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One day, as if there will be another day.
There are possibilities in those words, we’ve agreed don’t exist but he is kissing me, already he is turning me, rolling me to my side, and he’s behind me. He wraps his body around mine, his hand on my breast, and then he’s pressing inside me, thick, hard, so very hard. I arch into him, and he thrusts deep. I gasp with just how deep he goes. He cups my face and drags my head back, his mouth slanting over my mouth, his tongue seduces me, even as his cock drives into me.
I can’t touch him, but his hands are all over me. His body moves with my body. I lose myself in this man, everything else fading away. We are wild one moment and tender the next. He said he would own me and he does. I fade into bliss and tumble into orgasm, my sex clenching his sex. His teeth scrape my shoulder, a low groan sliding from his lips as he quakes with his own release.
Long moments later, I relax into him and the warmth of the fire. He is draped around me, holding me, his face buried in my neck. My belly is full and my body sated, the warmth of the man and the fire overwhelming me. I shut my eyes and let it all wash over me, let it all take over me. Let him own me if only for a few more minutes.
Then I’ll go home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I blink awake to sunlight and disorientation, the flickering blue and red of a fire in the fireplace in my line of vision. For a few moments, I just stare at it, lost in the flames, uncertain if I’m dreaming, uncertain of where I am. I inhale the scent of spice and man on my skin and reality comes to me hard and fast.
Kace.
I’m at Kace’s apartment and it’s now morning.
I jerk to a sitting position, and the blanket I don’t remember pulling over me falls to my waist, exposing my naked breasts. I gasp and pull it to my chest, and it feels as if I am sitting on the Hudson River, that is how close the water is to the windows, miles, and miles of water. What isn’t close, is Kace, who is nowhere to be found. He’s not here with me, which means he does not want to be here with me. Or not. I don’t know. Right now, my mind is running wild.
Embarrassment is at the core of this, the dreaded morning-after-sex hangover, and it is brutal. It stabs at me and I scramble to my feet, holding the blanket around me, while my gaze darts to the floor by the piano where my clothes should be, beside the piano where we were naked, so wonderfully naked just hours ago. And while memories serve me a mighty experience, my clothes are not to be found. Not even my shoes. My purse, however, is on the piano and I quickly grab my phone, checking for messages, to find only one. It’s from Alexander: Still waiting on that check to be cashed.
I don’t even think about replying. I grimace and in rejection of Gio’s silence, and Alexander’s lack thereof, I set my phone on top of my purse, pressing my hand to my forehead. Where are my clothes? And Lord help me, there’s still a stupid Goodwill sticker in my dress I couldn’t get off.
I inhale the scent of coffee and decide Kace is in the kitchen. At this point, I have two options: I can call out to him or I can hunt him down in a blanket. Hunting him down feels slightly less humiliating, though I really don’t want to know how I look right now either. I need a toothbrush and a hairbrush. I need a shower. I need to just get out of here and end this with steamy memories and nothing more because coming here will not be a regret. Overstaying my intended time here might prove otherwise.
I decide calling out is rather offensive and demanding of Kace in his own home. On to plan B. Inhaling a calming breath that is not calming at all, I remember Kace telling me the kitchen was just up the stairs off the main living area. Heading in that direction, I find the gorgeous granite tiled staircase and I start the walk, adrenaline firing through my blood with each of the ten wide steps. I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know how it will feel seeing him this morning.
Clutching the blanket to me, I plod my way up the remainder of my path, to step into a kitchen of stainless steel and gray granite, the square dark gray island the centerpiece of the spectacular room. Kace is standing behind that island, in the nook of a window, his back to me as he talks on the phone, those miles of ocean before him. He must sense that I’m here because he turns, and the instant his eyes find mine, his gaze does a hot slide up and down my blanket-covered naked body. “I’ll be there,” he says, to whoever he’s talking to. “I have to go now.” He disconnects and slides his phone into his pocket, ringlets of damp dark brown hair at his temple, a sexy dark shadow roughing up his jaw, a simple but quite perfect black T-shirt stretched over his chest. Simple is all a man as perfectly male as Kace August needs.
