One for the Money

Somehow when he looks back at me, he’s close. Close enough for me to feel the warmth of his body. Close enough to turn flushed under his intense regard.

“You’re nervous,” he murmurs. Not a question.

“No. Maybe.”

He puts his hand on the side of my neck. His thumb brushes my pulse point. I can feel it, a little too fast. My breath sounds loud between us. “We don’t have to do anything,” he says. “We can just have a glass of wine. Or maybe I can leave, if you want me to.”

He can leave. If I want him to. The meaning of words is slow to register. My mind feels weighted down with desire. Like I’m made of silk-thin petals, and the desire is dew. Do I want him to leave? That’s the safest thing to do, for both of us. Do I want to talk and open a bottle of wine? Also safe, but that’s not what I want. There are Alex Langleys of the world if I want safety. I’m with Finn Hughes, the playboy billionaire. Other women would love to be with him, even if it was only for a night. This has nothing to do with other women.

Me.

I would love to be with him, only for a night.

“Stay,” I say. “Make me forget.”

Make me forget about Haley and Leo and their baby. Make me forget that I’m me and you’re you. Make me forget that this is only pretend.

He drops his head but doesn’t kiss me. His lips are inches from mine, but he doesn’t take that last extra millimeter. He’s waiting, I realize. For me to kiss him. He’s too good to take me, if I might have doubts. If I might regret it later.

I’m sure I will regret it, but those regrets will keep me warm when he’s gone.

I push up on my toes in my heels. My lips meet his in a clumsy, too-hard way. He doesn’t seem to mind, kissing me back, pulling me closer. It’s like I unleashed something inside him. That one atom of space—it was permission. Not only for sex but this other side of him. Raw and blunt, his tongue lapping my mouth with the same rhythm that he’d use to fuck me.

It’s a promise. A warning.

When we were in his house, he licked me between my legs the same way. He fucked me with his tongue until I climaxed harder than I thought possible. I didn’t even know my legs could shake like that. My time with Lane feels a million years away. I don’t remember much about the orgasms, which probably says everything about them.

It hadn’t really been about the sex for me. It had been love.

The opposite of this situation.

This has nothing to do with real emotion. It’s only sexual pleasure. And I already know he can give me that. He deserves it, too. That night he didn’t let me return the favor. Still shocked by the evening and disconcerted by the orgasm, I’d let him pack me into a limo with a driver and send me home.

That was his home. His domain.

This is mine.

I sink down to my knees and look up at him.

He sucks in a breath. “Eva. You don’t have to do this.”

Except he wants me to. The desire burns in his hazel eyes. And what’s more, I want to do this. It makes me feel powerful, that I have something this man wants. He has everything, almost. This is a gift. I unbuckle his belt and open his pants. He lets me do it, not moving to help, only watching between slitted eyes.

I kiss the tip of his cock. It’s slick against my lips. I feel unaccountably innocent right now, which is strange. I’ve done this before. But one man is not a large set of references. And I’d been young and foolish back then. Prettier, too. I don’t think I’d ever had any real skill in this area. It had mostly been my enthusiasm he appreciated.

“Lick,” Finn says, the green of his eyes turning deeper.

I obey him, licking around the head, tasting his desire. It’s easy as long as he gives me commands. As long as he looks down at me like he’s going to devour me. He stands tall and strong. It’s a powerful position, him wearing a dress shirt and slacks, completely clothed except for the long, hard column of his cock. My thighs press together, seeking friction.

“How is it going to feel in your mouth?” he asks, stroking my temple. “Hot. Warm. Wet. I’m going to have to focus not to come down your throat.”

My eyes burn with an emotion I can’t name. Arousal is part of it, but there’s more.

He continues, clearly not expecting me to talk when I’m busy licking the underside of his cock. “You’d take it, wouldn’t you? If I wanted to paint you with come. If I wanted you to swallow it down. You’d be a good girl for me, wouldn’t you?”