His smile disappears.
"But I don't want to hear it. I just… I want to hear if it's me. Or if it's no one in particular."
"I do think of you."
"When was the last time?"
"Last night."
Of course. I was teasing him last night. And he was teasing back. "Before that?"
"I thought about taking you home, ordering you to do away with your dress. To sit on my lap and fuck yourself for my viewing pleasure."
"And?"
"Then I threw you on the bed, on your stomach, and I fucked you until you were groaning my name."
Again, desire floods my senses. "What else?"
"That isn't enough?"
"Is it?" I place my hand on his thigh. Just above his knee. "Or do you need it harder? Rougher?"
"It's your turn."
It is. "If you asked, I'd take control. Climb into your lap and fuck you. I'd still like it. I don't need it rough to come. But I want it." It's strange, admitting it out loud. Admitting I'm going after my desire for the first time in forever.
Admitting I'm out of my fucking mind.
Did I really say yes for the money?
I need the cash, sure, but there are other ways of making money.
It's him. The feel of his presence, his touch, his kiss.
His fuck.
I force myself to look him in the eyes. "I want you in control. I want you pinning me to the bed, binding my wrists, ordering me to take your cock like a good girl." My chest flushes, but I press on. "I think about that. The way your hand felt around my throat. The rough edge to your voice when you purred, 'Come for me, baby.'"
His eyes stay glued to mine.
"For a long time, I tried not to think about you. Tried not to think about that. But I always go back to it. I always think of you when I fuck myself."
"You remember?"
"Remember. Or fantasize about more. Harder. Rougher. Riskier."
His pupils dilate. "Someone watching?"
"Sometimes."
"Watching us?"
"Watching us." I take a deep breath. "When I saw that picture of you at Paradise."
"That wasn't—"
"It was."
He tries to hold a poker face, but his eyes betray him. We both know it. Some paparazzi caught Ty's fuck of the night getting him off under the table.
"I was angry. You fell in love with Rory. I understood that, even if I hated it. But she left, and you came here, and still, you didn't call. And you were with some girl you barely knew… I was angry. And jealous. And I couldn't stop thinking about it. Imagining it was us. At some crowded bar. Dancing to throbbing electronic music. Then finding a quiet spot on the balcony where we have just enough privacy..."
"We could."
"Could we?"
His eyes bore into mine. "I could pull strings. Minimize potential consequences."
I nod.
"But that isn't what you want." His fingers skim my thigh. Higher, higher, higher. "You want the danger." Closer, closer, closer. "The thrill." He presses his palm against my sex. Over the mesh. But still so, so close to where I need him. "The risk of getting caught."
I swallow hard.
"Tell me." He brings his other hand to my cheek. Tilts me so we're eye to eye. "Do you want the risk, baby? Do you want the entire world to see how well you take my cock?"
Fuck. "It's a fantasy."
"But you do."
"I do. But the… practicalities."
"Fuck the practicalities."
"Ty—"
"We're going to my place. The practicalities don't matter. Not now."
Later.
"Now… I want to know exactly what you want. Every dirty fantasy. And I want to fill them all."
My sex clenches. "It's your turn."
"It is." He rubs his palm over me, pressing the soft fabric against my clit.
The friction is divine. So different than his hand. Softer and rougher at the same time.
Pleasure floods my senses. But still, my body whines for his touch. I need the fabric gone. Need everything else erased.
The rest of this is complicated.
But sex?
That makes perfect sense.
"But I'd rather show you." He pulls his hand away, right as the car stops. "If you're ready to play."
I swallow hard.
"Are you?"
Chapter Twenty-Four
Indigo
Am I ready to play?
It's a good question. Simple and enormously complex.
It's one thing to invite him to fuck me.
But to cede control? To let go completely?
Ty waits for my answer. As he helps me out of the limo, guides me into his apartment building, past a knowing security guard, into the elevator.
This tiny space that's all ours.
The shiny silver walls. The turned key. The illuminated Penthouse button.
At a glance, we look like a normal couple on our way home. He's in his suit, no hair out of place, no visible tattoos, no sign of the aggressive, rough lover I know.
And I'm leaning against the wall, my leather jacket covering my cocktail dress, my lipstick smudged, my hair a little messy.
The normal wear of a night out.
No sign I was on my knees, begging for his cock.
No sign I'm wound so tight I'm going to break.
No sign I'm about to offer him every ounce of control.
I want to. I do.
But I'm not sure I can handle it.
The elevator door slides open. Ty presses his palm into my back. Leads me down a short hallway. Unlocks the door.
"After you." His voice is soft. Gentle.
He knows I'm nervous.
He's waiting for me.
Or maybe his accent is masking his intentions. Maybe I don't have a fucking clue who Tyler Hunt is or what he wants.
He's offering me ten million dollars for ten years of marriage.
He's paying me to marry him.
I believe him. I believe his reputation is tarnished—I've read the gossip blogs too. I believe this is the easiest fix.
I believe he's sure love is done with him.
But he chose me.
I'd like to think it's because of my strength, my wit, my discretion even.
But it's not. It's this.
Ten years because he wants to fuck me.
I suck a breath through my teeth. Step inside.
He follows. Closes the door. Locks it behind us. "A drink?"
I nod.
He moves to the kitchen. It's on the right side of the massive living room slash dining room slash den.
Fuck, it's huge. Gorgeous.
A thousand square feet, easily. Hardwood. Floor-to-ceiling windows. A glass coffee table in front of a sleek leather couch.
A corner view. Southwest. The Hudson, a deep, almost black-blue, reflecting the crescent moon and the yellow light of the city.
And there. A sliding glass door to the balcony.
I don't wait or ask or speak. I move across the room, through the door, onto the wraparound balcony.
Great food is one thing. Fancy clothes are another.
But living someplace like this?
Money buys so much.