“How much, my baby?”
I lifted the cropped baby tee I was wearing, exposing my firm nipple.
“This much.”
In a flash, Ishmael was before me. His hands were around me. One on my breast and one on my waist, making me feel so small. He lowered his mouth onto my breast.
“Mmmm.”
He released me before taking me into his mouth again. Our tongues touched. So did our lips. And our chest. And our noses.
“I love you, my baby.”
“I love you.”
He tilted his head sideways, analyzing me thoroughly.
“You make it hard to leave,” he murmured, hand squeezing my breast.
“Then don’t.”
He sighed, regretfully. “Berkeley needs me.”
I ironed the creases of his suit with my hands.
“I know. I know.”
I raised up on the tips of my toes and pecked his lips.
“Good day, Mr. Grayson.”
Chuckling, Ishmael stole parts of me I had yet to secure myself.
“Good day, Mrs. Grayson.”
My cheeks fluffed. Flattery was etched in each movement. My lashes batted. My weight was shifted from one foot to the other. I couldn’t help myself.
“It has a ring to it.”
“It will, my baby. It will have a fucking rock to it soon enough.”
“Later, baby.”
“Later, my love. Dinner at seven.”
“Dinner at seven.”
I closed the door behind me. My body slid down the hard surface, landing on the floor in his black briefs. I pulled my knees to my chest and placed my chin between them.
Proper love hurts so good.
I mustered the strength to stand. Up on my feet, I made my way through Ishmael’s lovely home.
“Ahhhhhhh.”
My hands covered my mouth. I shook my head from side to side. So much was right in my world. Almost too much was right in my world.
I slid my phone from the counter and dialed the number of the woman whose voice I missed something awful.
