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I was supposed to think that deep, with him this deep? “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
I did. I could have kept pretending. Instead, I sighed and touched his handsome face.
“I don’t know what happens when we get home,” I admitted. “I don’t know how we handle work or whether we gon’ drive each other crazy.”
He smiled. “That part guaranteed.”
I smiled. “Yeah, it is.” Then I took a breath. “But I know I want you.”
“I spent years acting like I didn't because it wasn’t convenient. I was involved or you were involved. You were my boss; I wanted my job.” I stopped, bit my lip as I felt his thickly-veined hardness throb inside me. “Then when we finally crossed the line, I panicked because I thought I wasn’t being fair to you—what if I was on some rebound shit? Or fair to me—what if wanting you, having you, meant I’d screwed up everything I’d worked for?”
“Apple—”
“You said Truth, baby. Let me tell mine.”
He went quiet.
“I can’t promise you what this looks like six months from now. But I want this. I want the dates. I want the arguing and the laughing. I want you with me. I want you inside me.”
His rhythm picked up with each confession, making it harder for me to speak. I slid my arms tighter around his neck.
“I want every fine, aggravating, super-sized inch of you, Saadiq Masters.”
His eyes closed. “Topaz.”
“What?”
“You gotta stop saying shit like that while I’m inside you.”
I smiled. “Why?”
His eyes reopened. “You know why.”
I laughed. “It’s okay. I know you not a minute man.”
But I dropped one arm and reached between us, swirling my fingers around my clit. He looked down for a long moment, watched me take him, then bounced me more intensely. And when those dark eyes peered into mine again, I was ready, more than ready.
“This is so much better than I ever imagined, Saadiq. Now, come with me,” I begged, just as the first wave of my orgasm crashed into me.
And for once in our contentious relationship, Saadiq Masters didn’t argue.
By eleven the next morning, I had managed to think about Topaz Waters approximately every thirty seconds, which was some bullshit because I actually had work to do. Yoli, Reign, and I were sitting around the dining table in my villa with enough paperwork and electronic devices spread across it to remind me why we were technically on Port Isle. The structural engineer had sent his preliminary report on Boykins’s property before breakfast. The building itself was solid, but there were a few repairs I wanted priced before I recommended my client move forward. It was nothing major. Some roofing work, replacement of a few older windows, and some updates to the plumbing or hurricane seasons may be hell. This would definitely be a good investment. Reign had multiple reports open on her tablet, her quiet efficiency appreciated.
“You want to see how he meets his target return?” she asked.
I nodded, studying the numbers. “What you using for average nightly rate?”
She quoted it to me, and I had her lower the rate on the two-bedrooms. I watched as she made a couple of other notes.
Yoli glanced up from her laptop. “Management fee?”
“Eight percent.”
We debated that for a minute, then I asked her about insurance quotes.
“Two quotes back. Waiting on the third,” she briefed me.
