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When he adds a second finger, it’s game over.
There’s no playing hard to get with this man.
I am hard to get.
He got me anyway.
I’m chasing the escape he’s holding like a shimmering promise. The climax starts at my core, thrilling me, and he doesn’t stop sucking or stroking until I’m shaking.
When he rises to face me, his eyes are dark with barely leashed hunger. He swipes a hand across his mouth.
I’m already ripping off his jacket, going for his belt. I’ve learned lots of skills since meeting Harrison King. One is how to strip a suit off a man in ten seconds flat.
I shove down his pants and shorts, wrapping a hand around his cock. He hisses out a breath as he works open the final buttons of the shirt.
Impatient, he rips the shirt and tosses it on the floor. I give him a few slow strokes that make him growl. Then he lifts me off the table and carries me to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.
His narrow hips fit between my thighs. The feel of his cock has my breath catching.
Harrison sinks inside, and my body adjusts as he holds me against the window, my back sticking to the glass.
God, I’m so full. As if it’s been months and not days since he’s been there.
His smug grin can’t hide the extra beat he waits, the patience and concern to make sure I’m okay before he starts to move.
Tonight was my triumph, but this is the reward.
“Nothing compares to this,” he rasps against my mouth as if he’s thinking the same thing.
His hands knead my ass. I grip his shoulders, the flexing muscles tight beneath my hands. His beautiful chest grows damp with sweat, and I trace the scar on his pec and hear him groan.
We’re part of it, this throbbing, pulsing, alive place.
It’s the furthest thing from normal, having incredible sex with my billionaire fiancé in our penthouse at one of the world’s most exquisite hotels.
Who could want anything else?
I can’t tell if it’s his body or words that nudge me over the edge. My thighs squeeze, pleasure rippling from my core through my legs, my breasts, my fingertips.
He strokes once more, twice, before erupting in a low groan.
After, we lie together on the cool sheets, him stroking the damp hair off my forehead as he nestles my back to his front. Beyond the windows, the lights of the Strip beckon, pinks and yellows and greens that went from agitating to familiar in the months we’ve called this city our temporary home.
“Tonight was a dream come true,” I murmur.
Harrison leans in, his mouth caressing my cheek. “I’m even more interested in tomorrow. Our wedding, to be precise.”
I shift onto my back. Despite the adrenaline chasing through my veins and the blissful satisfaction from what we just did, reality catches up. “Tomorrow?! I have interviews for that charity feature.”
“The day after.”
“We need a little time,” I counter.
He frowns. “You said you’d marry me,” he reminds me, rubbing the spot where my ring sits on my finger.
“I thought I was marrying a sane man.”
He rubs his forehead as if I’m the one being unreasonable. “Three days. Our friends are already here,” he adds, playing his trump card. “Assuming you want them to attend.”
Harrison is gloriously naked save for the same take-no-prisoners look that’s practically a trademark.
Except for one tell.
He doesn’t breathe, which proves how much this matters to him.
This man is the other half of my complicated heart. I might grow and change, but he will always be the person who completes me. The one who’ll argue with me until the second we’re under attack, then defend me with fierce savagery.
I run a hand through his hair, then exhale for both of us. “Vegas wedding, here we come.”
