Chapter 15 #2
A slow grin curls my lips. ‘Make the most of that memory, because it’s the last time you’ll see me there without paying up in return, Baby Girl.’
A tremor runs through her, and I know it’s the pet name as much as the drag of my thumb over her lips, teasing them into the perfect ‘O’.
‘Understood?’
She nods and I tease my hand lower, feel her pulse jump beneath my palm as I follow the line of her throat, her collarbone, the seam of her dress…
‘Words, Tay.’
‘Yes,’ she whispers, so obedient, so true.
Her breaths quicken as I ease her sleeves down, sliding them over her pliant hands.
The fabric slips away easily, pooling at her waist, revealing black lace that’s more tease than barrier.
The crown of her nipples obvious beneath the pattern, hardened peaks pushing through.
My mouth goes dry. My balls tighten to the point of pain.
Three weeks of wanting.
Three weeks of imagining.
Three weeks of fucking my fist to take the edge off and never coming close.
‘You’ve been thinking about me,’ I rasp: a statement, not a question.
Her lips part, but no sound emerges. I can practically hear her heart hammering, feel its frantic rhythm in the air between us.
‘I know you have.’ My thumb rolls over one laced nipple, and she jerks, breath sharp. I bite back a hiss. She’s so responsive, it kills me. Kills me and feeds me and makes me crave more. ‘Every hour. Every night. Wondering where I was. If I’d changed my mind.’
Her breath catches, giving her away, the true source of her panic: the contract, the baby, not me.
And I’m fine with that. Because this still exists: the want in her face, the desire I put there.
‘I wanted you to wonder.’
A lie.
‘I wanted you a little desperate.’
A half-truth.
‘I wanted you to ache for me.’
The whole truth.
A quiet sound escapes her – half-protest, half-need – and it bolts straight through me. My cock thrusts against my jeans, demanding that I move. But I don’t. Not yet.
‘Are you aching for me, Baby Girl?’
She licks her lips, fingers flexing at her sides. She’s more than aching; she’s imagining…
‘Then have at it.’
I lean back, hands closing around the arms of the chair as I grant her free rein – something I don’t do. Not ever. But right now, it’s what I want. What I need.
To be touched, to be consumed, by her.
And fuck, is it worth it to see her come alive. Her hands tremble as they slide along my thighs, body leaning in, lips inching closer…
But she doesn’t kiss me.
And my mouth is pissed. Craving it. Remembering it.
How she tasted. How she felt.
But we’ve got the contract now.
Her lines have been redrawn.
And somehow… mine have too.
Slowly, she unhooks my belt, undoes the button, her gaze never straying – does she think I’ll stop her? Change my mind? Ain’t happening.
She grips the zipper and drags it down, the metallic scrape of the teeth winding me tighter… until her hand wraps around me and a groan splinters out, breaking on my breath.
Her eyes smile up at me. ‘I think you were the one aching.’
She pumps me hard and I clench my jaw, torn between holding her gaze and watching what she’s doing. Her rhythm is deliberate, teasing, drawing it out until my thighs tense and my hips betray me.
‘I think you were a little desperate.’
I don’t deny it.
I have no desire to.
Still watching me, she bows her head. Her whispered breath hits first, and my nails dig into the chair.
Then her tongue. Fuck. That tongue. She drags it along my length, circling the head before pressing me inside.
Lips smooth. Mouth hot. One deep suck, then she eases back to devour the very tip.
She pops me in and out, her moans and the wet smack of her lips forming the headiest soundtrack to the dirtiest torment.
And my cock can’t get enough – leaking, thrusting, desperate for more.
Her free hand slides lower, cupping my balls, and a hiss tears through my teeth as fire streaks through me.
‘You want more?’ she murmurs against my swollen slit, tongue scooping up a fresh bead, her hand driving me to the edge of madness.
‘I want it all, Baby Girl.’
She doesn’t hesitate. Her mouth sinks over me, devoted, relentless.
‘Yeah… just like that.’
I brush her hair from her face, knuckles grazing the hollow of her cheek as she takes me deeper, mouth and hand working in perfect, devastating tandem. So focused. So intent. So fucking mine.
‘There she is,’ I breathe. ‘My girl.’
She hums in affirmation, vibrating around me, and my body shudders hard. Not yet. Not yet. Not—
‘Baby Girl…’ I try to pull back. ‘Enough.’
The deal is a baby – and this won’t give her that.
But she doesn’t stop.
She doubles down.
‘Taylor.’
Her name crashes out of me, raw and wrong, but oh-so right. My fingers curl into her hair, holding her still as her wide, glazed eyes lock on mine. I’ve never said her name like that, like this.
Baby Girl, yes. Tay, yes. But Taylor…
Fuck.
‘Up here,’ I bark. ‘Now.’
Her breath breaks against my mouth as I haul her into my lap, dress bunched at her hips, thong shoved aside. One second, she’s straddling me; the next, I’m inside her. Her heat closes around me, ripping a groan straight from the darkened depths of me.
It’s everything.
Like coming home to a place I was never brave enough to claim.
And whether it’s stupidity, courage, or the darkness in me, I take her mouth too, forcing her lips apart with my tongue as her hands claw my hair. She locks us together, deepening the kiss until I can’t tell where she ends and I begin.
And now it’s everything.
The kiss turns us feral: teeth, tongue, nails, hands, taking, taking, taking.
I yank her bra down, her breasts spilling into my hands. Her nails pierce my scalp as I knead her soft flesh, pinching and rolling her nipples until she’s panting, frantic—
‘That’s it, Baby Girl,’ I rasp against her lips. ‘Take what you need… take it all.’
I slip a hand between us, strum her clit, and her breath catches. Her body tightens. ‘Ax— Ax— Ax—!’
She shudders apart, and the force of her release takes me with her. Pleasure detonates through every limb as I spill inside her. Mind, body, soul – hers. Always hers. And it feels so fucking good, it hurts.
I growl into her neck, needing to release it, bury it, do something.
I hold her through the tremors, every muscle locked, every breath stolen. She clings to me like I’m the only solid thing she has, her heartbeat thudding against mine, her breath warming my skin. And for one reckless moment, I live in it: the dream that sent me running.
The dream of her, of this, of a future so vivid, it feels real.
Because the longer she stays wrapped around me, the more something old and starved whispers to stay… to choose her… to let her choose me.
Not just for the baby, but for always.
To tell her the truth, and damn the rest.
But I can’t.
Safety is knowing your worth – and knowing she will always be worth more.
More than the broken pieces of me, at any rate.
Slowly – too slowly – I ease my hands to her hips. She stiffens, sensing the shift as I lift her away, setting her on her feet as I stand. Her fingers linger on my arm, and it takes everything I’ve got to pull away.
‘Hey…’ she whispers, fixing her clothes with trembling hands. ‘You okay?’
‘Yeah.’ I keep my eyes down as I put myself back together – zip, button, buckle – each one a piece of armour sliding into place.
‘You could stay?’ she says, voice small in a way she never is. Correction: never was before Italy. ‘I know what we said, but it’s late and—’
‘No.’ It comes out too harsh and I flinch when she does, guilt slicing through me. It ain’t her fault I’m broken. ‘I have to go,’ I soften.
‘I just thought…’ She twists her hands together, her vulnerability threatening every wall I just rebuilt. ‘Maybe we could… recharge for round two?’
She tries to sound playful, but I see the weakness behind it.
‘I can’t,’ I grit out. And it’s no lie. I planned my escape before I set foot inside her club. ‘My plane’s on standby.’
‘It is?’
‘I’ve got a meeting in London at the crack of dawn.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, Tay. Really. Collins needs me to consult on some security crisis.’
She narrows her eyes. ‘Collins?’
‘Yes. Collins. What’s with the interrogation?’ I force a smirk, dragging my leather jacket off the back of the chair.
‘I love how you say the PM needs you like it’s an everyday thing.’
‘That’s because it is. Satisfied?’
‘Well…’ She lifts her chin, smoothing her hair back, eyes flashing. Feisty as fuck. Taylor Stone is back in the room, and I need to get out of here like yesterday. ‘I could be a little more satisfied.’
Ha. A gruff laugh. ‘Hold that thought for when I see you in London.’
‘London,’ she echoes, arms folding under her breasts, intentionally lifting them into the equation, proving she doesn’t need red to play the devil. ‘And when exactly are we talking?’
I keep my gaze level, shrugging into my jacket. ‘I’ll drop by when you’re back.’
‘Okay, I’ll check my schedule and let you know.’
Her schedule? I almost laugh for real. It’s cute she thinks I don’t already have access to it.
‘You do that.’ I pull open the door, grip it tight as I fight the urge to kiss her goodbye. ‘Night, Baby Girl.’
She leans against the frame, waving softly. ‘Bye, Ax.’
I force myself forward – one step, then another – into the safety of the bar.
Music.
Laughter.
Bodies.
None of it touches me.
All I see, all I feel, is her. Taylor. Watching me leave. Pulling me back.
My body tightens instantly.
Recharge.
As if.
I’ve had twenty-five years to build this hunger, and it ain’t fading. Which is exactly why I keep walking. Another test. Another chance to prove I can do it. Another small victory.
Winning.
So why does it feel like losing every damn time?
Taylor
I close the door and let my back slide down it, hitting the floor before I even realise I’m doing it. I don’t know if I want to laugh, cry, or whoop for joy.
My eyes drift to the contract lying open on the table, and I opt for all three.
He’s agreed to give me a baby.
And I’m not sure what fills me more: the idea of the baby itself, or the fact it will be his.
Both. Definitely both.
The most impossibly perfect combination.
I don’t let myself dig too deep into what that really means, because then I’m back on that yacht, watching him with the kids and imagining an entirely different future. One that he’ll never in a million years open up to me.
So I take it for what it is: the biggest win of my life.
Paris was a dream, and I made it my reality.
But this?
A baby. Our baby.
Nothing else even comes close to realising that…