“You think you’re the only one who suffered?” I snarled. “I waited and then some.”
When he kissed me, I bit his bottom lip hard enough he gave a grunt of discomfort, but inside me, his cock throbbed. I had instigated tonight, but Royce had taken control, and he demanded I keep up with him. We were a partnership, after all.
“Mine,” I echoed, claiming him right back.
His sound of satisfaction was sexy as hell. “I’m going to fuck you here in my bed every night. I don’t care if you get sore or tired.” Our joined bodies moved together, undulating on the bed so hard, the headboard began to thump steadily against the wall. “We’ve got too much time to make up for.”
He was absolutely right.
We fucked until we were both sticky with sweat. At some point, he wriggled out of his underwear completely, so he was free to move his legs and get better leverage. And then he demanded I unbutton and open the shirt I was wearing so it wasn’t between us. Only the green tie that hung around my neck as an unclaimed leash.
My hands gripped his hair, the dark tresses threaded through my fingers, as I held onto him. Exertion had left him short of breath, and he panted in the curve of my neck, filling the space with sweltering heat.
I wanted to come. Not just to experience the pleasure, but to lose myself in him. To give up all control and show him how he left me undone. He was close too. The cadence of his body had changed. Shorter, deliberate strokes and tense muscles made me think he wasn’t giving freely anymore. He was holding himself back from his end so we could keep going.
And while it felt amazing, my body had hit a frustrating plateau. It left me dangling right on the cusp, tingling with anticipation but no end in sight. With him pressed so tightly on top of me, I couldn’t wedge a hand between us and push myself over the edge.
“Make me come,” I pleaded.
Fire flashed through his eyes, and for one fleeting moment, it was scary how much they looked like his father’s. But his tone wasn’t commanding, it was sinful. Wicked and teasing. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
He pushed up on his hands, shoving his knees beneath me while keeping us connected, and wrapped a fist around the knot of my tie. It was so he could draw me up with him as he sat up. It made me feel like I was his puppet and he was my master. The silk dug into my skin, and the muscle of his strong bicep flexed as he yanked me up into his arms.
Royce was sitting back on his heels and I was straddling his lap, the open shirt hanging loosely around my sides, and the collar beginning to slip down off my shoulders.
The change in position made my eyes widen, and pleasure bolt through me in a white-hot flash. I was fitted so tightly against him, it put pressure against my clit in a new way, and his hand at my hip urged me to grind against him.
“Oh, fuck,” I groaned. My head tipped forward, my forehead landing against the hard flat of his shoulder.
But it didn’t deter him. His exacting hand pushed and pulled and guided, making pinpricks of heat travel along my legs. I gasped and clung to him, the shirt hanging at my elbows while I rode him at a frantic pace.
“Yeah,” he encouraged in a strained voice. “Get there.”
It tumbled from my lips, followed by uncontrollable moans. “Oh, my God.”
An instinctive force took over. It swept through my body as the devastating orgasm crashed into me. It made me move and writhe to wring every last drop of pleasure from him, like a dance I hadn’t learned the steps to but knew anyway.
I’d been so lost in my own bliss, I’d barely recognized he’d reached his climax at the same time until we were both coming down. My shuddering body was encased in his arms, his heaving chest beating against mine as we cooled and recovered.
His soft request broke the stillness surrounding us. “Tell me you love me.”
I lifted my head to peer down into his eyes and watched the guilt edge into them. It was a moment of weakness, and he was displeased with himself for asking when he’d said he wasn’t going to anymore.
When his lips parted to say something, I pressed a finger to them. I matched his cocky tone from before. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.” I brushed the finger away so I could put my lips in its place, but not before I uttered, “But I love you anyway.”
I made my second attempt to sleep in Royce’s bed that night, but by two in the morning, I snuck out and stole away to the comfort of my own room. In the morning, he told me he didn’t mind. All he wanted was for me to be comfortable. After a week of it, I stopped feeling guilty. We had time to figure it out, I told myself.
The cycle continued until we fell into a pattern.
Sex. Sleep. And then I’d slip out.
We were both busy. I had school and he had work—which kept him busier than ever—and we both had events to go to. Plus, there was wedding planning that needed to be done. It mostly fell on my shoulders. In the month since the dreadful night of the gala, I hadn’t seen or heard from Macalister’s wife. Not so much as an email.
I barely saw Macalister either. He was often gone on business trips overseas, and when he was home, he was hard at work on the Ascension deal. I foolishly hoped his obsession with me was waning, but I knew better. An uneasy feeling churned in my gut as if it were the calm before the storm.
He wouldn’t give up, and it was win at all costs.
I wouldn’t be able to avoid him or his wife for much longer, though. It was mid-November, and the upcoming holiday loomed overhead. I’d spent every Thanksgiving—along with everyone else in the high society of Cape Hill—in Aspen. It was as if the entire Massachusetts town relocated to Colorado for an extended weekend of skiing and drama.
We rode in the back of the town car to Logan Airport, Royce’s hand resting comfortably on my thigh as he pressed his phone to his ear and listened in on a meeting that was wrapping up. He was always touching me now, even when cameras weren’t around. As if I might disappear if the connection between us was broken.
The car pulled up to the sleek private jet, which was waiting for us with the door open, a gaping mouth threatening to devour us.
We hadn’t talked about what was going to happen, but I knew. The other black Range Rover parked on the tarmac confirmed it. Royce and I weren’t flying to Aspen alone. It made sense. The Hale jet was big enough for a dozen people.
Acid churned in my belly as the driver opened my door, which meant I was expected to get out, walk across the pavement, and climb the steps, then endure a four-hour flight locked in a confined space with Macalister.
Royce would be there too, though. We parted just long enough to get out of the car, pull our jackets closed in the blustery November wind, and then he took my hand, entwining our fingers.
“It’s not that long of a flight,” he muttered, like he was saying it for his own benefit and not mine. I didn’t understand why he was so anxious about it until the doors of the other Range Rover opened and I caught the swath of blonde hair.
My knees locked, bringing me to a rigid stop.
SIX
I SHOULD HAVE ANTICIPATED THIS, but I was so focused on Macalister, I hadn’t thought about her. Of course, she was required to make an appearance Thanksgiving weekend. The rest of the world believed everything was right with the Hale family and it wasn’t splintered into a million pieces.