The Romeo Arrangement

Fine, so I’m enjoying being killed.

Fucking-aye, do I love it.

I’ve never been pushed so far to the brink, edged to the point of total destruction.

I’m up for the challenge because I love how much she’s enjoying this.

Nothing quite like the moment when a man sees his naked angel become a hellion.

Her eyes glow like soft blue sapphires. She lifts those long lashes to look up at me.

My grip on the chair tightens as she gets serious, sucking and pumping, driving me right to the edge of my restraint.

The air heaves in and out of my lungs in hot rushes when she finally releases me.

“I think you enjoyed that,” she says.

My jaw stays locked tight.

“Condom. Now,” I say between clenched teeth.

She slides it on, evenly, securely, and so slowly my balls must be bluer than my eyes.

Then she stands, and one at a time, swings her legs around my hips.

My cock is so hard, so ready, it doesn’t need any help to slip inside her.

My hands whip around to her ass, jerking her to me, a vicious sound ripping out of my throat.

We both gasp. My eyes roll back as my dick sinks inside her, straight to the hilt.

Paradise.

“Sweetheart, your pussy was made for my cock.”

No lie. It’s too perfect.

She grips my shoulders with both hands and meets my thrusts, taking me in even deeper.

I hold her waist, keeping her pinned to me, letting us both bask in the glorious insanity rising with every stroke.

Grace leans forward and kisses me. “I almost came while sucking you.”

“I could tell,” I snarl, throwing my hips into hers so hard those tits shake just for me.

“I never knew sex could be like this.”

“Fun?” I ask, slowly moving my dick inside her tight heat, forcing a groan out of her.

Give it the fuck up.

“I meant so…so fulfilling,” she whispers, barely keeping her composure.

“Then you weren’t doing it with the right man,” I whisper, taking her mouth before she’s able to say anything else.

I feel the same way, brutally aware it’s never been like this with any other woman, and I show her with my hips.

She leans back, using my shoulders to help with leverage, meeting my every upward thrust with a downward plunge.

Her tits bounce harder, brushing my chin, my cheeks.

It’s fucking crazy. All of it. More than physical, all-consuming.

Mind, body, and soul wrapped up in a chick I’ve fake-engaged and decided to fuck like I truly plan on making my wife.

Where does the illusion end?

I still don’t know, especially with the friction coming perfect, phenomenal, hot as sin.

I know I’ve reached my limit when the pressure in my seething balls heightens, like a dam breaking under a deluge.

At that exact moment, her nails dig into my shoulders, and I hear her hitch.

Her pussy squeezes me so hard my eyes ache.

“Ridge, now, please!” she whimpers. “Coming!”

Holy fucking shit.

The best orgasm I’ve ever had in my life hits right then.

The floodgate opens, coursing wild lightning through my system. I pour myself into her, wondering if I burn right through the condom, balls pumping over and over again.

She screams, clutches me, comes herself into this sultry mess that’ll be burned into my brain until my dying day.

I know what that sounds like.

Ask me if I care.

We come together, so rampant, so off-the-hook, I forget what sex even means unless it involves this woman wrapped around me, drowning in pleasure, ruined the same way she’s annihilated me.

And it goes on forever.

Until I’m so spent it’s like I died and came back in waves of white-hot fire.

She’s slumped against me, slick with sweat, breathing so hard she shakes.

“Holy hell,” she mutters.

You’re telling me, I think to myself, somehow moving my neck to kiss her forehead.

I draw in a deep breath and unclench my teeth, leaning back.

Kissing the top of her head, I laugh.

“Good game, woman. Can’t wait for the rematch.”

I’m still thinking about the hottest fuckery of my life while we’re driving Jess’ truck into Dallas.

After swapping vehicles, I’ll be stopping at the drugstore. I have no clue how many condoms are left in the box in my bathroom, but the only acceptable answer is not enough.

Gravity defying sex aside, there’s another weight on my chest. I turn when we’re halfway there, waiting for her eyes to glance over.

“Grace, there’s something I need to tell you.” Giving her hand a squeeze, I say, “It wasn’t a suicide. My mother wasn’t in her right mind when she did it.”

“What?”

I bite my jaw, furious at the memories flooding back.

I’ve never told anyone this, but I need to tell her.

Someone else needs to know besides Tobin O’Hare.

Maybe it’ll help her feel protected and safe if we’re equals in secrets.

“Huh? You mean she didn’t—”

“Walk off the balcony?” I nod fiercely. “Yeah, she did, and there were drugs in her system. But she wasn’t some depressed drug fiend by the end of her life. Someone set her up.”