She probably didn’t mean it in the way I took it, but I was looking to stay pissed off. “I’m so sorry you don’t think I’m a prize,” I snapped.
“Stop deliberately misunderstanding me,” she said. “You know damn well I meant that I don’t consider you to be my very own ATM. I don’t want your money. I want you. I want an us. And for there to be an us, I want a say.”
Okay, so maybe that appeased me a little bit.
“Fine. How the hell do you propose we actually make that happen?”
She stepped into me, and I wasn’t certain that she wasn’t going to try to knee me in the nuts. “Oh, look who’s suddenly interested in how,” she said.
When she moved, I flinched, and a smug smile spread across her face just a second before she slipped her arms around my waist. I was used to the bickering, the banter, but this physical affection was… different. Plus, I’d been in fear for my balls.
“Don’t be an ass.” I wrapped her up and tucked her head under my chin.
“How do normal people do this? Who’s in charge of what? How do they assume debts or keep assets separate without pissing each other off?”
Ally sighed against me. “I know you’re trying to be a smartass right now, but to be honest, I don’t really know how the dynamics of a long-term relationship work. Neither one of us has a solid example from childhood. Maybe it depends on the people in it having an ongoing conversation?”
“Fine. We’re conversing. What do you want a say in?”
“Everything that affects me that doesn’t involve your money,” she shot back.
“Ally, I don’t want my… you lying awake at night trying to figure out if you need to skip meals to make ends meet.” I wanted to take care of her. I wanted to take her worries and concerns and problems and solve every last one of them so she could focus all of her attention on me. And Brownie of course. I wasn’t a completely selfish monster.
She was going to argue with me again, but I was suddenly too tired to fight it out.
“Look, can we figure this out later?” I asked. I didn’t want her drawing lines when I wasn’t thinking clearly enough to redraw them properly.
She would live here. She would have anything and everything she needed. No one would ever take advantage of her or lay a hand on her ever again. End of fucking story. I was her Prince Fucking Charming.
“Okay. But only because I’m so tired I’m seeing two of you.” She sighed.
“Come on,” I said, taking her arm and leading her up the stairs.
Brownie bolted ahead of us.
“We’re just sleeping, right?” Ally asked as we turned into the bedroom.
“Just sleeping,” I agreed, dragging my shirt over my head. “Naked sleeping.”
“How’s your hydration?” she asked, pulling off her sweatshirt to reveal the stars of all future fantasies for me, her bare breasts.
“Great. Totally rehydrated,” I lied. “How’s the soreness?”
“Hardly feel a thing,” she fibbed. I could tell it wasn’t the truth because her neck flared red like a beacon.
I took off my pants, my cock already flying like a flag.
“Just sleep,” I promised, watching as she removed her leggings and underwear. We stared at each other, naked and maybe even a little vulnerable, from opposite sides of the bed.
The linens were an unholy mess from our gymnastics mere hours ago. So much had changed so quickly, and there was so much more to come.
But I wouldn’t break that to her now. She’d been through enough for one day… or twelve hours.
For now, I would settle for holding her while I worked out what needed to happen next.
We slipped under the blankets, Brownie making himself comfortable at our feet. And when Ally hesitated, I made the decision for her, pulling her against me. Her back to my chest. My face to her hair.
She hissed out a breath and an honest to God giggle when her ass wiggled against my hard-on.
“Just sleep,” I promised her again.
“I won’t be sore forever,” she hinted.
“Shh,” I ordered, not ready to test my own chivalry or hydration levels.
She settled against me, sighed, and was fast asleep within minutes.
Having her in my arms, in my bed, felt foreign. Familiar. Right. Wrong. And everything in between.
We slept for three hours.
And when I woke with her round, soft ass pressed against my erection, I thanked my lucky stars. When she rolled over and looked at me with sleepy eyes and “please” on her lips, I promised my soul to whatever deity had delivered her to my bed. And when I slipped inside her slowly, sweetly, when she sighed out my name, I wondered if maybe I’d finally been forgiven for my own sins.
One thing I knew for sure when I felt her start to surrender was that I was going to fix everything for her. Whether she wanted me to or not.
55
Ally
I was officially living in an alternate universe.
Not only had I spent the night in Dominic Russo’s bed—and surprisingly snuggly arms—now I was riding with him to work. The streets had been cleared of yesterday’s modest snowfall, leaving the pavement clean and wet.
A new start. A blank canvas.
It looked as though there would be one for us too. We’d been summoned.
By his mother.
And I wasn’t sure if that was a good or very, very bad thing. HR and management could easily decide to fire us both.
Or just one of us. And I already knew which one of us that would be.
Just because Label had made strides since Paul Russo’s reign of terror didn’t mean that the son of the editor-in-chief would be judged on the same level as a lowly admin. Especially not one who admittedly pursued and seduced her boss… while coated in body glitter and shame in a strip club.
Technically, on paper, I was a Malina.
A thought that made my skin crawl.
I leaned forward to check my makeup in the mirror. With the swelling down, the bruising had been easier to hide under a thick coat of concealer and spunky side part.
“What’s wrong?” Dominic asked from the driver’s seat. The only outward sign of his nerves was the frenetic, silent tapping of his thumb on the wheel.
“Nothing at all. Just feel like I’m marching toward a firing squad.”
“You’re not going to get shot,” he assured me.
“Not that kind of firing squad. Like a ‘you’re no longer employed, pack your shit’ firing squad.”
Eyes on the road, he took my hand, squeezed it. “Stop worrying,” he insisted.
“Of course. Why didn’t I think of that? You’re so handsome and smart,” I said, heavy on the eyelash-batting sarcasm.
“Hey, I could have easily fixed this,” he reminded me.
“Your solution was to quit your job. On what planet was that even an acceptable option?”
“On the planet where I want to be able to get you naked guilt-free more than I want that job.”
My lady parts performed a discombobulating quiver. My vagina was fangirling over Dominic Russo.
“I wouldn’t ask you to do that. You like working there,” I pointed out.