Page 16 of Lucas

Working swiftly, he slides the straps off my shoulders to fully expose my breasts. Then roughly tugs the bottom of my dress upward, leaving me naked except for the band of material circling my waist. Cool air breezes across my flesh. His cock is hard and huge against my thigh. He shifts, and with just a little help from his hand, navigates his way inside me.

My pussy clenches around him, sucking in his impressive girth. Aroused beyond anything I’ve ever known before, the bulk of his penis almost makes me come without him even moving one inch. I lay trembling beneath him, gasping, panting, begging for him to just hurry up and fuck me. My patience is stretched thin.

And then, with barely a stroke, I am on the brink.

My body clutches at him, clenching and contracting as he begins to move. He thrusts fast and hard and before I know what’s coming over me, I reach my peak, crying out as the convulsions tremor through me, his name on my lips.

And then he’s fucking me and I’m coming again, groaning, losing myself in him as he loses himself in me.

Chapter 8

I awake to soft rays of sunlight, streaming in through sheer curtains that flutter in the partially open window. For a blink, I almost forget where I am. I stretch lazily, dragging my hands up under the soft pillowcase, and Lucas’s spiced scent curls under my nostrils.

The memories come rushing back.

Every muscle in my body twinges with fresh aches and pains as I remember each way Lucas brought me to orgasm. Again and again until I lay, splayed out on the mattress, delicious satisfaction draining my energy reserves dry.

I roll onto my side, expecting to see Lucas, but his pillow is empty, the blankets loosely crumpled in the wake of his escape. The kind of escape that reeks of shame. Fuck me. I pull the pillow over my head and scream into it with frustration. Did I really just fall for this again?

My chest tightens.

Impossible. Surely I’m jumping to conclusions.

I sit upright and go still, listening for the soft patter of feet in the bathroom, the trickle of water, any noise at all to staunch the deafening silence of the empty suite. There’s nothing.

Lucas is gone.

Un. Fucking. Believable.

And to make matters worse, I’ve slept in again. The faintly glowing clock beside the bed tells me I have less than two hours to get home, get cleaned up, and get to work—or I’ll face another inquisition. And this time, my friends won’t be as willing to give up.

I swing my legs around so they dangle off the mattress and groan. My ball gown is crumpled on the floor where Lucas eventually discarded it before devouring me again and again. My throat swells. Putting the dress on now, wrinkled and stained, is akin to doing the walk of shame.

“Don’t suppose you ordered me up another outfit,” I mutter under my breath. I laugh without humor at the ridiculous thought. That is exactly the kind of expectation a rich person might have, the absurdity of thinking the whole world is at their beckon call. I did this to myself. No one owes me anything.

Not even Lucas Hammer.

Except maybe the courtesy of a fucking goodbye.

I squeeze my eyes closed. Damn it. It’s like déjà vu, only this time I went in with my eyes wide open, knowing exactly what might happen, consequences be damned. So then why do I still feel like a high-end call girl?

This isn’t Pretty Woman, Eden.

And I ain’t no Julia Roberts.

I grab my cell from the bedside table to call a cab, surprised to see the contact screen open. My stomach flips. Lucas may have slipped out without a kiss, but he left behind his phone number, writing his name in capitals, and adding, in brackets, (Not A Jerk.)

My grin widens until I’m sure my cheeks might crack. I fire off a quick text: No coffee? Definitely a jerk.

I tap my foot on the plush carpet, waiting for a reply. It comes within seconds. Total jerk move. Next time, darlin’.

Those final three words fills me with ridiculous hope, the confirmation that he wants to see me again, that I’ve made some kind of impression. My chest fills like a helium balloon and I practically float through the motions of showering, climbing into my wrinkled dress, and calling for a taxi to take me back to my apartment where I can change into something that doesn’t betray how I—blissfully, happily—spent the night.

Because I can’t possibly tell my business partners about this.

But—

How can I not?