Morning light spillsacross my kitchen like liquid gold, catching on the rim of her coffee mug, the dark waves of her hair, the curve of her bare thigh where my shirt rides up. I stop in the doorway, breath caught in my throat. She hasn't noticed me yet. Stands there looking out at the Vegas skyline, cradling the mug like it's a lifeline, lost in thought. I've had beautiful women in this penthouse before. Women who cost more per hour than most people make in a month. Granted, they weren’t here forthat. I didn’t fuck any of them. Merely interviewed them for one of my many business.
Regardless, none of them looked like they belonged here.Shedoes. In my oversized shirt with sleep still clinging to her eyes, she looks like she's always been part of this space. Like the missing piece I didn't know was gone.
I let myself look my fill. The slender column of her neck. The gentle curve of her ass barely covered by my shirt. The way her hair falls in messy waves down her back. My body responds instantly, cock hardening against the fabric of my sweatpants. I want her again. Already. Still.Constantly.
She senses me watching. Turns, blushes so prettily it nearly brings me to my knees.
"Good morning," she says, voice soft with leftover sleep.
"Morning, angel." I cross to her slowly, giving her time to retreat if she wants.
She doesn't. She stays put, looking up at me with those big brown eyes, a hint of uncertainty in them. Last night was intense. For both of us. I need to show her nothing's changed in the light of day.
I brush my lips against her temple, breathe in the scent of her—my shampoo in her hair, my soap on her skin, but underneath it all, that essential Sharon-ness that drove me crazy from the first moment. My hand cups her cheek, tilts her face up. I kiss the corner of her mouth, her jaw, the sensitive spot just below her ear.
"Did you sleep well?" I ask against her skin.
"Yes." Her voice catches as my teeth graze her earlobe. "You?"
"Better than I have in years."
It's true. I slept like the fucking dead with her curled against me, like some part of me finally relaxed a guard I didn't know was standing.
She turns in my arms, sets her coffee on the counter, and looks up at me with a question in her eyes. I answer by kissing her properly—slow at first, then deeper when she opens for me with a little sigh that goes straight to my cock.
My hands slide down her back, over the curve of her ass. I lift her easily, setting her on the counter. She gasps, hands flying to my shoulders for balance. The shirt rides up further, and I see she's wearing nothing underneath. The sight of her bare pussy, already glistening wet for me, makes my mouth water.
"Fabio," she whispers, and my name has never sounded so good.
I push her thighs apart gently, step between them. "I want to taste you."
Her eyes widen. "Here?"
I smile against her neck. "Everywhere. But yes, here is a good start."
I drop to my knees in front of her, hook her legs over my shoulders. She's shaking slightly—nervous, but not afraid. I press a kiss to her inner thigh, look up at her.
"Okay?"
She nods, biting her lip.
The first stroke of my tongue makes her cry out. She's so responsive, so fucking sensitive. I take my time, learning what she likes—slow circles around her clit, firm pressure against her entrance. She tastes better than anything I've ever had in my mouth—sweet and musky and perfect.
Her hands tangle in my hair, pulling when I hit a sensitive spot. I growl against her, the pain only spurring me on. When she comes, it's with my name on her lips, her thighs trembling around my head.
I stand, scoop her into my arms, and carry her to my bedroom.Ourbedroom now. She looks dazed, flushed, fucking beautiful spread across my sheets. I strip off my sweatpants, watch her eyes widen at the sight of my cock—hard and aching for her.
"Tell me what you want," I say, hovering over her.
"You," she whispers. "Just you."
I kiss her again, unbuttoning the shirt she wears—myshirt—exposing her body inch by inch. Her breasts are perfect—small, firm, tipped with pink nipples that pucker under my gaze. I take one in my mouth, suck gently, then more firmly when she arches up with a gasp.
My hands map her body, memorizing every curve, every dip, every spot that makes her breath catch. She's so soft everywhere,like she was made for my touch. When I slide a finger inside her, she's wet and ready, but tight—so tight it makes me groan.
"Angel," I murmur against her breast. "You feel so good."
I work my way down her body, kissing every inch—the gentle swell of her stomach, the curve of her hip, the inside of her thigh. When I settle between her legs again, she watches me with those big eyes, trust and desire warring in them.
