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For that, I toss her over my shoulder. “You’re in trouble.”
“Put me down! Being British doesn’t make this any less caveman.”
“No, but it means I can stare down my nose at you imperiously when I decide to drop you.”
I flick the lights by the door with my free hand, and the soft glow from behind the dark wood headboard brings our bedroom into focus.
I toss Raegan on the bed, taking a moment to appreciate the view from here.
Her costume is sexy, a joke and a provocation at once, like only the woman I love can pull off. Her curves are decadent, but it’s the confidence beneath, the ownership of who she is, that’s most attractive.
“This outfit is ridiculous,” I rasp.
Rae angles her chin up, offering me full lips and knowing eyes in the semidarkness. “And here I figured you’d like it. Seeing as how you’re the clothes whore.”
I’m already hard in my pants.
I take my time stripping her out of her obscenely sexy costume and tossing it on the floor.
The lingerie beneath is lace, matching the color of her skin. As I shift over her, I imagine it darkening when it’s wet from my tongue, her slickness.
Her fingers thread through mine, and I drag her hands over her head, pinning them against the headboard.
“Save your breath, love,” I murmur. “The only thing you’ll be calling me in a moment is a god.”
She grins, and I go to work making it so.
I touch every curve, following my hands with my mouth, until she’s moaning and incoherent. Then she helps strip my shirt and trousers off, and when I turn her over and yank up her hips to slip inside her bare, my gaze locks on the floor-to-ceiling mirror across from the bed. Watching her take me, arching her back while I grip her ass and sink deeper with every stroke, is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Oh shit,” she groans.
“You like how fucking deep I am, love?”
“Yes, more.”
“More,” I agree, thrusting in until my balls slap up against her, and she’s grabbing fistfuls of sheets while I indulge in one of my favorite fantasies and fuck her from behind.
Every day, her fans worship her.
Every night, I do.
When I let my hand drift up between her legs to circle her clit, she explodes, clenching on my cock so hard I come with a jolt. I grind against her, turning her chin to catch her moan of completion in a deep kiss as I follow her over.
The second time I take her, she’s on top and we’re face-to-face. Her nails rake my back, and I’m lost.
Turns out having someone brand you is fucking perfect, if it’s the right someone.
I want this forever. Me, planning the next stage of my business—one that’s no longer tethered to the past, but free to expand in the future. Her, triumphing in the club or working on a track. After, both of us coming together like this.
“I love you,” I say after, pulling her toward me.
She traces the outline of my face, my jaw. “I love you too.”
We lie across the satiny sheets, the glow from the headboard the only light in the bedroom. Behind the blackout curtains, the city throbs with its own nighttime energy.
“But...?” I prompt.
She’s wearing that look, the one that says she’s thinking hard about something.
