His girl.
His praise floods me, a blanket of warmth decimating the chill I’ve been encased in for far too long. I don’t want to be cold again.
Just one night. Don’t get carried away.
“Stop thinking,” he demands, as if he can read my every thought.
In a flash, he has my wrists pinned above my head, and he’s nipping at my neck. I shimmy my legs to his waist, unable to resist the lure of friction against his steel length. A ravenousgrowl emanates from him, and pride surges through me that I did that.
The doors slide open, and he carries me out, slung around him like a voracious koala. “Hang on for me,” he coos as he sneaks us into the penthouse. “Stay quiet.”
I bury my face in his neck, and as strange as this encounter should feel, the spicy whiff of his cologne, the sureness of his embrace, and his delicate pets on my head set me at ease.
The click of his bedroom lock alerts me that we made it through the penthouse without notice. He walks me straight to his closet, which is more like a massive dressing room full of suits, deposits me in a plush armchair, and clicks on the golden rope lighting. After whipping off his jacket, he rolls up his sleeves to showcase some delicious forearm porn.
“Are you going to give me a fashion show?” I hate the quaver in my voice. My heart is pummeling my sternum so vigorously that it might just make a break for it.
“Other way around.” He winks and flashes his dimple at me, setting to work.
I’m grateful to know that he’s never had a woman in here. At least, that was always the rule, so I’ll go with it. The thought of him with someone else shouldn’t bother me. We’ve both been with plenty of other people, and I never let my mind dwell on that. But now … it’s all I can think about.
He stoops before me, his huge hands brushing over my bare thighs and his glacial blues swirling with things I doubt others ever get to see in them. “I left you here for one minute, and you’re already overthinking.”
“I’m trying …”
“Okay. You remember the rules?” He grins. It’s crooked and dazzling, and it flip-flops my stomach. “The climax contract.”
The sheer ridiculousness of that makes me laugh. “Yes, I remember.”
“Good girl,” he says, and the live wire between us crackles.
My gaze bounces all over his face as I memorize the subtle variances between friend Ryker and this one-night-climax benefactor and wonder what traits would overlap in a Venn diagram of the two. “We never even shook on it.”
“I’ll have you shaking in no time,” he promises, all suave and sexy. “Where are the toys you like?”
“In the top drawer of my nightstand, but they haven’t worked for me in a long—”
“They’ll work. But I have some, too, if we need them. Unopened,” he tacks on quickly, probably due to the alarmed leer I cast at him. “I’ll go get yours and check on Remy. You get out of that dress.” He rises to leave, but at the threshold, he turns back. “Don’t think, Merce.”
I’m grateful he’s checking on Remy, but maybe I should have. The distraction of mom mode might have been good for me. I’ve never been able tonotthink. The idea of turning my brain off is alluring. I’m just not sure how, especially with my clothes off. There are endless reminders of how my body will never be what it once was. But I’m too revved up to back out, so while I’m still glued to the armchair, I take the baby step of removing my heels. By the time I’m slipping off the second, Ryker is back.
“Remy is fast asleep, so no worries there.” After laying the vibrators on the floor, he saunters toward me, offering me a hand, so I stand to meet him. He towers over me, lifting my chin. Dominating and gentle at once. “As much as I loved you climbing me out there, we’re gonna take this slow. One step at a time. Okay?”
“Okay.” The word blasts out of me. Slow might kill me. “Can we turn off the lights?”
“No.” His lips brush against mine in a barely there kiss, one solely for reassurance. “Trust me.”
“It’s not that … I won’t be able to … not with my clothes off and the lights on.”
“You’ll come—naked, under the lights, and with me. And then that block that’s been preventing you from coming will be gone.” When I nod because that resonates with me, he presses further. “How aboutgriffonfor our safe word?”
Like Rüppell’s griffon vulture.
Fitting since I feel high right now. “That works.”
“Good. If you need to stop, you’ll saygriffon. Otherwise, you need to do as you’re told.” He reaches around my back and lowers my zipper—the brief skim of his touch inciting goose bumps to erupt like wildfire—but then he steps away. “Take it off.”
There’s something so off-balance about him standing before me in his suit, telling me to strip. But again, with his eyes on me, I’m emboldened to push through. So, I hold my breath and allow the crepe fabric to slink down my body and melt into the floor.
