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“No, not without you.”
This beautiful, infuriating, sexy little goddess knows exactly how to push my buttons and take me right to the edge of restraint. If I say no, she says yes. Every fucking time. She does it intentionally, purposefully, as if fighting me is ingrained in her. As if she knows just how fucking wild it makes me.
“Fucking come now, Mila, or I swear to God, when I see you again, you won’t be able to walk when I get through with you,” I growl, squeezing the head of my cock in a desperate attempt to keep myself from coming all over my goddamn hand.
She whips her head forward, her eyes meeting mine, hot, wild, full of raw feminine sexuality. She grinds down on her fingers, holding my gaze as if daring me to look away from her. “Mister Gregory,” she moans. “Please, fuck me.”
Oh, the dirty little minx.
I come with a guttural groan, cum spilling over my hand as I ride through the aftershocks of an orgasm that leaves me breathless. I keep my eyes locked with hers the whole time, letting her see exactly what she does to me—exactly how she owns me, body and soul.
With a final, desperate cry, she bites down on her lip hard enough to draw blood as she falls over the edge, convulsing in pleasure. And fuck, watching her lose herself like this is goddamn beautiful.
She collapses forward on the bed, whimpering my name. The sting of loneliness hits like a fucking wrecking ball—the desire to pull her into my arms and hold her as she comes down is overwhelming. But she’s hours away, tucked up in our bed in Santa Cruz.
And goddammit all, that’s exactly where I should want her to stay. It’s exactly where she’s safest. But I want her right here with me so much it fucking hurts.
I have to find a way to keep her safe here in LA. There is no other choice because she’s become necessary, something I can’t live without.
Chapter Twenty-One
Mila
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Ms. Mila Lawson?”
“This is Mila,” I say, pulling my phone away to blink at the number. It’s not even eight in the morning. Way too early for anyone to be calling, especially someone with a business-y voice. “Can I help you?”
“This is Lorelai James from the Costei Literary Agency,” she says. “I’m Mr. Costei’s assistant. We had you scheduled to meet with him tomorrow afternoon, but I was calling to let you know that, unfortunately, we’re going to have to cancel.”
“Oh.” I blink. “Um, do I need to reschedule?”
“No, that won’t be necessary. The position has been filled. Thank you for your interest.”
“Than—” The line goes dead in my ear before I can even finish speaking. I huff and pull it away to scowl at it. “What the heck?”
That was weird. And she was rude.
One of my only two job prospects is officially dead in the water. I should be upset or anxious, right? Except…I’m not.
I’m relieved. I don’t want to be in Berkeley. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life trying to avoid Lizette and Damien. My future is with Roman. That’s where I belong—wherever he is. Not hours away.
I already miss him like crazy. Sleeping without his arms around me last night was hard. The bed smells like him—like us. Seeing the look in his eyes when we hung up, knowing he misses me too, that was fucking hard too.
I’m only here because I didn’t want to cancel that stupid interview. But the interview isn’t happening, and LA is only only five hours away. I could be there by this afternoon. I could be back in Roman’s arms tonight instead of two days from now.
I toss the blankets off and jump from the bed, anticipation racing through me. I grab my phone, preparing to dial his number to tell him that I’m coming to him now, and then hesitate. If I tell him, it’ll only give him five hours to stress and worry about it.
But if I don’t tell him until I get to town, I get to surprise him. He’ll probably spank me for it, but hey, we both know how much he loves getting his hands on my ass.
My decision made, I practically run for the closet to pack the rest of my stuff.
“You’ve been ignoring my calls all day.”
I bite my lip, fighting a smile. Someone is cranky. Not that I’m surprised. He’s right—I have been ignoring his calls all day. But only because I didn’t want him to figure out what I was doing. He’s a cop and I’m not a very good liar. Besides, he’d have been able to tell in a heartbeat that I was on the road if we were on the phone.
I texted him this morning to tell him that I was going to be busy prepping for my interview and that I’d call him after it was over. That was right before I left Santa Cruz at ten this morning. It’s now almost four in the afternoon.
