She shifts, her thighs pressing together. “Sore, but in a good way.”
Good. I want her to feel me all day. I want her to remember exactly who fucked her last night—and who’s going to do it again. And again. And again.
Because she’s mine now. I start kissing her neck again, breathing her in. I’m obsessed with the way she feels pressed against me, all soft and warm.
“No regrets?” I ask, heart kicking against my ribs.
She turns in my arms and cups my face, her eyes meeting mine. “None,” she says, and I can see the sincerity in her open expression. I feel something in my chest unclench. I hadn’t realized that a part of me was bracing for that possibility. “You? Do you regr—“ I don’t even let her finish her question, silencing her with a kiss.
“Never,” I breathe against her pouty lips. “Never, sweetheart. Last night was the best night of my life.”
She smiles softly and and presses her forehead to mine. “Me, too.”
She drops her hand from my face and starts tracing idle patterns on my chest, snuggling into me and letting out a contented sigh. I catch her hand, curling my fingers around her wrist, and bring it to my mouth, kissing the tips of each of her fingers, then her palm, before sliding my fingers between hers and holding our joined hands together between us. She lets out a little giggle, the sound like spring sunshine, warm and fresh and life giving.
“What?” I ask, arching an eyebrow at her when she bites her lip.
“Nothing,” she says, her cheeks going pink. “It’s just…honestly, you’re not what I expected. I had all of these fantasies about you, and…”
“Don’t tell me I’ve disappointed you?” I ask, keeping my tone light and teasing even though there’s suddenly a rock in my stomach.
“No! God, no. That’s not what I mean. It’s just that…your public persona is so cold, controlled, distant. Maybe even calculating. But with me…you’re not like that.”
“I’m not like that with you because I don’t have to be.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re the only thing in my life that doesn’t feel like a transaction, Cammie. With you, I don’t have to be billionaire banker Jacob Brooks, the man who built an empire. I can just be yours.” Her eyes swim with emotion, and I push a strand of hair away from her face. “You make it easy to just be me. Just Jake. Just…”
“Just Daddy,” she finishes, and I nod, feathering my thumb along her jawline. She smiles, her free hand tracing over my stomach, nails scratching into the thatch of hair at the base of my cock.
I can’t stop staring at her. I’m a man transfixed. Her golden hair, tangled and strewn across the pillow. Her slightly swollen lips. The rosy flush of her skin. The little freckles on her shoulders. The feeling of her chest rising and falling against mine.
She’s the only thing in the world that matters. I could lose everything tomorrow, but as long as I still had her, I’d be okay.
“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” I ask, drawing circles on her flared hip.
She blinks at me, head tilting slightly. “Like what?”
“Anything. Your favourite colour. The last book you read. What you wanted to be when you were five. Your happiest memory.”
She laughs, giving me another hit of that sunshine I’m already addicted to. “Okay, um…well, my favourite colour is emerald green. Like that dress you bought me. The last book I read was The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo. When I was five, I wanted to be a mermaid, and my two happiest memories both involve you.”
My eyebrows arch up. “Tell me.”
“The first is the night I came home crying from the prom and you danced with me. And the second is last night.”
I make a sound low in my throat, memorizing every single word. Wanting to keep and cherish every part of her that she’s sharing with me. “Emerald green, I’ll remember that. And a mermaid, huh?” I ask, kissing along her collarbone.
She sighs and nods, fingers tangling in my hair. “I used to beg mom to take me to the beach so I could swim and swim and swim, pretending I was a mermaid who lived with the sea creatures and wore coral jewelry.”
“I’ll take you to the ocean,” I say, kissing her neck. “Anywhere you want.” I kiss my way up to her mouth and take it, claiming her with my tongue. “Tell me something else.”
“I hate mushrooms. I’m allergic to cats. I’ve always wanted to learn how to paint.”
I soak in every word, each little tidbit only making me crave more.
“And what about you?” she asks, her hand gliding over my shoulder. “Tell me all the things I don’t know about you.”
