“Sorry,” she answers.
I grip her shirt harder. “Look at me.”
She turns her head, her hair half in her face, and meets my gaze over one shoulder.
“Never apologize for that. Ever.” My fingers curl toward her stomach, searching for that little spot inside, and she moans gutturally the second I find it. Her lips part and form an O as she stares me down. That image of her might live in my head forever. “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she whispers. “I understand.”
My thumb easily finds her clit, my fingers starting to properly work her, drawing out umms, moans, and gasps. The noises she makes are heavenly. All I can think about is how much better she’d sound if my cock was in her instead. I would drive into her over and over until the only sound she could make would be the sound of my name.
“How many times?” I ask, giving her a little more pressure inside and out. I instantly feel her muscles clench around myfingers as a soft, breathy moan escapes her lips. “How many times did you touch yourself while thinking of me?”
“Oh myGod, Anthony?—”
“Answer me,” I demand, pushing down harder on her back, moving my hand faster.
“I don’t—I don’t know, I—fuck,” Her hands scramble on the desk, grabbing at the wood, digging her nails in like the inanimate object has personally offended her. “Too many. Too many to count. Please?—”
A grin spreads across my face. She’s close. She’s so close. “Atta-girl,” I say. “Let go, princess. Give me what I want. Give meeverything.”
Her back arches into me, her mouth opening wide before I release her blouse. I reach around her head and cover her lips with my hand. As she makes shrieking sounds of pure ecstasy holding in the broken, shrieking sounds that tear from her as her walls clamp down hard around my fingers.
I work my fingers inside her, prolonging her pleasure by wringing out every last bit until it’s clear she’s about to come undone. Her small gasps begin turning into little panicked moans. I keep my hold on her mouth as she sucks in air through her nose greedily. My cock is straining in my slacks, hard and twitching and leaking into my boxers.
Afterwards, she’s limp and pliant. She looks more relaxed than I’ve ever seen her. I walk around to the front of my desk and squat down in front of her face. Holding her half-lidded gaze with my own, I bring my fingers to my mouth. She whimpers at the sight as I lick them clean, savoring every sweet drop. She tastes too good. She sounds too good. I keep my composure despite how goddamn desperately I want to bury myself inside her.
I touch her cheek with the same hand I’d just cleaned and let my gaze fall to her lips just once before flicking back up to her eyes. “What do you say?”
“Th-thank you,” she whispers.
I smirk and stroke her cheek with my thumb. “Good girl.”
We sit there in the silence for a moment. Her breathing slowly returning to normal, and her eyes gradually gaining more understanding of where she is, what just happened, and who, exactly, is in front of her. I see the moment it fully clicks. She scrambles to stand and back away from the desk. Her eyes are wild as she pulls her skirt down to cover the tears, and her breathing picks back up. I don’t stop her. I don’t say a word.
“Oh my God,” she says, looking from me to the open door between our offices. She takes one stumbling step. Then another. Then she’s moving faster than I can stand up to stop her, hightailing it back to her office and slamming the door behind her. I don’t follow. I don’t need to.
I’m confident that April Swan will sign that goddamn document. Regardless of her stubbornness, snarled protests and clever little comebacks, she now knows what I can give her. She knows I can give her exactly what she asked me for. And now that she’s had it, she knows just how much she wants…again.
Chapter 9
April
Angela opens the door with a tired smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She’s wearing one of my old college sweatshirts with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, and her hair piled on top of her head in a messy knot. There’s a pile of unopened mail on the kitchen counter behind her. All in thick envelopes with hospital logos.
“Hey,” she says, letting me in with a one-armed hug and a slightly damp face. Her apartment is small, barely two bedrooms, but the walls are painted a light, cheerful blue. She’d picked it out the day she moved in, but that was back when she still believed things could be easy. Now everything feels like a lie.
“How’s Ava?” I ask as I step inside. I set the bag of groceries I’d grabbed for her on the table.
“She’s at her friend’s apartment downstairs,” she sighs. I notice she hasn’t answered my question, but I don’t call attention to it; even though I’m itching to know if Ava’s okay. “Gave me time to cry in peace.”
I freeze halfway through sitting down in one of the dining chairs. “What happened?”
Angela laughs softly, but there’s no joy in it. It’s a crack she’s trying desperately to patch with humor. “Insurance denied theappeal again,” she says, collapsing into the chair across from mine. I let myself sink down. “Her oncologist says the next phase of her treatment’s critical, but unless we find another grant or get approval, they’ll have to delay surgery.”
My breath hitches. “They can’t delay. You told me?—”
“I know.” I see the glassiness of her eyes intensify. She bites her lip to keep from crying. My heart breaks for the one person in my life who has always been there for me. My sister shouldn’t have to deal with this. “It’s in her ribs, April. It’smoving. The longer we wait, the more likely it is to spread somewhere we can’t touch. The hospital won’t operate without assurance of payment, and I don’t…I don’t have it.”
