I grip his hair, holding him so tightly to me that I don’t care if he can breathe or not. At this moment, I need this release more than anything else in the world.
My hips thrust up, riding his face like it’s my favorite pastime…because it is…until I can’t take it anymore, and I let go, screaming, chanting Nate, over and over.
My legs are bolted out straight, uncontrollably shaking until finally the pleasure subsides, and I drop down, no longer levitating, and melt back into the bed.
The last thing I remember before I pass out is a look of triumph plastered across Nate’s beautiful face.
24
Maddie
Light brushesmy eyelids as soft golden hues tug me out of my deep, comfortable post-orgasmic slumber. My body feels heavy and deliciously sore, the kind of ache that hums with memory from the night before.
I shift, instinctively reaching for him, but instead of Nate’s warmth, I’m met with the faint scent of him on the sheets and the most beautiful doggy ever.
Skye.
I sigh back into the bed when I’m smacked in the face with a wet tongue.
“Hi, Skye.” Her tail whacks against the mattress. She licks me again, this time with half the enthusiasm, seemingly just as tired as I am.
I wrap an arm around her silky body and pull her close. “So, I’m your mom, it seems.” Her tail thumps faster at the word. “Do you know that word? Mommy,” I tease, repeating it until she lets out a soft bark. “That’s me, baby.”
Sometime in the night, Nate whispered that he had an early meeting with Dubai and wouldn’t be here when I woke.
I remember his hand brushing through my hair and his kiss soft against my temple, apologizing profusely, but waking up with Skye sprawled across the bed, her head on his pillow, almost makes up for it.
I stroke her fur, my eyes roaming the room as morning fully settles in, appreciating it in a way I couldn’t in the dark or while Nate was inspecting my every reaction.
I’m glad the penthouse hasn’t lost its magic.
Whoever designed it knew how to preserve the building’s soul while elevating every corner.
Two walls have floor-to-ceiling windows, original to the building. They’re oversized, with an arched top and paneled iron, creating a lattice design that catches the light perfectly.
From what I remember before I was swiftly swept toward Nate’s room, the bedroom is moodier than the rest of the place.
The walls, a deep, matte, near-black shade of brown, set the tone for a room that feels private and deliberate, like a secret you don’t want to share.
It’s very Nate.
It’s also very me.
The en suite is adorned with floor-to-ceiling dark green mosaic tile, swirling in a wave-like pattern. There’s a deep soaking tub I could lose hours in and a rain shower that belongs in an architectural magazine.
His closet is just as swanky.
The door’s been left ajar, allowing me to see in from the bed; there’s a long line of impeccably tailored navy and black suits, no doubt, all custom.
Work shirts and ceiling-high stacks of T-shirts.
His shoes line the back wall, from Ferragamo loafers to Nike Dunks. And there’s a large safe gleaming faintly in the corner, which is no doubt filled with his priceless watches.
Every detail screams control, wealth, and precision. I’ve seen that same meticulousness in my brother’s home, but this…this is on another level entirely.
I sift through old memories of my first walk-through with the realtor all those years ago, wondering if anything has changed, and then suddenly it hits me.
There are two floors, not one.
