He sucks on my nipple and takes my breath away, then pops off long enough to say, “An ambitious task. It would take us all day to accomplish.”
I laugh a little. “Just one day?”
“Hey, you’ve been holding out on me for a long time. I have a lot of pent up stamina to spend.”
“Hm, this job sounds pretty demanding.”
“Very demanding,” he agrees, tenderly kissing my chest again. “Very rewarding, too.”
“What’s the retirement plan like?” I tease.
“Oh, I think you’ll be quite pleased with it.” He squeezes my left breast, then gives it another kiss. “As long as my mom doesn’t have another kid, I’m set to inherit her entire fortune. My dad obviously has other obligations, but I’m sure he’ll set something aside for me. One of his houses, maybe. We haven’t really talked about it, but if I never saw a penny from him, I’d still have more money than we’ll ever need, and that’s before I start making more money of my own.”
“A house, he says. How many houses does the man have?”
“I don’t know, at least four.”
I sigh as he starts to kiss his way toward my abdomen. “We never did get to have Italy pillow talk.”
“Even more reason for you to call off and stay here with me.”
I suck in a breath as he kisses my stomach. “You are a terrible influence, Hunter Maxwell.”
“Your mom tried to warn you,” he teases.
He tries to tempt me even more, kissing lower and lower, his lips venturing below my belly button. It gets harder to breathe when he kisses my hipbone, then moves his face between my thighs.
“Hunter,” I say, trying to squeeze my legs closed even though he’s between them.
“Yes, Riley?” He looks up at me, so devilishly handsome, I must be out of my mind to stop him.
But I have to.
“If you do that, you’re going to fuck me again.”
“I fail to see the problem.”
“Your day pass has expired,” I tell him.
“Nah,” he says dismissively. “I checked the fine print while you were sleeping. It’s good for 24. I’ve still got a good 12 hours left.”
I smile faintly. “I have to go home. I close tonight, and my mom is working late, so she won’t be home until long after I’m in bed. We have to talk before I leave for work, and I need time in case this gets to be a long, messy conversation.”
His amusement dissipates. Realizing I’m serious, he sighs. “I guess I should probably let you leave, then, huh?”
I nod my head, but I don’t really want to go either.
“Let me at least make you breakfast first,” he says. “Eggs. It’ll be quick. You’ve gotta eat, right? Might as well eat with me.”
He makes a good point. I do have to eat…
“Fine. We’ll have breakfast first, but then I really have to go.”
Suddenly energized, he rolls out of bed. I take advantage of the opportunity to admire his beautiful body, but doing so only makes me regret making him get out of bed.
Chapter Forty Two
Riley
The front door creaks so loudly as I try to ease it open, it seems almost spiteful.
What did I ever do to you, door?
I shoot it a narrowed look as I close it more quickly than I opened it, then look around as I step carefully into the next room.
The house is quiet. Somber, even. Anxiety gathers in my chest as I enter the living room and look around for Mom.
It’s terrible not knowing how mad she’s going to be at me. It’s like a mystery bag of awfulness—you never know what you’re going to get.
At least she doesn’t know I was with Hunter yet, but that’s almost worse. I told her last night I barely knew Sherlock, and now she probably thinks I stayed out all night with him. I can only imagine her opinion of that decision.
Telling her it wasn’t some guy I barely knew, but Hunter instead… it seems like it should be a marked improvement, but given her opinion of him, I’m not so sure.
When I step into the kitchen, I finally find her.
My stomach twists with anxiety. She must have noticed me come into the room, but she doesn’t look up.
She sits at the table, her hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. She’s wearing a pair of sweats and a sky blue shirt, her dark hair gathered in a low pony tail, flowing down her back.
“Hey,” I say, to break the ice.
Finally, she looks up at me. She attempts a smile, but it’s a shoddy attempt. “Hey, party girl.”
She’s trying to make light, but I still flinch a little. “Sorry about last night,” I say vaguely, an all-encompassing reference to what she surely views as a screw-up.
“I shouldn’t have let you borrow the skirt,” she says with forced lightness. “I’m gonna have to burn it now.”