Chapter Thirty-Six
Blake
“Come on, Shay—you don’t really want to go home, do you?” I called out from the bed as she fetched snacks from the kitchen. It was midnight, and not only was I exhausted, but I really wanted Izzy to sleep in my bed all night.
“Of course I don’t,” she yelled back, clinking dishes. “But the Darkling needs food.”
“Can’t you call Josh?”
“He’s still pissed about the puke,” she said. “He won’t help.”
I kicked back the covers, got up, and walked into the kitchen. “What’s his number?”
“Whose number?” Izzy glanced at me as she sprinkled shredded cheese all over a huge stack of tortilla chips. “Have I ever told you how good you look in a pair of boxer briefs, by the way?”
“You have not, and thank you. Now, your cousin.” I watched as she bent her knees—to be at nacho eye level, I was assuming—and surveyed her chip mountain. “What’s his number?”
She spouted it off, still focused on her snacks, and I texted Josh, Can you feed Izzy’s cat?
The response was almost immediate. I don’t know who this is, but until she pays restitution for the puke, the answer is no.
I really liked Izzy’s weird cousin. I texted as I went to find Goodyear, I’ll give you fifty bucks.
Josh: No I’m pissed at you. Asshole.
That made me smile in spite of myself. I scooped up Goodyear and texted, Izzy’s sleeping over—we’re good now.
Josh: If you promise not to dick her around, this one’s on the house.
I replied, You’re too kind .
Josh: Tell me something I don’t know.
I texted, Reheating mashed potatoes can give you botulism .
Josh: Is that true?
I texted, Yes.
Josh: Well thank you for that. Later, Physical Challenge.
I sent, Later, Josh .
I set Goodyear on the leather recliner—stupid cat loved to sleep there but couldn’t get up without help—and saw Izzy through the patio door. She was standing on the balcony, gazing at the city, looking like a fantasy in just my long T-shirt and argyle socks.
Okay, looking like my idea of a fantasy.
When I pulled open the door, she didn’t turn around. She leaned on the railing and said, “I love it out here.”
“Same.” I stepped closer, wrapping my arms around her waist and trapping her between my body and the railing. I lowered my head, inhaling the sweetness of her neck as I said, “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” she said, a smile in her voice as she ground her backside against me.
“Honey,” I muttered, nipping at her neck. “Do you think you can keep the noise down if I was to lift that T-shirt, slide down those panties, and bend you over the balcony?”
“Hell, yes ,” she said in a near whisper, sounding half-amused and half-aroused.
“You sure?” I asked, biting down on her earlobe as my hands found her soft thighs. I slowly slid my fingers up the backs of her legs—fuck, she had the softest skin—until I was lifting the hem of the shirt over her perfect ass. “Because you’re kind of noisy, and I don’t want the COA to kick me out.”
“Well,” she said, her voice a breathy rasp that made my blood boil. “I guess you have a choice to make, Chest. Risk versus reward.”
And then—dear God—she did it herself.
She removed the sexy layer of lace and presented me with a fucking beautiful choice.
“If I say I love you at this moment,” I started, feeling dizzy with lust.
“It won’t count,” she said, widening her stance and making any remaining blood drain from my head.
“Grab the railing,” I said, done playing. I was naked in a second, practically begging, “And lean down a little.”
“You’re not the boss of me anymore, remember?” she said, looking at me over her shoulder, and then she moaned when I slid inside her.
No, it wasn’t a moan. She sighed, but with volume.
I didn’t know what it was called, that noise, but I knew it set me on fire every fucking time.
“Do you have any idea,” I asked, clenching my jaw as I grabbed her hips and started moving, “how many times I’ve imagined this exact scenario playing out in my office, on top of my desk, and I was absolutely the boss of you?”
Her breathing was erratic, her fingers tightly wrapped around the railing, but the smart-ass still managed to breathe out, “VP Blake is unethical in his perverted fantasies.”
“Only about you,” I said, and then I didn’t say anything else at all. It got too hot, too good, too overwhelmingly potent for me to remember what the hell words even were after that.