She rocked her hips back, and slid onto him, taking him in slowly, letting her head fall back on a sigh when he was buried all the way inside of her.
And then, he could not wait any longer.
He reversed their positions, driving into her, desperate, starving. He kissed her. Deep and hard while he was buried inside of her. She moved her hands up over her head, and he gathered them in his palm, holding her wrists together as he continued to take her.
He was lost. In this, in her. He had never experienced anything like this before. Anything like her.
And as he growled out his satisfaction, she cried out her own, clenching tightly around him and sending him into another time and space.
And tomorrow he would be with her, sitting across from his mother.
He let out a hard breath that was nearly a laugh as he collapsed, taking hold of her face and kissing her, the endorphin release so strong it took him by surprise.
“What?” she asked, looking up at him.
“Nothing. It is only that you will be the only woman I’ve ever slept with to meet my mother.”
“And that’s funny?”
“It’s only… Our relationship makes it mildly amusing, I suppose.”
“I would prefer not to think about your other lovers,” she said, burrowing into the covers.
“But if we stick to our agreement it’s possible that both of us will have them,” he said.
“Possible,” she returned.
Jealousy and possessiveness gripped him.
He did not like the idea, of course. But the idea of binding them both to a traditional marriage when they had never had any sort of relationship that wasn’t antagonistic before the last week or so seemed foolish at best.
Hell, it had barely been a week of them getting along.
And ninety percent of it had been fucking. They did quite well when it came to that.
“I feel that I have to warn you about my mother,” he said. “She is sometimes the most delightful and engaging person you’ve ever met. And other times…”
“I think you’re forgetting that Ihavemet your mother.”
“No, I’m not. But whatever aspects of her erratic nature you experienced back then, it is worse now.”
“I’m an editor,” she said. “Do you have any idea the number of erratic personalities that I work with at a given time? Writers are not the most mentally stable people.”
He chuckled. “Are they not?”
“No. Typically, they are emotional, often missing deadlines, and then you have to try to manage their stress all while dealing with yours, and trying to make them feel like they’re geniuses, while gently suggesting they fix the dreck that you received from them. It’s a tightrope. I’m good at walking it. You know, initially I was going into publicity, and I thought that I would use it in the hospitality business. But what I’ve discovered is that part of being an editor is engaging in customer service.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Of course not. I didn’t get into the job for that. I thought it would be reading, and helping shape stories, and I am. I love it. But I also have to figure out which stories are going to make money, and present that to a team, make the case for it. I have to attend more meetings during the week than I would like, though I’ve been let off the hook from a few of them because of the time difference. A lot of the reading I do on my own time.”
“I’m surprised, in many ways, that you didn’t pursue work under the Accardi banner.”
“Of course you are. Because you always thought that was what I wanted. I’m not going to say that I didn’t get a lot out of suddenly becoming rich overnight. Of course I did. But it wasn’t all quite the way that you thought.”
“I see that now.”
“Why did you end up getting into that business when you were so angry at your father?”
