The Satin Sash

She did not want to hear more.

She wanted to hear it all.

“At the benefit, did you want to get to Grey through me?”

“No. Cat. No. I wanted you. I still want you. I’d spent months dreaming of you, and the moment I saw you . . . I needed to have you. I’d have taken you for myself if you weren’t his.”

“But I am his.”

Their eyes locked for an electrifying moment.

“Don’t make me hate him,” he said hoarsely, and, jerking his eyes away, raked a frustrated hand across his hair.

“Heath, what if—”

“No what-ifs. Only what is.” Her stomach muscles clenched as he fixed her with a black, tormented look, his profile as hard as granite, and said, “Go home to Grey.”

That was all the good-bye she was going to get; Toni realized she was being dismissed when he went to the closet to fumble around with more of his clothes. He did not glance back at her, didn’t so much as give her another view of his face.

Some emotion demanded justice, but she could not speak it, could not even name it. Impulsively, crazily, maybe desperately, she pulled the sash out of her bag and buried it deep in his suitcase, and thought, hoped, prayed before she made her way out of his room, Come back, Heath Solis.

Grey waited in a cloak of obscurity, sprawled on the couch among the shadows. His thumb steadily clicked the ballpoint pen in his hand. Click. Click. Click. The tip went in and out, in and out. A panel of light from the hall streamed into the entry when the front door opened. He sucked in a breath, his finger frozen on a click.

Toni shut the door behind her. By the cautious way she advanced, he was certain he’d been spotted.

She flicked a lamp on, her eyes landing on him. So rumpled. Her hair was tangled, her mouth swollen. She had just been fucked.

She moved to him and stopped a f

ew feet away, her eyes never straying. He let the pen fall on the cushion, roll to the back.

“Grey.” It was there in that tearful tone—oh yes, she’d let Heath fuck her.

He shoved his pants and underwear down to his knees and the pink rod of his cock popped out, slapping his abdomen. “I’ve had this for hours,” he rasped.

Glimmering green eyes followed the pronounced veins pulsing up the lengthened flesh.The crown was bloated, stretched taut as a drum, and it quivered painfully.

Her purse fell to the floor, her shoes were kicked off, and she fell to her knees between his thighs, as though helpless to stand.“Grey.” Her fingers trembled as she reached out to grasp him, and he lifted his hands to stroke his fingers down her cheek.

“Kiss me.”

She pressed her lips to the tip and kissed once, twice, then licked down the length. Groaning hurt. Just sitting here, wanting, hurt.

She cradled his balls in the bowl of her hands, using her thumb to stroke the seam where they joined. He sifted his fingers through the tangled silk of her hair, fisting a handful at her nape so he could pull her head back.

“Did you come?” His voice was terse and gruff, and the air felt dense with his arousal.The scent of him wanting her.

“I didn’t fuck him, Grey.”

Something let loose in him. A breath. He grazed her temple with the pad of his index finger, then smoothed her hair gently back. “Thank you.”

She peered at him through her lashes, her gaze both needy and coy, as though two hours being separated had grown into hundreds. As though they had more between them than time, more than mere inches.

“Make love with me?” he asked as she kissed the bloated head again, tenderly, lovingly using her tongue to draw the milky drop at the tip into her mouth. “Just you and me, like before.”

Good-bye. No more Heath touching her. No more hands on her other than Grey’s. No more Heath haunting her.

He fought to keep his head from rolling back, to keep his eyes open, but her mouth was so warm, so sweet around his cock.