We stood face-to-face for a beat. "Who was that woman?" she asked, casual, like small talk.
"Someone from before."
"College days?"
I paused. "Yeah."
She smiled faintly. "Paul, I don't care about your past flings. That's not part of our deal. But let's be clear: I'm marrying you for our families' interests, no sugarcoating. Within that, I need respect—including not letting anyone think your heart's elsewhere."
"I know."
"Good." She turned to the elevator and hit the button. "Tough night. Rest up."
Doors closed, leaving me alone in the empty lobby. I lingered, then headed to the side door by the stairs, up to the rooftop.
The terrace on the twenty-third floor faced the city's west side. Wind howled this time of year, twisting my tie, but I didn't bother fixing it.
I gripped the railing, and my mind drifted back to Casey's words.
I remembered her junior year in the library, reciting Shakespeare not for some test, just because she loved it. She sat by the window, sunlight spilling in from the left, book in hand, reading a passage aloud—soft but clear. Halfway through, she caught me watching, blushed, and said, "I know it's dumb, but I love it. Don't laugh."
I didn't laugh. Back then, I thought she was rare—one of those people who held onto something real inside, didn't drop it just because others might judge.
And then my mind slipped, unbidden, into that memory of us, raw and wild, our bodies locking together like they were made for it. My rough palms cupped her full breasts, squeezing with just enough force to make her gasp, thumbs circling and flicking those hard, pebbled nipples until they peaked under my touch.
She arched into me, moaning low, and I trailed my mouth down her neck, sucking at the pulse point, teeth grazing her collarbone before dipping lower to her flat stomach, nipping the skin there, tasting the salt of her.
She was already soaked when I reached her core, her thighs parting eagerly. I spread her open with my fingers, diving in with my tongue, lapping at her slick folds, savoring the sweet tang of her arousal.
My tongue swirled around her swollen clit, flicking and sucking, building that pressure until her legs quivered, toes curling tight against the sheets. She bucked against my face, hands fisting my hair, breath coming in ragged bursts.
I didn't let up. Flipped us over so she straddled my face, her wet heat grinding down as I pulled her closer. We shifted into a perfect sixty-nine, her mouth descending on my throbbing cock, lips wrapping around the thick shaft, tongue teasing the sensitive head, tracing every bulging vein with expert flicks. She sucked me deep, hollowing her cheeks, while I gripped her round ass cheeks hard, fingers digging into the flesh, burying my face between her thighs.
I thrust my tongue into her dripping pussy, sucking greedily, lapping up every drop as she rocked against me. Our rhythms synced—her bobbing matched my thrusts, breaths mingling in hot, desperate harmony, bodies slick with sweat and need.
God, the way she tasted, that musky sweetness flooding my senses, driving me wild. I added fingers, plunging two inside her tight heat, curling them to hit that spot that made her shudder, her moans vibrating around my cock as she took me deeper, gagging slightly but not stopping.
Her hips ground harder against my mouth, clit pulsing under my relentless tongue, and I could feel her building, muscles clenching around my fingers. She came first, crying out around my length, her juices coating my chin, body trembling violently as waves crashed through her.
It pushed me over the edge; I drove in deep one last time, spilling inside her mouth with a guttural roar, filling her up as we collapsed together, spent and entangled.
But tonight, I'd told her she was too ordinary, didn't know our rules, could be my hidden lover.
I stared out at the distant city lights, a vague irritation bubbling up—not regret, not guilt.
I didn't know what it was.
Chapter Five
Casey
Boston's late-night wind cut deeper than usual. I walked from the Four Seasons all the way back to my rental, frozen almost numb.
I fished out my keys. My hands shook. Took two tries to get the key in the lock.
I stepped inside. Didn't turn on the lights. Street lamps cast everything in vague outlines.
I saw the jacket draped over the chair—Paul had left it here last week when he came over, said he'd grab it next time, then never showed.
