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I can’t stop myself from writhing, letting his fingers contact the flesh aching for him the most. A moan rips from me as he strokes me inside and out.
“I’ll take that as your consent to continue this ‘meeting,’” Graeme remarks. “So perhaps we should cut to the chase?”
He rolls over, pinning me beneath him. The shock robs the air from my lungs, and any remaining is promptly expelled as he presses his mouth to mine.
The kiss is feral. His teeth nip at my lower lip, and I promptly return the favor. Then, something strange happens.
His tongue brushes mine in a motion that can only be described as a caress. One of his hands palms the side of my face, and our eyes meet again. Only, we linger. Stare.
Then he enters me—slowly—all while maintaining eye contact. I can’t stop a tortured sound from escaping my throat. An answering growl rumbles from him, and then he moves, sinking into me with a groan.
As the devious friction overtakes me, I forget everything but the need to experience him. All of him.
“Damn,” he breathes out against my ear. “You feel… You’re damn perfection. Tell me when you’re close.”
My eyes are already fluttering shut, but I still find the presence of mind to choke out, “What?”
“When you come,” he grunts out against my ear. “That clench… Need to feel it. Tell me when…”
He’s barely coherent, but the bastard still has the power to make my toes curl with just those four freaking words. I hate how earnest he sounds. Like he means it. Then he rocks into me with renewed vigor, and I forget why orgasming around him would be a bad thing.
Intent on his goal, he does whatever he can to hasten the inevitable. His hand slips between us, and he uses his thumb to stroke me right above where we’re joined. It’s electric. I can’t silence a gasp, and his answering groan is smug with triumph. Writhing, I try to stave off the pleasure building like a freight train in every nerve and muscle.
It’s no use.
The telltale signs of ecstasy seize my body in a vice grip. I’m a slave to his movements, rocking against him with mindless need. There’s no real obligation to honor his request.
But I do, anyway. Voice shaking, I barely recognize myself as I croak, “Graeme, I’m—”
“Yes.” He slams home, and I feel his release at the same critical second that freight train orgasm hits me at full speed.
We wind up breathless, entangled in the sheets, and he is most definitely late.
But I can’t escape the feeling that something between us has changed in a way neither of us is ready to acknowledge. At least until I shift and come to a horrifying realization at the same moment that he hoarsely croaks, “Fuck. I didn’t use a rubber.”
He rakes a hand through his hair and shifts to face me, his expression contorted in genuine horror. “I’m sorry. I’m a bastard. I didn’t even—”
“It’s okay,” I blurt out. Though is it? The Evelyn from a few days ago would have been thrown into a panic at the thought of unprotected sex, even with the presence of a backup plan. “I have an implant,” I admit, and Graeme collapses beside me with a groan.
“Thank God,” he says.
I don’t know why his obvious relief makes me feel so… strange. Without thinking, I say, “Worried I’d take your ass to the cleaners in child support?”
“No.” His genuine laugh startles me, and some of that uneasy feeling leeches away. Without warning, he tilts his head, letting his eyes meet mine. Gosh. Their endless blue makes me catch my breath. Usually, they’re narrowed, honed with the razor-sharp focus of a perpetual businessman, but now… It could be how the light hits them, but they seem to sparkle, displaying a softness that catches me off guard. I’m staring, and a muscle in his jaw twitches as if the scrutiny unnerves him. Then it hits me—he isn’t used to this level of intimacy. “I was worried you’d rightfully tan my hide for being so damn inconsiderate,” he murmurs, his voice so husky my freaking toes curl. “I am sorry. I just got…”
“Carried away,” I finish for him. Didn’t I know the feeling?
Together, we just lie there, staring up at the ceiling, listening to each other’s ragged breathing. I’m sure the same thought was on both of our minds—What the hell have we done?
* * *
When Graeme finally leaves for the office, I decide I’ve had enough roleplaying as his perfect little assistant turned damsel-in-distress. It’s time to take charge of my life. I’m not the type of woman to hide in a billionaire’s penthouse while the world goes on around her.
I’ll confront my demons head-on the way I always have, starting with Danny. His meeting looms overhead like a doomsday clock. First things first—I still need to check that he hasn’t already pawned the contents of my entire apartment.
The idea seems good, in theory, but as I shower and get dressed in a pair of gray slacks and a blouse, dread starts to seep in. While I can handle my brother, his new friends might be another story. Before leaving, I take one of Graeme’s heavy black coats, and cover my hair with a wool cap that smells suspiciously like him. Rather than alert James, I call a cab and ask him to let me off at least three blocks away.
About an hour before noon, I approach my apartment from an alleyway. Danny had the decency to close the door after him, at least. At a glance, nothing appears stolen. Mom’s figurine is on the coffee table, beside a folded note.
