“Duchess?” She rises to her knees, one hand finding my cock in a firm grip. “Why duchess?”
“It fits. You’re no pampered princess.”
“No. I’m not.” She lowers slightly, the heat of her entrance kissing the head of my cock.
“Fuck.” I grunt. Grit my teeth to keep from blowing my load too soon. Using her own words against her, I move my hand between her thighs and thumb her clit. “Less talking. More doing.”
She tosses her head back on a laugh and sinks onto my cock at the same time. Her breath stalls. Then on a squeeze of muscles, she murmurs, “Holy fucking shit, you feel like heaven.”
“Same.”
I want to fuck up into her, but I also want to let her control this encounter. The more she can do what she wants, be who she truly is without ramifications—other than mind-numbing orgasms—the more connected she’ll feel to me. And the more chance I have of making this thing between us more than hooking up.
15
ALEXANDRIA
Icover a yawn with one hand and drag the paper closer with the other. Squinting at the numbers, I rub my temple in the hope of staving off the headache slowly taking root.
I need sleep.
And yet, night after night, I forego it to spend hours in bed with Garrett.
Not that having sex is all that we do. In the months since he rescued me and Grandpa’s Jag from the side of the road, we’ve settled into a routine. One of us organizes dinner—whether we cook or get takeout—and we shut ourselves into his apartment.
I don’t remember the last time I slept at my house—in my own bed.
I don’t like to think about it too much, but if I did, I’d have to admit what we have is a relationship. We’re a couple. Of course, it all happens behind closed doors. No one knows we’re together. Hell, even the fact he worked on my car is a secret.
He’d go public in a heartbeat, and until recently, I was fiercely against it. Something changed a few weeks ago. I hate keeping secrets from my friends. Hate feeling like we’re doing something we shouldn’t even if that’s how I felt in the beginning.
Garrett makes me feel seen—real.
“You all right?”
Jolted from my thoughts, I glance up to find Olivia in my office doorway. I frown. “Yes, why?”
“You keep rubbing your head. Do you have a headache?”
“A bit. Probably need to hydrate more,” I offer as an excuse when there’s no need to justify myself. Crazy the things you say when you’re harboring secrets. “What brings you by?”
“Oh.” She steps into the room and closes the door. “I want to talk about the ball.”
“Okay.”
“Do you want to ride together?”
“I’m not going.” I’ve thought about it since Exclusively Yours purchased its usual batch of tickets over a month ago.
“Not going?” Olivia shakes her head. “What do you mean, you’re not going?”
“I don’t want to hang out in a room full of people I don’t like, a select few excluded of course, for hours wearing a dress I don’t feel comfortable in and shoes that are liable to cripple me before dinner service.”
“But…” She stares at me as though waiting for me to laugh and yelljoking!“You’re really not going?”
“I’m not going. I already told Elizabeth.”
Olivia cringes.
