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“You’re not selling a single thing.” His hand slaps one panty-covered cheek. “We’re getting married.” Smack. “We’re living here.” Smack. “And you and everyone else in this building are going to love it.” Smack. He rips off my panties and thrusts a hand between my legs. “You’re soaked.”
The sound of immense satisfaction in his voice is irksome. I try to twist around, but he won’t let me. “Oh no. You had your tantrum, and now it’s time for mine.”
He kicks my legs apart, and I feel his broad head at my entrance. I have a half second to think about how I was in this position prior to dinner before that cockhead slams inside of me.
“Uh!” A surprised shout escapes me.
“You’re not leaving me,” he growls in my ear. His whole frame presses me into the mattress. This time he’s not gentle, not careful. Fabric tears. The zipper is wrenched down. The dress falls away. I take a heaving breath. He withdraws, and I whimper at the loss. “You want this?” He rubs his head against my sensitive lips.
“Yes.” I push my hips back and try to get him inside me again.
“Then say it.”
I seal my mouth shut. I’m not promising a thing.
“Harlow, I swear to God, if you don’t vow to stay with me, you are never getting my cock again.”
“I’m not saying it,” I insist.
He smacks me again, this time close to my core, and I nearly come in response. I’m so weak when it comes to him. Hell.
His frame slides off my back, and I look over my shoulder in fear that he’s really leaving. He smirks.
“No cock, but I’m going to get that promise from you one way or another.” He rips the rest of the dress off of me and then drops to his knees.
I try to squeeze my legs together, but he shoves his big shoulders between my thighs and muscles me open. I tell myself to resist, but it’s a lost cause. The moment he lays his tongue against my sex, I’m a goner. I bury my face in the blankets to muffle the sounds of my moans. He eats me out like I’m a ripe peach and he hasn’t had food for days. His fingers hold me open. His tongue drives inside of me again and again until I can’t stand, can’t breathe, can’t think. I want to come. I need to come. I begin to ride his face, moving with the motion of his mouth, rubbing against the hardness of his jaw. “Yes, more, please, more, I’m—noooooo.”
I turn to see him rocking back on his haunches, his mouth wet, his eyes hooded. “Want more of that, do you?”
He swipes his hand across the back of his mouth and stands up. His cock is hard as a rock. The tip glistens in the moonlight.
“Where are you going?”
“To make myself a hot chocolate.”
He actually turns around, cock out, pants undone, and leaves me. My pussy is throbbing. I must be hallucinating because he did not just bring me to the brink of ecstasy to abandon me.
“Get back in here,” I yell.
All I hear is cupboards opening. I haul myself off the bed, clutching the tattered chiffon to my chest and hobble out to the kitchen. Cal has done up his pants, but his belt is still hanging loose. I bite my fist to stifle the moan. He looks so hot bare-chested, feet bare, puttering around my kitchen. If I marry him, I could have this every day. Not the hot chocolate but him, semi-nude in my house, looking husbandly. The catch is that someday he’ll leave me, and then I’ll be devastated.
But…it’s possible he means to stay, that we could be married until the death do us part bit. It’s unlikely. Half of marriages end in divorce. It’s probably higher for rich, gorgeous men like Cal who have women throwing themselves on the ground in front of him all the time. The risk of accepting him into my heart is high.
Oh, what am I saying? He’s already in my heart. I’m already at risk. I was gone from the moment I sat down at his table at the café. A normal person in that situation would have left immediately after she found out he was lying about his name, his job, his everything, but I sat there and smiled like an idiot because he’s so beautiful and magnetic. You couldn’t have pried me away from him.
Every day he’s been by my side, saying the things I’m scared to believe, and my response has been to push him away. Some might say that by giving in now, I’m selling my future, but what about the present, the now? Should I be miserable now because of what-if fears that might never come true?
His hot chocolate is done. He pours it into a mug and then stands over it, hands curled around the counter. He doesn’t look at me, but the invitation is there. I walk forward until I’m an arm’s length away. He still doesn’t move. I reach in front of him and take a sip. It’s rich and creamy and delicious. I drink it all. His eyes meet mine over the top of the porcelain. They burn with desire. He takes the empty mug from me and lifts me into his arms.
“There’s no going back now.”
“I know.” I wrap my arms around his neck and lift my face to his. “Not for you either.”
Chapter Eighteen
CAL
This time I’m careful when I undress her. “I’ll have them make you a new dress just like this one.”
