Dirty Secret

My flesh against hers.

All that trust flowing between us.

It's overwhelming.

I stay there for a second, then I pull back and I drive into her.

She shakes against the desk. She bounces. Lands on the leather mat—I prepared for this—with a soft impact. Lets out a soft groan. An I want more groan.

So I hold her in place and I drive into her again.

A little faster.

A little harder.

Her eyelids fall together.

Her brow softens.

Her thighs shake.

I find the rhythm she needs and I drive into her again and again.

She feels so fucking good too. It's almost too much to take.

No, it is.

I pull back.

She whines as our bodies separate. "Cam. Please." Her heels dig into my chest. "Please, fuck me."

I need to give her that.

I really fucking need to give her that.

And I need to come with her.

"Touch yourself." I dig my nail into her calf. Softly.

Then hard enough her groan is equal parts pain and pleasure.

"My hands—"

I told her to keep them there. "Which do you use?"

"The right."

"Keep the left on the desk."

She nods, slips her hand between her legs immediately. There isn't a single shred of patience in her posture.

She's desperate to come.

Desperate for me.

It's so fucking beautiful.

It's everything.

I watch her wind herself tighter, watch pleasure spill over her expression until she's so fucking close.

Then I dig my nails into her thighs, and I drive into her.

I fuck her with steady thrusts.

Hard and deep, so I feel all of her, and she feels all of me.

Her head falls back as she rubs herself.

Her groans deepen. Her breath hitches.

She's close.

And I need that.

I really fucking need that.

"Look at me, sweetness." I scratch her again.

Her eyes burst open. "Fuck." She sucks in a deep breath and looks up at me.

For a moment, our eyes meet, and she sees everything inside me.

And I see everything inside her.

Then I drive into her again, and it pushes her over the edge.

Her eyes close, her nails scrape the desk, her heels dig into my chest.

She groans my name as she comes, pulsing around me, pulling me closer.

It pushes me over the edge.

I thrust through my orgasm, spilling inside her, claiming her as mine.

She is.

Maybe not for long.

But for now.

Chapter Forty-Two

Sienna

After Cam cleans me up, and helps me into my clothes, we go uptown, to the fucking Met.

Another art museum and I love every second.

We hold hands and eat hot dogs in Central Park and walk around the reservoir. We talk about where Cam would live in New York City.

A fancy, old penthouse on the Upper East Side?

Some new construction in the gentrifying Hell's Kitchen.

Or maybe somewhere like Ty? A big Financial District palace.

A house way out in Queens.

A loft in the Village.

I can see him anywhere, everywhere. But I like picturing him living near a park. Any park, as long as it has a lawn, and he can get up early to run. Or reserve the field for a game.

We eat dinner at a fancy Italian place and walk through Times Square—everyone has to see it once—and make our way to the bar where Indie used to work.

He orders something sweet for me.

It's perfect, exactly what I want. I drink every sip.

The bartender recognizes me.

I fill her in on my sister's life—mostly the whole marrying a billionaire thing. She swoons over the story then she asks if Mr. Tall, Handsome, and British is mine and I say yes.

It's true for tonight.

And that's true enough for now.

At the hotel, I undress and shower and find a fancy silk robe waiting for me. Burnt orange, of course. Cam hates to be cheesy but it looks damn good on me.

And, well, I can't really complain about him draping me in silk.

We stay up late watching Casablanca and talking about the movie and my how my parents loved it and how it used to feel like home.

How it still does.

But it doesn't too, because Mom and Dad are gone, and everything is changing.

Everything is always changing.

And then he strips me out of his robe, and pulls me into his lap, and we fuck face-to-face, him watching bliss spread over my expression, me savoring the feeling of my hands on his skin.

It's intense in an entirely different way.

When he puts me to bed, he lies there with me, his body cradling mine, his breath warming my neck, his hands in my hair.

And I fall asleep content, safe, completely at peace.

It's not forever.

But right now, it's really fucking good.

Chapter Forty-Three

Sienna

I rouse as someone shifts off the bed.

"Sleep in." Cam presses his lips to my forehead. Pulls the covers to my chest. "I have to work."

"What time is it?" My sleepy brain struggles to keep up with events. He's leaving for work. That means something.

"Early. You have two hours until your first class."

Oh. Class.

Monday morning class.

Which means—

This is it.

I'm a pumpkin again. Or my shoes are pumpkins. Someone is a pumpkin.