Page 14 of Choosing Scarlet

“Don’t stop,” she pleads, “oh, God, don’t stop. Oh, fuck!”

I don’t intend to.

My hand, around her throat until that point, now moves toward her mouth, covering it. Muffled moans echo against it as she struggles to breathe, but I can tell she enjoys every fucking second of it. Despite the pleasure that roams through me, my eyes remain locked on hers, observing her every reaction. At any point, if needed, I’m prepared to stop if she needs me to.

The pleasure seems to swallow her whole, though. Her eyes roll back into her skull as I fuck her, and the moans grow louder, silenced by my palm. I trail hot kisses across her throat until I reach her ear.

“How fucking filthy of you, to moan like this as I fuck you,” I pant. “To the point where I have to silence you so other guests wouldn’t hear how well you take my cock.”

Those words trigger something in her. Before I know it, she squirms against me frantically, her hands digging into my back as she reaches her peak. I’m right on the brink, too, soaked in her juices, and somehow trying to drag out the moment, so that I can linger inside her a little longer.

Because this, right here, must be my version of heaven.

I can only hold back so long, though. As I feel her tight pussy start to tighten around me once more, my orgasm hits me, too, so hard that it nearly makes my knees buckle. Her bliss joins mine, dripping down my balls as I give her a few more weak thrusts.

Then, and only then, do I pull my hand back from her lips … only to lean in and kiss her. Because it’s the only thing I want to do at that moment.

SCARLET

The morning after, I wake up pleasantly sore. After we’d barely made it to the room last night and had sex, it happened twice more. Each time was rougher and hotter than the previous—if that was even possible. By the third time, my legs gave out, and we called it a night.

Before I even open my eyes, a familiar scent teases my senses. Pancakes. My favorite breakfast. I blink awake to find a wooden tray set on the nightstand, holding chocolate chip pancakes topped with fresh fruit, a swirl of whipped cream, and a small pitcher of maple syrup. There is also a cup of black coffee and a glass of orange juice that seems freshly squeezed.

My gaze drifts across the room to where Knox sits near the window. He’s already awake, with a cup of coffee in one hand. The morning light outlines his shoulders, and when our eyes meet, a slow smile forms on his lips. My breath catches. He looks so effortlessly good like this, and I find myself wishing this morning could last forever.

With that thought comes another. Clients are often thoughtful, some even generous, but this feels different. Ordering breakfast isn’t anything out of the ordinary, but still … This gesture and the way his eyes linger a little longer than they should don’t feel like part of an arrangement anymore. It feels like dating instead.

Jessie’s words echo faintly in my mind, reminding me that I was playing a dangerous game. And she’s right. I’m already too far in.

“Good morning,” Knox says, breaking the chaos in my head. “Did you sleep well?”

I nod, trying to hide the small smile. “Now, tell me, how did you know this was my favorite breakfast?”

His lips twitch. “I’m guessing you don’t remember talking about it in between two of our … sessions last night.”

I press my lips together, trying not to grin as I pick up my fork. The pancakes are perfect; soft, rich, and exactly how I like them. Still, I can’t help sneaking glances at Knox. It’s a sight I could easily get used to.

By the time I finish eating, he stands and sets his empty mug on the side table. “Get dressed in something casual,” he says. “I want to take you to one of my favorite places in Cascade Point.”

I’m not sure what I expected after those words, but it definitely isn’t this. I stare at the sign in front of me, blinking once, twice, to make sure I’m seeing it right. Cascade Point Animal Shelter.

I turn to him, then back at the building. It’s a modest two-story place with a dark gray façade, paw prints painted along the entrance, and the faint sound of barking and meowing drifting from inside.

“This is one of your favorite places?” I ask, unable to hide the surprise in my voice.

He glances at me, slipping his hands into his pockets with a nod. “This is where I come to volunteer every Saturday,” he says. “And I didn’t want to skip just because I have company. This place matters to me. It’s where I got Tim and Boa from when they were pups.”

“I’ve read plenty about you before we met, but none of those articles mentioned this side of you.”

He gives a small smile as he opens the door and gestures for me to walk in first. “I’m not surprised,” he says. “That’s because this part is for me. Not for the media.”

The moment we step inside, the soft chatter of volunteers and the barking greet us. A few of the volunteers chase a dog who seems to have escaped, but they’re unable to stop laughing. Some wave as they see Knox, greeting him the way they’d greet a friend they’d known for years.

Knox leads me through the main hall, which opens into a series of long corridors. The walls are lined with photos of adopted animals and volunteers smiling. He takes me straight ahead, toward a row of kennels.

“Sometimes, the shelter needs help with transport or heavier work,” he explains as he unlocks a door, “but most days, it’s just this.”

The door swings open to reveal rows of kennels filled with dogs of every size and color. Some bark softly, tails wagging, while others sit quietly, their eyes following us curiously. Each space looks clean and cared for with soft beds, scattered toys, and water bowls filled to the brim, but the sight still hits me in the chest. So many of them wait in hope that someone will notice them and take them home.