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ANTHONY
One month later
It had been one month since Pyper and I started this sexually charged, erotically potent relationship.
I knew I wanted more than just to be buried between her thighs.
I wanted everything.
It had been an instant attraction, an all-consuming obsession. And with each passing day, each soul-changing moment when I was with her, I felt this realness settling within me.
It was indescribable, as if I were missing something. As if I left home and forgot a crucial item. And I didn’t need to think about what that item was.
I knew it was her. I had yet to tell her I wanted more than just a fuck toy. I mean, I’d told her in so many words that first night in the cigar room, and then when I had her pressed against the side of the building after our first lunch together.
But this… this was real, and I wanted it that fact cemented in her.
This wasn’t about being balls-deep in her tight little snatch—which was heaven in and of itself. This was about finding someone who complemented me so perfectly. And that was Pyper.
In all truth, I couldn’t believe I survived this fucking world for fifty years without having her in my life.
And after a month of us fucking like rabbits—and me growing even more needy and obsessed with everything that made up Pyper—I knew the complexity of our situation was about to get even deeper.
And I was going to make sure it got real fucking deep.
She was going to know exactly how she made me feel, how she changed my life in a way I never thought could happen.
I’d been a lone wolf, solitary in all ways. Yet here I was, wanting to have Pyper in all ways.
Mine irrevocably.
My partner for life. My wife. The mother of my children.
Pyper was going to fully understand that I was never walking away. She could say no—which she never did—and she could even run as she tried to deny me—which she hadn’t once come close to attempting—but I’d chase her to the ends of the fucking earth.
I wouldn’t stop until she was mine.
Over the last thirty days, we rotated between spending our private time together in my office, at my place, and hell, I even fingered her at the Italian bistro last week, while patrons drank their wine and ate their ravioli nearby.
But as much as I loved fucking her, I wanted more.
So I started taking her out more, which I knew confused her, as she looked at me with a furrowed brow and her pink, full lips pursed as she tried to figure it all out. But I wanted to show her this was more than just physical need for either of us.
I knew it had to be for her as well. That’s what I told myself anyway. For all I knew, she’d tell me she just wanted my cock and be done with it.
I realized I needed more interaction with her, more conversation, more… everything.
Hell, I’d take just holding her in my arms.
I leaned against the kitchen counter of my penthouse and sipped the scotch I poured moments before, waiting for her to arrive. When I’d given her the keycard to my private elevator and foyer, I’d seen the initial shock on her face. She even asked me if the reason I’d given her access to my place so easily was because I didn’t want anyone to notice her coming and going.
To say the instant rage overtook me that she’d think such a thing was an understatement.
She’d know soon enough I wanted everyone to know she was mine.
I looked at my wristwatch, expecting her any minute. Although I didn’t need to drink to have this conversation with her, I did down the rest of my twenty-year aged scotch and poured myself another one.
I didn’t understand what I felt, not at first. It wasn’t until I really dissected my thoughts and emotions that I came to the conclusion that, right now, I felt… nervous.
