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I stared at the side of his face, feeling the quickening of my heart just from admiring his handsomeness. “Can’t think of anything off the top of my head.”
* * *
The second we left the terrace and entered the bedroom, he was on me. He gripped me from behind, tugged me hard into his chest, and then sealed his lips over my neck like he had fangs to sink into my flesh. His tongue tasted me, his fingers dug into my soft stomach, and he ground his hard-on against the small of my back.
Like he’d wanted me all his life but had never had the chance to make me his, he yanked my shirt over my head then tugged off my bra, nearly ripping the elastic because he was so harsh. The rest of my clothes fell. His did too.
And then I was on my back on the bed, the terrace doors still wide open, the city lights stretching across us. He got on top of me, folded me beneath him, and then crushed his mouth to mine as he took me in a single thrust.
I gave a gasp as I dug my nails into his back.
His face rested against my cheek as he fucked me, his warm breaths falling against my skin. His moans were loud in my ear. His dick somehow felt bigger and harder. He took me like a prize after a conquered land. Fucked me like a whore but made me feel like a queen.
In record time, I reached my first climax, the pleasure so long and potent that I felt several shivers up my spine. It was so good, and I didn’t feel the least bit rushed because this man had proven he could handle watching me come without blowing his load.
He positioned himself over me, his strong arms hooking my knees back so he could pound into my pussy and rock the headboard. His eyes were locked on mine, seeing the residual heat from the climax he’d just given me. “Fuck, sweetheart…”
* * *
It was the first time I slept beside him.
Sometimes I would wake up in the middle of the night when I rolled over, and he would be there. And sometimes he wouldn’t. When the morning sunlight came through the terrace doors, he was beside me.
Dead asleep, the sheets at his waist, turned over on his stomach, with his hands underneath the pillow. His back was exposed, tight and muscular. His chest rose and fell slowly as he slept on.
I leaned in and pressed a kiss to his shoulder before I got out of bed and showered. He had a hallway that led to his master bathroom, far away from where he slept so I wouldn’t wake him up. I spent the next hour and a half doing my hair and makeup, getting ready to see people I hadn’t seen in nearly ten years.
In nothing but one of the robes that hung in the bathroom, I returned to the bedroom to find Bartholomew was awake. He sat on the terrace in nothing but his sweatpants, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper.
I stepped outside. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”
He lowered the paper and looked at me, his eyes focused on the tie of my robe. “I told you I had business.”
“But I thought you conducted your business at night.”
He continued to stare at my stomach as if he didn’t hear a word I said. Then he tugged one side of the tie, making the material loosen around my waist and my robe partially open. The skin of my stomach was revealed, the inside swell of my tits too. His hand moved up my thigh to my ass, and he leaned in and pressed a kiss to my bare skin. “Have some breakfast.” He pushed the chair beside him from underneath the table, making it slide out so I could sit.
With a spread of cheeses and fresh croissants and fruit, I couldn’t say no. I took a seat, basking in the morning light, and watched him pour me a cup of coffee. He leaned back in the chair and went back to reading his newspaper.
We sat quietly, enjoying our breakfast in the comfortable silence between two people well acquainted with each other. The coffee was exquisite, along with the aged cheeses and fresh honey, but my stomach was in waves at the moment. “I wish you could come with me.”
He lowered the newspaper and looked at me.
I didn’t even realize what I’d said until I said it.
“I can—if that’s what you want.”
“No…my father would interrogate me about you.”
“You don’t have to answer his questions as it’s none of his business.”
“It’s just not the time or place. I’m there to pay my respects…not draw attention to myself.”
Bartholomew stared with his hard gaze, keeping his thoughts to himself. “And what will you say if your ex asks if you’re seeing anybody?”
“I doubt he’ll ask.”
“And if he does?” he pressed.
