Fuck, that feels good.
For a moment, my eyes close. My other senses take over. The sound of her moan, the softness of her mouth, the rough mesh against her nipple.
Then I look down at her. Take in the perfect image of Indigo Simms, on her knees, groaning against my cock.
I tug at her hair.
My body takes over. Harder. Faster. Deeper.
She gags against my cock, but she takes me.
Again and again, I drive into her as I dip my hand under her lingerie, draw circles around her nipple.
Again and again.
Until I'm there.
Pleasure overwhelms my senses. Every part of me tunes to every part of her.
The world is a beautiful, perfect place where everything makes sense.
And everything feels so fucking good.
I rock through my orgasm, spilling every drop in her pretty mouth.
She takes me. Takes it. Pulls back to swallow. Wipes her lips with her hand.
Looks up at me like she wants only one thing: More.
And I only want one thing.
I want to give her more.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Indigo
We order dinner.
It's torture.
Everything is delicious, from the peppery arugula salad to the fresh sea bass, but I don't want food.
I want him.
Will I ever have enough of him?
Ty can make me come, yes. He will make me come.
And, fuck, the thought of his body over mine, his cock inside me, his lips on my neck—
I need it so badly.
Forever.
There's no way I'll ever have enough.
I try to steer my thoughts to the table. To his dark eyes, his soft lips, his deep voice. The story he's telling. About some trip he took with Ian. Some place he wants to take me.
How he wants to fuck me there.
It's not just me. He's distracted too. He's thinking it too. He wants this too.
We finish. He signs the check. I try to collect myself in the bathroom, but the second I reapply my lipstick, I fall into memories of Ty.
The taste of his skin. The feel of his rough touch. The bliss of his orgasm.
I can still taste him. I've never craved that with anyone else. Only him.
With Ty—
I want everything. I'm going to want everything forever.
I meet him by the elevator. Take his hand. "Do you think someone saw?"
"No." His eyes find mine. "Are you relieved? Or disappointed?"
"Both." My cheeks flush. I've never admitted it, even to myself, but it's true. I want someone to watch. "It's… what was it you said? Practicalities are important."
He nods. "And someone catching you sucking cock in public—"
My blush deepens.
"—money can't solve everything."
"Would you?"
He leads me into the elevator. Pushes the button for the ground floor. "Would I?"
"Invite someone to watch?"
The silver doors slide together. "Do you have someone in mind?"
"If I did?"
"I'd be jealous." He pulls me closer. "Do you?"
"No."
"Is it something you think about?" He wraps his arms around me. Presses his lips to my neck. "When you fuck yourself?"
"Sometimes."
"Tell me."
"I…"
He slides his hand over my hip. My other thigh. The hem of my dress. "Like this? Coming in an elevator?" He slips his hand under my dress. "Security watching?"
"Ty…"
"Yeah, baby?" His fingers skim my inner thigh. The edge of my bodysuit. The sheer mesh.
Fuck. My eyes close. My inhibitions fall aside. Alcohol dissolved them. Or maybe he did. I'm not sure.
"Is this what you want?" He runs his finger over the mesh, rubbing the fabric against my clit. "To come with some anonymous stranger watching?"
"Would you?"
He responds by rubbing me harder.
My head falls to one side.
His teeth find my neck. He bites me. Softly.
Then harder.
Hard enough he sends pangs of desire to my core.
The elevator dings. The doors slide open. But he stays exactly where he is. Rubbing me over my lingerie. Dragging his teeth over my neck.
"I won't share you." He nips at my ear. "I have my own limits."
"I know. I don't want… I don't want anyone else touching me."
"What is it? What exactly do you think about when you fuck yourself?"
"I…" Fuck. His hand is still on my clit. I can't think of other fantasies. Of anything but this beautiful moment, right here, right now.
A door opens. Footsteps move closer.
Instantly, he releases me. Rights his posture. Adopts a poker face.
He leads me out of the elevator. Past a middle-aged couple in formal wear. The old money type.
The woman shoots us a look. Like she knows we were about to fuck in the elevator. Or maybe like she wishes she were about to fuck in the elevator.
I can't tell.
We pass. Ty leads us outside.
Then we're on the sidewalk, crisp night air around us.
Inside the building, the couple steps into the elevator. The silver doors slide together. And they're gone.
Judging us silently.
Or engaging in their own elevator make-out session.
That's what will happen if we stay married. He'll stay devoted to making me come.
It's a tempting offer.
A lifetime of good food, financial security, mind-blowing sex.
And all I do is give up love.