Page 62 of After-Hours Heir

Because of all the things that he had told her about himself. Because of the way he had been there for her before.

She had to find a way to let that man escape. To break him out from behind the brick wall.

It isn’t that simple. Because the fact is that he’s both.

That stark truth made her feel out of her depth. Why had she realized that before she had gotten on a plane?

Because yes. That man who had connected with her was real. But so was this one. Equally. The one that had had a panic attack when he’d found out he was having a boy. The one that had no idea what to do with the strength of those emotions. With the fear and self-loathing that coursed through him. The one that didn’t even know what to call a longing for connection. The one that didn’t know what to call what he felt for her.

He was real. And he was damaged.

And she had to find a way to reach him. She had to.

Because she had spent a lot of years lonely. She had never known real connection until he had answered her text.

It had to be something they could bring into the real world. It had to be something they could create here. She was desperate for it. Not just because he was the father of her child. Because he gave her something. Because he completed something inside of her. Because he was the first person that she wanted to talkto when she woke up and the last person she wanted to talk to when she went to bed. Because it was that way, and it had been for almost a year now.

Because she had been devastated when they’d slept together, and he had cut off contact.

Because she had felt like the sun had finally come out from behind the clouds when she had started to talk to him in the first place.

Because he had changed her life. Completely and fundamentally.

She wanted to change his. She wanted to do something big enough, meaningful enough, that it would make him into someone better. Because her relationship with him had taught her something. She had learned that she needed to reach out to people. That she needed more connections.

She had found a way to talk out some of her more complicated feelings.

And she had learned that she was far more interested in sex and sensuality than she thought before. He helped her explore, and even though anyone reading the transcript of their encounters might find them cringe or embarrassing, she had learned new things about herself.

What had she done for him?

She wanted to give him what he needed. The sad thing was, she simply didn’t know.

And she couldn’t figure out how to learn.

So she kissed him. Because she knew how to do that. Because she knew how to connect with him here.

“I’m here,” she said. “I’m kissing you. Because I’m here.” She put her hand to his chest, she felt his heart beating hard.

Like it was going to beat right out of his chest.

“I’m here,” she repeated.

He growled and backed her up against the wall. Flattening her against the hard surface. He moved his palms up her forearms, pinned her hands flat against the wall, held her fast. He poured his own desperation into the kiss, and she swallowed it down.

She began to finish the work he had started, taking his shirt off. Oh, how she loved the look of his body. How she loved touching him.

He was here. He was real. This was real. She moved her hands down his muscular chest, his stomach. She undid his belt with shaking fingers. And then she pushed his pants down his lean hips, exposing his length to her hungry gaze.

She curled her fingers around him. They had talked about this. She had promised to do this to him.

And now he was in front of her. She could see him.

She could finally take exactly what she wanted. She sank down to her knees in front of him. And she leaned in, darting her tongue out, slicking it over his arousal.

Then she took him into her mouth, looking up at him as she did. As he had done to her the last time they were together.

Watch me. Watch me give this to you.