Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
G raham flipped me over so I was lying on my stomach. I wondered if he was trying to regain control after my comment. Control over me? Over himself? Maybe just over the situation.
And he was doing a good job of it—distracting me. Especially when he trailed his fingers down my back, eliciting a shudder.
I glanced at him over my shoulder, biting back a groan at the sight of him. God, he was sexy. A sculpted chest that would make an artist weep. A dark trail of hair that led to his long, proud cock.
He leaned forward, and with his hands resting on my hips, he asked, “Is this okay?”
“Yes.” I wiggled my butt in invitation. I didn’t want to go back to his cold facade, and I could tell that was what he was trying to do. He might be checking in with me, but he was also checking out. It was kind of fascinating to watch him battle himself.
He gripped my hips, my ass, giving it the most delicious squeeze. I knew this was a bad idea, but that was a problem for future me. Because if having sex got Graham to open up to me, even briefly, to communicate with me, then I wasn’t sure I could regret it.
Graham lined himself up with my entrance, slowly sheathing himself inch by delicious inch. It was torture of the best kind. I moaned into the mattress, overwhelmed by the feel of having him so deep inside me.
I was still pissed. But currently, my brain was too overwhelmed with pleasure to think much beyond the present. Beyond the feel of the way our bodies were connected.
He grasped my hips and pulled me up so my ass was in the air, my cheek pressed to the bed. I closed my eyes, gasping at the new position, at the depth. It was so intense. Almost too intense.
“You okay?” he asked, checking in with me again.
I nodded.
“Lil?” he bit out, and I realized how much restraint it took to hold himself still. And yet he waited, seeking that verbal confirmation.
“Yes.” I swallowed. “ Yes. But I need you to move.”
He gave my ass a squeeze and edged himself in a little deeper. I hadn’t realized he wasn’t fully seated until then. I sucked in a jagged breath at the sensation of fullness. I gripped the sheets, twisting the material in my fists, as if to gain purchase.
“Fuck. You’re so tight.” It sounded like it pained him. “You feel so fucking good.”
“Look at you, using your words,” I teased, wanting to get us back to that place where he was playful and engaged.
His hand gave a sharp crack as it hit my ass, scorching my skin. Pain and pleasure bloomed in the spot where he’d spanked me, and I closed my eyes as I tried to find my bearings. I’d never been spanked. Never even considered that it was something I might enjoy, let alone with my ex-boss.
I was supposed to be in control. I was the one making the demands, and yet, he’d completely flipped the script once again.
Up was down. Day was night. We might be moored on the yacht, but I felt lost at sea. Especially when he smoothed his hand over the skin, rubbing circles until the sensation faded. How could he shift so quickly from punishing to tender? How did he seem to anticipate exactly what I needed when I wasn’t even sure what I wanted?
“Love your curves.”
He did?
While I was still grappling with that revelation, he gripped my hip with one hand and smoothed the other up my spine. I felt his desire in every caress. I melted beneath his touch, my body going into overdrive. My pleasure building and building until I thought I might explode.
Oh god. I nearly whimpered at the sensations.
“Are you close?” he rasped, his control slipping. “Please tell me you’re close, mon bijou. ”
It was the sound of the French term for “my jewel” on his lips that nearly pushed me over the edge. “Yes.” My voice was breathy. It didn’t even sound like me.
“I can feel your pretty cunt squeezing my cock. God—” I moaned in response to his words. “You’re so tight. So perfect.”
He seemed to have no problem finding his words now. If only I could get him to communicate like this with me all the time. But then I imagined his deep, roughened voice whispering such naughty things to me over dinner with his family, and I nearly came on the spot.
“I’m almost there,” I cried out. “But I want us to come together.” I felt as if I were holding on for dear life as he pounded into me, chasing our mutual release.
“Partners,” he said.
“Partners,” I repeated, my mind freezing on that word even though my thoughts were barely coherent.
“Yes,” he hissed. He moved harder and harder, faster, until I was completely untethered, the world spinning around me in a blur of stars and colors.
“Oh my fucking god,” I cried out. “Oh…” I squeezed my eyes shut, everything going black as I was consumed with pleasure.
Graham convulsed, emptying himself into me until we were both panting and sated. He rested his cheek on my back, and I could feel his heart beating quickly, his cock twitching inside me. I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt this close to anyone.
When he pulled out, he lifted one of my ass cheeks. I glanced at him over my shoulder, and he wore a dazed expression. “Fuck me. That’s hot.”
He dragged his fingers through the wetness seeping from me, our desire coating his digits. He lifted it to my lips. “Suck.”
I held his gaze as I opened my mouth, pulling his fingers inside before licking them clean. He growled, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen him look more…feral. It only made me realize just how wrong I’d been about Graham, the situation, myself, everything.
I am in so far over my head.
* * *
I rolled to my side, feeling a gentle rocking sensation as I woke, trying to remember where I was. In the past week, I’d jumped from France to Mexico and now to LA. It was disorienting, to say the least. Not to mention the drastic change in my circumstances.
Married. I was married to my billionaire ex-boss. And, unless last night was a dream—and part of me really hoped it was—I’d slept with my fake husband. My fake husband who was paying me to be his wife.
Way to go, Lil.
But god, was it good. I mean really good.
I kept my eyes screwed tightly shut, not ready to face reality. As far as I could tell, Graham was still in bed behind me. And, if I was lucky, he was still asleep.
I cracked one eye open, surveying our cabin. The sun peeked through the curtains, and I knew it was only a matter of time before he was awake. Hell, I was surprised he wasn’t already up, showered, and dressed. He was typically an early riser.
Desperate to avoid what was likely to be an awkward conversation—at least for a little longer—I carefully scooted to the edge of the mattress. I made as little noise as possible, pushing out of bed and wrapping a robe around me.
Graham looked so peaceful—lying on his stomach, an arm thrown over his head. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen him more relaxed, and I softened. I wondered if he ever let himself put down all the heavy burdens he was carrying.
I let myself linger a moment longer, drinking in the sight of him. A wayward curl hung down his forehead, scruff lining his jaw. He shifted, and the sheet slid lower on his hips, giving me a tantalizing glimpse of his backside. I had to bite back a sigh. Last night had been fun, but it couldn’t happen again.
I tiptoed to the bathroom, softly pulling the door closed behind me and locking it. I switched on the shower and waited for the water to heat. My body ached in all the right places, and while I longed to climb back into bed, to sink back down on him, to have him all to myself in the most intimate of ways, I knew it was a bad idea.
Once was a mistake. Twice was… Well. I shook my head, forcing away images of a repeat of last night, because it wasn’t happening. Graham was like fire and ice. Either way, I was going to get burned.
I readjusted my wig and twisted it up beneath a shower cap I’d found beneath the sink. Luckily, I still had a few weeks before I’d need to remove it and give my scalp a chance to breathe.
I dropped my robe to the floor and climbed beneath the spray. I wanted to bury my face in my hands, but I couldn’t mess up my makeup. Fortunately, I had a pencil to touch up my brows. But these lashes had to stay on until we got back to the penthouse.
I groaned. What were you thinking, Lil?
I wasn’t sure whether it was my own inner voice asking me that or Jo’s. Either way, my business arrangement was getting messy. Too messy.
And if there was one thing Graham hated, it was messes.
Which was why part of me was surprised that he’d let things go as far as he had. Was it really about wanting me? Or had he been trying to prove a point?
I sighed, bracing my hand on the cold wall of tile. My thoughts were a tangled mess. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to have sex with my fake husband.
I needed to stop thinking about last night and figure out how to smooth things over with Graham. How to build on the progress we’d made with communication, but also, how to go back to how things had been—at least physically.
I rinsed and toweled off before wrapping myself in a robe. I debated texting Jo but decided against it. I’d gotten myself into this mess, and I’d get myself out of it.
Besides, she was in Sedona for her retreat. And I didn’t want to distract her focus from that. So, I finger-combed my wig to make sure it looked natural. My clothes were still discarded on the bedroom floor, and I tried to steel myself as I opened the door to the bedroom once more.
Graham was sitting at the table in a robe, his hair mussed. He assessed me over the top of his mug of coffee and arched one brow. “Morning.”
God, I could get used to that gravelly morning voice. Waking up in bed with him after a night of amazing— Nope. Stop.
“Morning,” I said, trying not to look as sheepish as I felt.
He slid a mug toward me. I tried to get a read on him, but he was just as closed off as before. It was almost as if last night had never happened. I wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not, but it meant that all the progress we’d made was just…gone.
“I got you an oat latte,” he said. “Everyone will eat breakfast together upstairs, unless you’d rather stay in and order a tray.”
Tempting as it was to hide away in our cabin, I said, “We should probably make an appearance, don’t you think?”
He assessed me. “Yes. We should.”
“Thanks for the coffee.” I picked it up, noting that he’d folded my clothes into a neat pile and set them on the end of the bed. A bed he’d made with the precision of one of the members of the housekeeping staff at the Huxley Grand.
I slid my free hand over the comforter, impressed by how smooth he’d gotten the material despite our nocturnal activities. “I’m impressed, husband.”
“Why? Because I can make a bed?”
“Make a bed?” I scoffed. He was totally downplaying his skills. “This is expert-level bed-making. I’m not sure any of my exes even knew how to make a bed, period. Let alone how to make it look like a five-star hotel.”
“Clearly, the men from your past were inferior.”
“Clearly,” I drawled. If only he knew. “If I were looking for a househusband, you’d definitely be a front-runner.”
He stood, a menacing look in his eye. “A front-runner?”
“To be fair,” I teased, “I’d have to evaluate your other skills.”
What am I doing? This wasn’t at all how I’d imagined this conversation in my head, but I supposed I should just be grateful that it wasn’t awkward.
“I should hope last night would’ve dispelled any doubts as to my other skills .” His tone was laced with an undercurrent of desire.
Is he… Was Graham flirting with me?
My body quivered with anticipation, my core heating, but I quickly shut it down. Trying to shut out the memories of last night, but it was damn near impossible. At some point in the night, Graham had woken me with his head between my thighs. It was like a fever dream, him pulling me on top of his face, eating me out until I came on his tongue. His body hovering over me, eyes locked on mine. His deliciously wicked words. That mouth. His fucking mouth.
Stop!
“Actually, I’m glad you brought up last night.” I straightened, trying to seem confident and at ease when I felt anything but. “It was…fun,” I said, finally settling on the word, even though it was woefully inadequate. “But we both know it can’t happen again.” There. I’d said it.
“I completely agree.” Wow. He hadn’t even missed a beat. Hadn’t needed to consider it at all.
I jerked my head back. “You do?”
I wasn’t sure why that surprised me. Or maybe that was disappointment I was feeling. I guessed, deep down, some small part of me had hoped that he’d try to fight me on it. That he’d try to convince me it wasn’t a big deal. That we should sleep together again.
But he hadn’t.
My heart sank, wondering if he was filled with regret. No, Graham didn’t do regrets or remorse.
We were in agreement. I should be happy about it. He was making this easy on me.
“Yes. We got carried away, but as you reminded me, I don’t mix business with pleasure. This is a business agreement,” he said, emphasizing the word business. “And there’s a lot at stake.”
“Exactly,” I said, though the word sounded hollow to my ears.
This was for the best. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.