I turn the faucet to screaming hot, and when the shower feels nice and steamy, I jump in. The steam erases the stress pain in my head like the sun hitting a snowbank.
Once the headache subsides, I fling the glass door open and towel off.
I can’t give that kid more reasons to hate my guts. I need to bridge the gap somehow.
Bursting through the bathroom door, I plan to throw on my slacks and dress shirt and hoof it.
An unexpected surprise stops me in my tracks.
Sabrina sits on my bed, running her hand through her long dark chestnut hair. I wish like hell it was my fingers combing those locks, fisting them, showing her how sweet it’d feel to be pulled when we—
Her mocha-brown eyes interrupt my filthy thoughts, trawling the length of my body.
Her soft heart-shaped mouth moves, forming a tiny “O” of surprise.
My hand flutters shut as her teeth clamp down over her bottom lip.
Who knew a staring contest could be sexy?
Even wet from the shower in the middle of January, my cock hardens at what that mouth could do.
The rose-red flush on her cheeks helps nothing. She gazes into my eyes, and then her eyes crawl lower, straight to my hardness at full staff.
She likes what she sees.
No question.
Women always do, but with her, fuck.
I back up into the bathroom without turning around and grab my robe.
“If you’re checking out my package, it’s nicer to say hello first,” I tell her.
I pull the robe on and fasten the belt. It’s not completely closed, but screw it.
“Oh, no!” Her blush goes from deep red to almost purple, and she throws her hands up in front of her face. “I just came to check on you, Mag. You didn’t look so hot earlier.”
She’s flustered. It’s adorable. I smirk.
“Do I look hotter now?”
“Yes—I mean—”
I hold up a hand. “It’s okay. Good to know.”
“If you’re hungry, I made dinner. I added enough real food to cook a few meals to the shopping order.” She smiles, proud of herself. “You may not like it, though. It’s just chicken hotdish. I don’t know how to make your fancy food.”
Dinner. Eight thirty p.m. I’m not late. I’m really early.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Casserole’s fine. I may be rich, but I’m a Midwestern boy, born and raised. Jordan has a meal plan now?”
She crosses her legs on my bed, and when she shifts to do it, the movement exposes the skin of her thighs.
Standing in front of her in nothing but a robe is torture.
“No. I helped him grab groceries from a delivery service. Now you have a stocked kitchen. You’re welcome.” Her tongue flicks out for a second, amused at the asinine questions I’m asking.
You’re killing me, woman.
“Where is he—Jordan, I mean?”
“He’s in the guest room now. He was in your sunroom for a while; think he likes it there,” she says. “On his phone like any other teenage boy.”
“What kind of miracle worker are you?” I growl. “I couldn’t get him to step one foot in a guest room, much less settle in. And I gave him his pick of five rooms.”
She shrugs. “He took the one off the sunroom. I had Armstrong pick up his games, too. That probably helped. He’s eaten twice now. I think he’s feeling better. His mood’s improved and he’s not so sulky.”
I sit down on the bed beside her. “How are you so good at this? Do you have a secret baby I don’t know about?”
“Nope, but Mom’s done that plot like a dozen times!” She laughs. “I don’t know, Mag. I guess dealing with grumps like my dad gave me a lot of practice.”
“Is your dad grumpy?” I ask, curious. This urge hits me, and I want to know more. I want to know what makes this woman tick. “I thought you had a good relationship with your parents?”
She beams like the sun. “I do, but that doesn’t stop him from being grumpy.”
What am I doing with this high school shit?
Here I am, almost naked next to a beautiful woman on my bed, blundering around for words. There are things I’d much rather talk about than her grumbling father.
I slip an arm around her waist, coating her cheeks with a new splash of balmy red.
“Mag?” She smiles at me. “Are you hungry? If you want I can go warm you up some—”
“Not for food.”
She giggles into her hand, and I love that fuck-hot heave of her chest as she catches my drift.
I brush my lips against her cheek, down her chin line, scraping her soft skin with my scruff.
“Well, since I was so busy cooking, I didn’t get a chance to sample the goods.” She winks at me and stands. “Come on. Let’s eat before we both starve.”
Fine.
If I don’t eat baked hotdish, she’ll be offended. I’ll do it because the CEO of HeronComm never disappoints. But damn, this is the part where I’d walk away from a client—not that any client has ever turned my dick into a blueberry sausage like her.
“I’ll have dinner with you, sweetheart, but first you’re feeding my other appetite.”
She stands in front of me, her knees against mine. I drag her between them, diving for her lips. But she turns her head at the last second, and our foreheads press together, our breath synced in hurried, shallow rasps.
“Say please,” she whispers.
“Touché.”
“Not the magic word.” She raises her eyebrows. “Say it.”
“You’re stunning, but I’m not begging for a kiss,” I growl. “You’ll be begging by the end of the night, Brina. I promise.”
“I’m stunning?” she asks too innocently.
“You know you are,” I throw back, every inch of my skin electric, so done with these games.
It must be the right thing to say.
She moves closer between my legs, clasps the back of my head with her hands, and gives up her lips.
I fucking devour her, flicking my tongue gently over her lips before I take the full plunge.
As long as I live, I’ll never experience another woman who tastes this good, this right, this much like a forbidden fruit I’d die for.
She opens her mouth and slips out a moan just as I slide my tongue in.
“Mag,” she whines, so ready even her voice sounds wet for me.
That moan undoes me.
In a flash, I pull her on top of me. Her knees dig into my hips. Her tongue traces the inside of my mouth, and my fist twines through her hair, giving it a delicious pull.
My other hand falls, clasping her ass, pinching one delectable cheek until she squeals.
Fuck.
She pulls away then and sighs with a playful slap against my arm.
“Behave. I told you, dessert comes after dinner.” She pushes herself back to a standing position. “That was nice, though.”
“It’s going to get a lot nicer. And then not nice at all.”
Her mouth falls open and she grins.
Sweet hell, I can’t wait to ruin her.
This night is nothing like I ever imagined the run-up to our first time would be, but I’m past caring.
Before the dawn comes, I’m going to fuck the soul out of Sabrina Bristol.