“Then, I’m going to send you on your way. Because if you stay here any longer, I won’t let you leave. And we can’t have that.”
“Are you sure?” I ask. Because honestly? I could get on board with anything this man wants.
He grins, and my knees go weak. Then his mouth disappears between my thighs, answering every question and silencing my every plea.
His hands grip my hips, pulling me to the edge, holding me in place as his tongue works me with fierce, focused intent. Relentless. Consuming. Devastating.
I see stars. Real ones. Maybe heaven. Maybe the afterlife. Whatever he’s doing, my body is hovering right on the edge of the most mind-bending release I’ve ever felt.
No, seriously. It’s unreal.
My hands grip his hair and legs lock around his broad shoulders as my back arches. I fist his hair as he traces my folds with slow, torturous strokes, then returns to my clit, determined to make good on his promise…to take every last drop from me.
Lick me dry.
I’m right there. So close.
I’ve never had counter sex before, but the second I fall apart, the second I come, I’m letting this man have his way with me all over this kitchen. Forget the pancakes. I don’t even like blueberries like that.
Ding dong.
Eli lifts his head, mouth and beard glistening.
“Fuck!” He curses, forehead dropping against my thigh.
“Who would be at your door at this time of the morning?” I pant. Frustrated.
“No clue.”
He pulls himself together with a string of hushed expletives, adjusting his jeans and wiping his mouth. I scramble to get my shirt closed, hopping off the counter like it hasn’t just been the scene of a near spiritual experience.
Eli swings the door open, and I hear his voice carry down the hall. “Drake, what the fuck, man?”
I hurry back to the bedroom to find a pair of leggings to throw on. Drake’s voice follows, fast and excited. “Listen. Big idea. Huge idea for the pitch. What if we flipped the whole thing?”
Eli groans. “Drake…”
“No, hear me out,” Drake insists. “You know how everyone loves a love story?”
“No,” Eli snaps.
Drake isn’t deterred one bit. “And how public interest in all that mushy love stuff can really drive engagement?”
“No,” Eli repeats.
“So, after Max’s little declaration to Vanessa last night, I started thinking.”
“Drake,” Eli warns, his voice dropping an octave.
“What if we played up the fake girlfriend thing and used it for more publicity?”
“I thought that magazine profile you planted was supposed to be the publicity.”
Drake waves him off dismissively. “I mean, it’s fine. But nothing gets people talking like love.”
Eli shifts on his feet, his brow furrowing. "I'm failing to see the correlation between a fake relationship and a business pitch.”
“Because you’re not a marketing genius like me,” Drake says, grinning. “Relationships—the happy ones, the sad ones—they have a way of capturing everyone’s interest. Even the business community. It’s the kind of good press that will pave the way long before you even start the pitch.”
