“I have to go.” Her words die on her lips. “I’m going to be late.”
“I called Ayla. She’ll be here— What time do you have?”
“You didn’t think to tell me? And it’s a quarter ’til seven. What’s going on?”
“I have someplace I have to be. I’ll pick you up in time for your appointment though. I’ll text when I’m out front.”
She scrunches her nose up and squeezes her brows together.
“Go, baby. I don’t want you to be late. It messes up your whole day.”
“It does.” She takes a step forward but hesitates.
“Get your perfect ass over here and kiss me.” I stick my headout of the shower and she leans in, pulling my beard to her as has become her habit, and opens for me. I want to grab her, haul her into the stall and press her against the wall.
Tonight. If everything goes as planned, I can tonight.
She moans into my mouth, but steps back, letting her fingers comb through my beard, and stares down at my cock. “Is that for me?”
“Always.” I take my dick in hand and stroke up, choking the head, rubbing a thumb over the crown and pulling down to the root. “And if you keep staring at it, you won’t make it to work, or you’ll be late because your hair will be wet, your chest will be covered in my cum and?—”
“Gotta go.” Her words are meant to be funny, but she says them so breathily that I stroke again, her watching the whole time.
“You’re leaving me here to get myself off?” Another stroke, another tug.
“I, uh…” She looks over her shoulder. “If I don’t, I could miss work.”
“Yeah, Wifey. What’s that like?”
She slices her eyes to slits but it’s all bravado. There’s nothing mean or cruel in her body. “Save some for me later?” She turns on a heel and sashays that perfect ass in those completely unsexy pants out of the bathroom with a little bounce in her step.
I rush the rest, hop out when I know she’s gone, and get dressed.Dressedis usually a henley or a tee and cargoes. Today is not that day.
Shit, now I’m quotingThe Lord of the Rings.
Black dress shirt and charcoal gray suit in place, I grab my shades, my phone and wallet, and head to the garage. I’m at the Centennial airport in no time, surprised to find Cian there when I arrive.
“Hey. What are you doing here?”
“You were with me when I needed you.” He looks around the semi-private air strip. “I’m paying you back.”
I nod. I don’t need him the same way he needed me a year and a half ago when shit went sideways. But I won’t argue withhim being at my back. “Thanks, Ci.” I slap his upper arm and step up into Christian’s private jet. It’s his company’s but that’s semantics.
I remove my suit jacket, buckle in, and stare at the opulence that should never be my life. It’s not, except by marriage. And more than once it’s come in ridiculously handy.
Cian takes a seat. “Glad we’re not on a similar mission.”
“Same. How’s the house?”
“Not quite there. There enough to get Renée into the school with a qualifying address. Not there enough to pass inspection or live in. I hope by Thanksgiving.”
“And Née is liking high school?”
“The girl plans to take over. She’s trying to figure out student government. And all the clubs and sports she wants to participate in. Know a good chauffeur? Because we don’t have the manpower to usher her to all the things that are ‘necessary’.”
“Necessary, huh?”
We’re interrupted by the pilots who have run all their checks and take the time to come out and shake our hands.
