Chapter 20 #2
I clasp my fingers in my lap, guilty as all get-out. “Nope. I said it wasn’t terrible, and I’m a man of my word.”
“You are definitely trying to get on my good side, Easton.” She teases.
Here we go.
“Given the number of orgasms we’ve had today, I hope I’m already on your good side.” I chuckle. “But if you need more convincing, I’ll eagerly get back to the task.”
“You will?”
I swallow hard. “Last thing I want to be is like most wealthy folks, unwilling to roll up my sleeves and do the hard work.”
Whitney narrows her gaze on me. Her lips twitch. “You’re not going to toss money around to solve my problems?”
My restraint lasts five seconds before I lunge forward, tickling and kissing her as she squirms beneath me.
She slips her hands into my briefs, squeezing and straddling me like she’s ready for another round. We play like this for a solid five minutes, tossing puzzle pieces and planting kisses, before falling into playful sex, winded and laughing like it could always be this effortless.
“All that fighting it… I need you on your A-game.” Whitney’s breathless. Her arms are glued to her sides, blocking my tickles.
Well, when you put it that way…
“I’m at least at B-plus, though.” I’m weak with laughter, still trying to catch my breath.
“We’ll see.”
“Anything I can do for extra credit? I heard Sexual Warfare 101 was a tough one.” I see what she’s doing, and it’s working. There isn’t much I wouldn’t do to make her happy. “Sex, no feelings. Not my thing.”
Whitney screws her mouth to the side. “Hmm… let me see.”
“What if I tell you that you’re a beautiful, smart, creative woman?”
“Pfft. Tell me something I don’t know.”
We both laugh.
“Okay, wait. Hear me out. I could do this…” I lower myself, taking her nipple into my mouth, gently teasing it with my teeth. Her breathing quickens as she runs her needy hands over the tense muscles of my back. “Or maybe…”
All the humor fades, before a wave of desire flows through me.
I lower myself down her body, trailing my tongue along the smooth dip of her, until I’m over the edge of the mattress on my knees, fingers flexed to her inner thighs, worshipping at her temple.
With each brush of my lips, I inhale deeply, sinking into the soft swell of her as she tilts her pelvis into my mouth, clinging to me, teetering on the edge.
“B-plus?” I suck harder, loving the way her back arches in response.
“Up to an A-minus, for sure.” She moans.
Heat sears inside me, the overachiever in me taking over. She’s so damn beautiful as she trembles in my mouth, her hands twisted in the comforter, stomach muscles coiled tight, gasping for air.
I stroke myself, aching to be inside her.
I’ve never wanted anything so bad in my life, but I want her to finish first. I’m barely hanging on.
And then she lets go, whimpering and breathlessly beautiful, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she looks at me.
“A-plus-plus.” She giggles.
It’s all I need to hear.
In a blur of desperate need, I climb up, hovering over her and centering myself between her quivering thighs.
Whitney opens for me, arching, slowly taking me whole.
The swells of her breasts press, nipples hard, against my chest. I’m careful not to hurt her as she meets every urgent, addictive stroke.
But it’s never enough. I crave every soft breath on her neck and tiny gasp in my ear.
Every twisted fist in my hair. Like her puzzles, we’re a million pieces fitting together, creating a bigger picture that’s perfectly ours.
Playful, delicious friction, happiness, the meaningful thrill of choosing each other.
“I’m in too,” she says.
I come apart in a rush of shivers and uneven breaths, turning us so she’s stretched out over me, and I’m grinning like a fool. Maybe I do hold on tight to people. But shouldn’t that be okay if they’re holding on just as tight?
It’s okay to be happy.
“When we get home…” I’m still catching my breath, searching her bright eyes, realizing how much I miss being a couple, having my person, loving how good those words sounds. When we get home.
It strikes me right between the ribs how much I want it again. A chance to do it right this time. With Whitney. Love. Marriage. A family to come home to. To hold tightly.
She tucks herself into my side, snuggling into me. “Yeah?”
“Next weekend is the Founders & Benefactors Legacy Ball,” I say. “I’d love if you came with me…”
“Of course.”
I take a deep breath then add, “As my girlfriend.”
She peeks up at me, her dark curls a mess all over her head, lower lip trapped between her teeth. “Are you calling me your girlfriend?”
“Yes, if you want to be.”
Breath lodges in my throat as I wait for her answer.
Whitney nods, wordlessly, tears streaking her eyes, letting me coax out her yes with my lips.
It’s the first of many more on this trip.
I earn another one the following morning in the storage building after she inventories the art, verifying the authenticity and condition while I shamelessly try to distract her every five minutes with food runs and chaste kisses during her market-value research to complete her valuations.
Two more that afternoon. First on my yacht, with her smooth, rich brown skin cast in Caribbean sunlight, her legs stretched along the foredeck, linking with mine in our birthday suits, writhing beneath me and a seafoam-blue sky that she swore looked like it was airbrushed by God.
Then in the theater later that night, before we packed and she fell asleep with her soft breaths lulling me.
Monday morning, by the time we land at home in Ellswood, and my car pulls along the curb in front of her house, I can’t handle her nos.
“It’s not too late to come home with me.”
Please stay.
Sweetly, Whitney kisses me, already one foot out the door, and it’s killing me to let her go.
“I’m going to call you as soon as I get inside. And then we’ll see each other tonight for dinner after you run into the office, right?”
Pressing a soft kiss to her lips, I hum my agreement. “You’re right.”
Not even trying to hide that I’m prolonging our goodbye, I’m about to exit the car when my foot hits a rigid surface in my bag on the floor.
“One sec,” I say, bending to pull it onto the seat beside me. “I saw this in a bookstore the Sunday before the trip. Just a little something. Thought you might enjoy.” Finally, I hand her the coffee table book.
Her smile lights me up. “Dazzling Palettes. A collection of industry-disrupting art pieces,” she reads aloud, and when she gives me an appreciative kiss, I know this is why I’m having a hard time letting her go.
We exit the car, but before she can get her key into the lock, I pull her into another kiss, already missing her.
It’s one of those handsy, aching, what-are-we-doing kisses that lands somewhere between promise and regret.
And is probably five indecent minutes too long for a residential neighborhood.
So I force myself to step back and act like I’m not a complete lost cause.
“Tonight.” I drag my fingertips over my lips, still tasting traces of her mint gum from the plane.
As I turn, though, Whitney calls after me.
“Hey, I left you a little gift. In your pocket.” She grins. “Forgot to give it to you during the blackout, but we can talk about it tonight. Figured you’d want the first look.”
My chauffeur opens the door. “To the office?”
“Thanks, yes.”
As I slide in, heart still racing, I dip my hand into my pocket and pull out something hard and wrapped in plastic.
“Straight home,” I say, staring down at the flash drive in my palm with a tiny etching. ZH24.
Zeek Harrison 2024.
Fuck. “No stops.”