She’s been busy. The first post is a selfie of her pretty face sans makeup and shiny with sweat after a yoga class.
Who loves yoga? I do! Check out the relaxing atmosphere at Wildflower Yoga. #yoga #treatyourself #youknowyouwanto
I smile. She looks so fresh and happy. The post shows a real person, not a fake Addison Ames clone in a posed post.
Skye is going to be good at this. Really good. Better than she can even imagine at this point.
The next post is Skye at a bakery in front of a display of baguettes. Her smile is addictive.
Need bread? Check out Le Grand Pain! Best baguettes around! (And if you need a special cake for your bachelor/bachelorette function, LGP can hook you up!) @LeGrandPain #sponsored #bakery #bread #baguettes #getyourglutenon #breadisgoodfood #soiscake
I smile at the hashtags. She’s on fire.
A new post pops up just then.
Damn. Skye, in the dress. The dress I had made. The dress I will most likely destroy again. Her makeup is flawless and her lovely hair is swept up into a messy bun that showcases that gorgeous neck of hers.
She’s not wearing the choker.
I grit my teeth. Did she forget?
Wearing my Cherry Russet lip stain by @susannecosmetics again. My go-to color is perfect for everything from a day at home to a formal evening! #sponsored #lips #kissme #formal #littleblackdress
The color is lovely on her sexy lips, but did she forget I asked for bloodred?
A not-so-subtle reminder of who’s in charge may be warranted.
Christopher pulls the car up to Skye’s building. I grab the roses, secure the mask over my eyes—to give myself a little mystery—and head up to her place.
I try to eliminate the pounding of my heart as I secure the mask in place and knock on her door.
She opens the door.
Her jaw drops.
Though I’m tempted to drop my own jaw, I lock it firmly in place.
It’s not easy, though.
Skye looks devastatingly beautiful. The dress and the hairstyle I’ve already seen in the post, but she’s one hundred times better in person. Her long, lean legs are bare, and her pretty feet—toes painted red—are strapped into silver sandals.
I’m in a black tux. The plain mask covers my eyes, and in my arms I hold the bouquet of roses.
Bloodred roses.
They match her lips perfectly.
She changed her lip color.
She didn’t forget.
The black pearl choker—even more gorgeous than the one I purchased in the Diamond District—sits perfectly on her neck.
She didn’t forget.
No need for my not-so-subtle reminder of who’s in charge after all. I’m a little disappointed, truth be told, but no matter. Later, I’ll make it abundantly clear who’s in control here.
I walk in swiftly, closing the door behind me.
Already, I own this room.
Already, she feels it. I see it in her eyes, in the quick shudder she tries—but fails—to suppress.
I move closer to her, lean toward her, my lips ready to take hers—
Only a millimeter away, and I stop.
Hardest damned thing I’ve ever done.
“I won’t,” I say gruffly. “I won’t ruin those perfect lips. Not yet.”
She sighs. “Please.”
“Not yet,” I say again.
She trembles before me.
My cock responds.
How easy it would be to grab her, haul her the few steps to her bed, say, “Fuck the gala,” and fuck her instead.
I ache with how much I’ve missed her, how much strength it took for me not to constantly check in with her. Then Tessa’s phone call about the puppy, about how Skye was crying.
Crying. My Skye. And I wasn’t there to comfort her.
As if reading my mind, she says, “I missed you. Why didn’t you call?”
“I was busy,” I say.
“You couldn’t find two minutes?”
I rip the mask off my eyes, grab her cheeks, and blurt out words before I can stop them. “Baby, if I’d called, I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself from getting on a plane and flying back to you.”
She inhales swiftly.
“I couldn’t do that. I did it once, and I nearly lost a deal because of it. I had to take care of business.”
So easy.
So easy to kiss those lips…
But clearer heads must prevail. I’m expected at the gala, and I promised Skye a night out.
“Christopher’s waiting,” I say. “Let’s go.”
She grabs the bag sitting next to the door.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Oh.” Her cheeks redden. “You said for me to bring over some clothes and stuff.”
“And you assume we’ll be going to my place?”
“Yes,” she says boldly.
“You assume correctly.” I stare at her, the nipple clamps burning in my pocket. I need to put them on her now, before we leave. “Remove the top of your dress.”
She slips one strap over her shoulder, slowly. I suck in a breath. She slides the other strap over her shoulder and urges the fabric downward. The only thing standing between her breasts and me is a strapless bra.
We stand there, gazes locked, until— “Fuck it.” I crush my lips to hers.
Her lips are already parted, and I thrust my tongue between them. Fucking bra. Between those gorgeous tits and my fingers. I unclasp it deftly and toss it to the floor. Then I cup her breasts, thumbing her hard nipples as I deepen the kiss. Our mouths are one, giving, taking, licking, kissing. She reaches downward, toward my crotch, and grasps the bulge beneath my slacks.
Fuck the gala. Fuck the gala. Fuck the gala.
I groan into her, a low, melodic hum like the beginning of a rolling clap of thunder.
She arches, grinds into my thigh, still holding my clothed erection—
I break the kiss and inhale sharply. “Damn, Skye.”
So easy. So easy to lift her in my arms, carry her to the bed. Pound her into next week.
But all my plans for tonight. I can’t do them here.
And the gala…
I’m expected there…
And the nipple clamps.
I pull the chain from my pocket. “Your tits are so beautiful, your nipples so hard. God, I want to suck and bite them until you can’t stand it.”