Page 87 of The Unfluencer

Is this really happening?

“Especially in the gallery.” His dark gaze drops to my breasts, lingering before he lifts me to my feet. “And at Cibo Nero. Even more on the plane…”

His unyielding stare sets my skin on fire. My body is throbbing, blazing and begging, Say yes. Say you want whatever it is that’s unfolding between us. Lust, love, anything in between.

“Do you remember what you said to me, Whitney?” He teases his finger along the waistline of my sweatpants.

Standing over him now, I watch how his enormous hands grip my hips. Then he tugs lightly at the drawstring of my pants, eyes never leaving mine. Not as he drags them along with my underwear over my thighs. Not when he tugs them down my legs, attentively removing my feet one at a time, then tosses them away. Or even while he wriggles out of his own. Certainly not as the wind howls loudly outside and he, utterly undeterred, turns me around so I’m straddling his legs, one foot on either side.

He glides his large, warm hands up from my ankles to the backs of my thighs, his fingertips teasing me.

“Uh, wh-which time was this?” I stammer, lost in the haze of this moment.

“When I overheard your phone conversation at the plane.” His voice deepens, steady and determined. “When I thought a pitch was what you were after.”

For a second, my head swims. I don’t have a clue to what he’s referring⁠—

Oh my God.

A hollow laugh claws out of me.

“That’s right,” he says smugly. “I believe your words were ‘kiss my ass.’” Warner’s voice drops, rough and gravelly, sending a shiver down my spine, sharp enough to snap my whole body to attention.

His strong fingers flex into me, sliding up around my thighs until he palms both cheeks. Then I feel his hot, open-mouthed kisses on the swell of my ass.

Dear, sweet Lord.

I toss a glance over my shoulder, because I can’t imagine believing this isn’t a dream without seeing it with my own eyes.

“So, as an astute businessman, I’ve considered all my options and made my final decision. I’m going to kiss not only this sweet ass”—he kisses the other cheek—“but every inch of your tight little body before I give you what you want.”

It’s a vow.

No further conversation required.

I gasp in a breath as he follows through on his promise, opening his mouth against my skin, sucking, kissing my ass, dragging his tongue along my seam. With his enormous hands on my hips, he holds me in place as he laves and laps me from behind, loving how I arch into his sweet wet torture, riding his mouth.

And I try not to cry out.

Oh, I try.

But Warner is relentless in his task, hungrily coaxing every breath and moan from me until my knees give. I can hardly stand upright.

And then, unthinkably, he holds me. So gently, like I’m precious to him, Warner takes me into his arms, onto his lap again, whispering in my ear that he tried to resist, and something about tropical condoms, before I tell him, “Next time.” Then he’s sliding inside me from underneath, filling me so completely, so mind-numbingly. He holds me so tight as we rock together, and I feel the heat firing through me, the kaleidoscope of flaming hearts exploding in my eyes.

Lord, I don’t even know why this lust comes with so many feelings, but I need more.

All over again, I’m pulsing with everything we’re finally saying without saying a word. Arching into the mind-numbing friction. The gruff growl in his voice magnifies the tension as he thrusts his hips. We keep moving, meeting every stroke faster, harder, in sync in this cold, dark building with danger steps away, anticipating each other’s needs the way couples do.

As he trembles beneath me, never loosening his strong arms wrapped around my back, our breathing slowly falls into sync. We’re chasing the high, savoring the last embers of our friction.

Then everything is quiet with Warner pressing petal-soft kisses all over my face—our bodies fully sated and spent.

My mind, though, is anything but.

Maybe this is the edge of adventure.

The part they don’t teach in doomsday classes or warn you about in adventure-romance movies. Not the danger itself, but what comes after. The stillness when the adrenaline subsides. The way surviving something meaningful together strips you bare of labels and preplanned paths, physically and emotionally, until all that’s left is truth. Not love.