Sold to Him

“Always,” I whisper against her lips before seizing her mouth in a devastating kiss. “You’re mine, always. I love you, sweet girl.”

And this time, Trina melts against my big frame.

“Yes, always,” she murmurs softly. “I promise, Grayson Knight.”

And for the first time in my life, my heart soars free and high. Because I’ve been an asshole my entire life. I used women, treating them as playthings and dolls. They were toys to be fondled, enjoyed, and then discarded. But when Trina came along, everything changed. The stakes changed. The rules changed. Hell, I changed many times over. And with her in my arms, my life is whole and complete … and I’ll never let her go again.

Epilogue

Trina

One year later …

“Oh, darn it!” The pile of mail tumbles from my hands just as the elevator doors slide open to reveal our living room.

Our living room. Wow. A lot sure has changed in a year.

“Everything okay out there, sweetheart?” Grayson’s deep voice sounds out from somewhere in the penthouse suite and I can’t help but smile at the sound of it.

My husband. My love.

“Fine, Grayson. I just dropped everything on the floor.” Tucking my messenger bag properly over my shoulder so it doesn’t join the mess, I carefully bend down and scoop up the scattered envelopes, flyers, and magazines I picked up from our mailbox. “There’s a lot of mail today.”

“Nothing too important, I’m sure.” The voice comes closer and soon, I’m looking at the most gorgeous man alive. Grayson strides into the living room in a black t-shirt that stretches across his wide shoulders and shows off his hard pecs and flat stomach. Soft, slim-fit jeans flow over his thick thighs and legs. He’s barefoot and looks like a billion dollars. My billion dollars to be specific.

He swoops in and pulls me to him, surrounding me in the scent of his aftershave with a hint of something else. Hmm, is that curry? But then he kisses me and everything else floats out of my mind.

Mm. I adore that hard tongue, the slick and overwhelming heat of his kiss, and his body against mine. I’ll never get used to it.

“Hi baby,” he greets me with a growl. “I hope you’re hungry. I made us dinner.”

He’s been on a cooking kick lately, giving the private chef evenings off to try new recipes from the internet. And I’m not complaining. Like everything else he puts his hand to, my hubby knocks it out of the park. All the dishes turn out perfectly, beautifully plated and yet also delicious and filling. The only thing I want at the end of our meals is his delicious cock in my mouth as a thick and creamy dessert.

“I’m always hungry for anything you make,” I purr and twine my arms around his neck.

“Patience, sweet Trina.” He kisses me one more time, then tries to pull away, but I grab onto his t-shirt, playfully tightening my hand into a fist and using it as a tow line to follow him into kitchen.

Yes, it smells like curry something or another. Something aromatic and delicious.

Moving like a big cat on a leash, Grayson carefully deposits everything on the kitchen island, including the plant I’d been balancing in one arm with its big green leaves already stretching toward the open windows of our apartment.

Still holding onto my man, I stroke a silky, dark green leaf and smile. It’s one of the plants from my botany internship at the nearby botanical gardens. When I first started working, the plant was weak from an unknown parasite but now, it’s as healthy as a horse. My boss gave it to me to care for, suggesting that I keep it in our home.

“What’s this?” Grayson picks up one of the envelopes on top of the pile of mail. It looks like an invitation.

“Mmmm, I don’t know.” Sighing in pleasure at being so close to him, I plaster myself against his back and peep over his shoulder as he opens the envelope. I gasp when I see the words.

It’s from the Billionaires Club. An invitation to a party at their headquarters. What in the world? I thought we’d never hear from them again. After all, Grayson was expelled, for good reason, not that I care. So what is this?

Dear Mr. Knight, it begins.

You are cordially invited to our 50th Anniversary Gala to commemorate the beginnings of the Billionaires Club …

The thick and expensive paper with the invitation rustles as Grayson puts it on the kitchen island with the other mail. Reaching back for me with one hand, he clenches his jaw and turns to the wide window of our kitchen facing Central Park.

I stroke his back again, and the muscles bunch and release under my hand. “It seems they had a change of heart,” I say softly. “Do you want to go?”