Page 26 of State of Ruin

“It’s all good!” My voice is extra cheerful. Now that she’s worked it out, I want this surprise to bring her relief, not guilt. “One family, one pot. You know that. It just feels great to chip away at it, you know?”

She nods. She does know. Sylvie is still employed by her marketing agency—the very agency whose health insurance has proven so totally inadequate. She works from home, but her monthly salary doesn’t do much to make a dent in the debt. So a surprise five-figure payday is a big fucking deal for our family, and I need to think a lot harder about how I’ll hide this week’s funds.

Dad comes in for a hug. He smells of sweat and garlic, and I love it. Kurt Ward is a most excellent hugger. “My beautiful girl. Look at that face. Just like your mother’s. I knew it would bring you fame and fortune.” He plants a smacker on my cheek for good measure, and I find myself welling up. Lying to my family may not seem like a big deal compared to the things I’ve done to actually get my windfall, but it sure feels shitty.

It’s another reason to hope I get this modeling contract: an actual windfall that could change our fortunes as well as one I can explain to my loving, trusting family. A way to pay down more debt and change our fortunes—and one I wouldn’t have to earn on my back.

Dad is looking at me as if my face is the answer to all our problems.

Little does he know that honor currently falls to my body.

CHAPTER 14

Sinclair

This time, when I guide Elyse into the bedroom and she sees what I have in store for her, she grins.

She fucking grins.

“I guess you warned me,” she says, eyes still on the contraption.

“Yep.” I watch her as she approaches and strolls around it, arms crossed over her chest, as if it’s an installation at an art gallery and not an actual ob-gyn chair, complete with stirrups. “You should know I’m a man of my word.”

“I’m beginning to see that.” She glances up at the wall, feigning indifference. “Well, the clock is ticking and all that.”

Little beauty. I close the space between us with a couple of strides. “Someone’s anxious to get started,” I say, letting my fingers slide down her lapels. Like last week, she’s in a silk Alchemy robe, but this week, I’ve told her I want nothing on underneath it. I finger the tie around her waist. “May I?”

“You may, but I’m not getting in that thing until you’re naked,” she says, uncrossing her arms.

I chuckle, and her face lights up. “I’m sorry, you think you have leverage here?”

“I do until I sit down. Besides, we made a deal, remember? You promised.” Her voice falters slightly on that last part, as if she’s second-guessing herself. The truth is, I don’t give a shit whether I’m naked or not, but she clearly does. And if she likes what she sees, it’ll make it all the more tortuous for her when I restrain her.

“I remember.” I tug on the tie, and her robe falls open. I’ve been in a state of heightened anticipation all week, but now I’m ravenous. The suggestion of her breasts. The flat, creamy skin over her navel. The neatly trimmed triangle of dark brown hair. She is fucking perfect as she stands here before me. I raise my hands and part the robe with my fingertips. It slides off her shoulders and to the ground, and then she’s completely, wonderfully naked. My hands slide to the silken skin of her breasts, and I palm them before snagging her already-hard nipples with my thumbs. Her little noise of appreciation may be the end of me. When I glance up from her breasts, I find her eyes fixed on my face in a silent question.

I sigh and release her breasts, holding out my arms wide in surrender. “Your turn now.”

She grins mischievously as she steps forward. I’ve left my suit jacket in my car downstairs, so she goes straight for my shirt, working the buttonholes with her delicate little fingers. When she gets as far as she can, she tugs the shirttails out from my pants and rapidly finishes the job. I hold out my wrists so she can undo my cufflinks. I’m obliging like that—I’d hate to see her efforts ruined when she tried to pull the sleeves off my arms.

Cufflinks flipped open, she gets me shirtless. I expect her to make a start on my belt, but she pauses for a moment, taking me in, her eyes sweeping upward from my stomach and lingering on my pecs. She licks her lips and, tossing the shirt on the floor, strokes her little hands down my chest. She appears transfixed. Obviously, female appreciation for the fruits of my intensive labors at the K Klub isn’t uncommon, but it feels good to have Elyse, of all people, demanding to take more than the bare minimum from our time together—time I’m paying her for.

She looks back up at me through her sooty eyelashes as she makes quick work of my belt, button, and zipper. I’m almost fully hard—seeing her naked and having her hands on me will do that. She pushes my pants down, and I take a moment to toe off my loafers before I bend with a muttered excuse me and lose my pants and socks. When I straighten up in just my black boxer briefs, her eyes are locked squarely on my dick.

“I’m feeling objectified,” I tell her in amusement, and she drags her gaze away to meet mine.

“Now you know how it feels.”

I smirk at her, and her face softens. “Yeah. Pretty fucking good. Go on.”

At my nod, she slides her fingers beneath the waistband of my briefs, and I suck in a harsh breath through my teeth as she wrangles them over my erection and down my legs. I kick them off to the side and waste no time in hauling her against me, sliding one hand through her hair to grip the back of her head and the other down the small of her back until I can grab her ass.

She’s so fucking svelte in my arms, and pretty short, too. I luxuriate in the simple pleasure of her skin against mine, of my dick jerking against her stomach. I dip my head and seal my mouth over hers, allowing my tongue to find its path, licking along the seam of her lips until she yields and grants me entry. I haven’t forgotten how much I enjoyed those indulgent post-fuck kisses last week. I figured kissing her would be a good way to stoke the fires of my anticipation this evening, and I was absolutely correct.

Last week, I held off on my own orgasm so I could focus on exploring her, but it was no mean feat. Tonight, I plan to take the edge off my own appetites before I get her in that chair and whet hers. As she grips my biceps for dear life and her plush lips slide against mine, I congratulate myself in advance. We have an hour, after all. I can come a lot more than once.

I release her mouth; my hands move to her breasts. Languorously, I circle her nipples with the lightest touch, and her eyes flutter closed. “I’ll make every single dream of yours come true in that chair. But you have to earn it first.” Her eyes snap open. “Now, get on your knees. Show me what else that lovely little mouth can do.”

There’s a flash of surprise on her face—she didn’t anticipate this twist—but no revulsion. “Yes, sir,” she whispers after a beat before sinking to her knees a little awkwardly. She’s not a pro. This is not standard behavior for her. And I adore that. I love knowing what a rare treat this is for a man, having her do this.