefully, he picked up on the subtext of that declaration…

It was incredibly freeing to exist in Rowen Quincy’s presence—to no longer need to pretend to be anyone other than who I was—but being able to also openly shower him in affection, without the fear of him running from me?

Heaven.

It was slow going at times, but he’d been steadily lowering his walls as well. So when he leaned down to capture my lips for the sweetest kiss, while simultaneously sliding the plug back into my noticeably abused asshole, I knew he was doing so with the greatest affection.

“C’mon, Mr. Luxford, Let’s take a shower together then gorge ourselves on pizza.”

“Sounds like a plan, Mr. Quincy.”

The future Mr. Luxford.

I had no intention of asking Rowen to marry me—not yet anyway. Him moving in with me on the Upper East Side was only one step in the grand scheme of our epic partnership.

Which is now so much more than “just business.”

There was still a business aspect to our arrangement nowadays, but one that was totally legal and aboveboard. From now on, Luxford Holdings would use the value of its existing properties as collateral loans to pay off the hardships faced by non-profit organizations like St. Anthony’s, allowing them extra time to get back on their feet and repay, with zero interest. Rowen was given the position of Grants Consultant—my man on the ground responsible for scouting and vetting those who truly needed the help.

Of course, he’d resisted at first—claimed “going straight” wasn’t for him—but then I pointed out how he would play a key role in deciding where the corporate money flowed, to ensure the have-nots could receive their equitable fair share.

Eat the rich.