I’m glad he can’t see my face because my eyes sting with tears. Why am I so emotional right now? It’s just an intense orgasm… right? But as I wrap my arms around him, hugging him back, I know I’m lying to myself.
We stand that way for several minutes until our breathing sounds less like panting and more like normal. I step back first, staring up at him. He must have wiped his face with something, because there’s no trace of my wetness, and I could have sworn my pussy dumped a bucket on him. He’s smiling at me, a genuine smile of pride and satisfaction, and I feel the sting in my eyes again.
“You,” I finally say, breaking the silence between us.
Corey raises his brows, smirking. “Me?”
I have to reach up on my tiptoes to wrap my arms around his neck. “You’re a fucking god, Corey. I was calling out for you.”
“Mmmm,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss me deeply.
I lose myself in his kiss, finding comfort in everything about him right now. His embrace, his scent, his words. We stay locked like this until I finally whisper, “Your turn.”
Corey’s still smiling at me when he shakes his head. “Tonight was about you, Bex.” Cupping my cheek, he shrugs. “At the beginning of tonight, I wanted to say ‘fuck dinner’ and take you back to my hotel. But now… I want to savor this, Bex. I don’t often get a chance to be with someone like this, someone like you. I want to take it slow.”
I feel a swoop of disappointment in my belly, but I know he’s not saying this to hurt me. Forcing a smirk on my face, I say, “Riding your face and giving me the best orgasm of my life on the first date is taking it slow?”
He laughs, and the sound feels like a reassuring hug to my heart. “I guess not, no. But I mean it. Indulge me?”
Corey’s honesty and eagerness shines in his gaze, and there is no way I could say anything except, “We’ll go slow.”
Lord fucking help me, but we’ll go slow.
Chapter 11
Corey
What the fuck was I thinking, “go slow?” Nothing in my life has followed the protocol of “go slow”—not my lifestyle, the industry I work in, or even the cars I drive—including an Aston Martin, because yes, I’m a Bond fan. Sue me. So why did I suddenly think “going slow” with Bex was feasible?
Shortly after her earth-shattering orgasm in Sebastian’s office, the man himself was knocking at the door, claiming he and the two cosmetically enhanced women needed to have a “privatemeeting.”
“You are both welcome to stay, of course,” Seb had said, leering at Bex. If looks could kill, mine would have murdered him on the spot. He held his hands up in defense. “Next time, then.”
“Or fucking never,” Bex huffed as we walked out. Pride blossomed in my chest at her words—there’s no way in hell I’ll ever share this woman, even if that might have been something I’d done in the past. Bex makes everything feel different… fresh and new in a way I haven’t experienced in… a long fucking time.
I took Bex home after that because it was late and I had an early flight back to LA the next morning. And because, as much as it pains me to admit it, going slow with Bex will be worth it. It’ll be fucking torture, but it will be worth it.
We stood in front of her building, kissing and holding each other for a solid thirty minutes before we had a final kiss goodnight.
“Don’t forget about me,” she whispered against my neck.
“Unlikely,” I chuckled, rubbing my nose into her hair. Her sleek updo had gotten mussed throughout the night, and it took everything in me not to pull it free and run my fingers through it. “Tonight was one of the hottest nights of my life.”
Bex laughed at that and stepped back. “Sure thing, Brad Pitt.”
I wasn’t able to respond because her lips were back on mine, but now, a week later, her comment lingers still.
“Corey, are you paying attention?”
I look up from my phone, where I’ve been scrolling through Bex’s social media, for the twentieth time in the last week. No, I’m not paying attention to Bridget, my longtime personal assistant and a producer with my production company. Bridget is no-nonsense, strict, and rule-abiding. She reminds me of my mother in a way, and since my mom passed away twenty years ago, Bridget has sort of been the next best thing. She’sbeen with me since my early days in this industry, and there is not a single thing that could make her flinch with shock.
Well, maybe if I mentioned I met the woman of my dreams on my last trip to Vegas. Me, slowing down, committing to someone? Bridget would commit me.
“No, I’m sorry, I was totally not paying attention,” I say, setting my phone down and focusing fully on my PA. “Can you start from the top?”
In her sixties, this woman has perfected the art of the eye roll, and she delivers a fairly earned murderous one to me. “What has you all day-dreamy lately?”
My cheeks heat slightly at how well she’s caught on, but I opt to deny and ignore. “Nothing, just a lot on my plate. As usual.” She narrows her eyes at me but says nothing. “Speaking of, I’m sorry for my lack of attention. Please, can we get back to reviewing the schedule?”
