I’ve kept these images all this time, burying them as if I could forget her and the fuck-hot sex we’d had. There’d been so much I’d wanted to do to her that night. My hand wrapped around her throat, squeezing gently while I fucked her. Her wrists, tied to my bed, her legs spread far apart, ankles bound so she had no choice but to lay there and take my cock. But once I was inside her, all my plans went out the window. All I could focus on was how good she felt, all my energy going into holding back the orgasm that threatened from the moment I slid into her.
She’d been so willing, so ready, so visibly turned on by my every touch. I know she would have done anything I’d asked.
My hand slides over my abdomen, my fingers working below the waist of my sweatpants. I’m so hard that it’s mildly painful. I need to fuck—I’ve never gone this many days without it before. Looking at Brooklyn’s photos is sending me over the edge.
Christ.
I grip my cock with urgency and give a few long strokes. It’s like something in me snaps, and I just need to come as hard and fast as I can. I need the pressure and the tension gone, and fuck, I need Brooklyn to do it. Quickly, I pull down my sweatpants. Precum lubes the head of my dick as I stroke, swirling the fluid around until my cock is slick and hot in my hand. Eyes riveted to her photo on the screen, the glistening sheen of her open mouth, I stroke my shaft and squeeze around the head. Her lips should be here, sucking me off and taking me deep in her throat.
God, yes. Her dark eyes looking up at me while she takes my entire cock in her mouth. She’d opened so wide to take me in, so hungry for me, scraping me lightly with her teeth.
I pump faster, working more slick precum where I need it the most. I’d push her over the kitchen table and pull that perfect ass back against me, spread her thighs to bury myself deep inside her. I imagine taking a handful of her hair and pulling her head back while I fuck her. Driving into her, over and over while she cries out, her pussy clenching tight around me.
Fuck. My balls get tight, my shaft swelling. I hold her image in my mind. I remember the sounds she made while I feasted on her, how her wetness burst into my mouth.
With a groan, I spill hot and wet over my hand. I give a few short jerks until every drop is out of me. I stay just as I am until my vision clears and my breathing slows, and I have to close the laptop to stop looking at her. This isn’t the first time I’ve jerked off to her image like some helpless, horny teenager. And now that she’s back in Chicago, probably right down the Magnificent Mile, I have the sense my need for her is only going to get worse.
I lean back and let out a long breath, letting the memories fade until I’m completely relaxed. The tension is gone, but I know it won’t last long. I need to follow up that hard orgasm with another hot shower. Reluctantly, I get up and pull on my pants, then wander slowly through the house toward my master bath.
The doorbell rings when I’ve almost reached my room, which means someone is waiting in the elevator that opens directly into my home. Normally the attendant downstairs buzzes to let me know someone is on their way up. I turn on the security camera that allows me to look into the elevator when it reaches my floor.
Speak of the devil.
I immediately tap a code into the keypad next to the elevator doors. They whoosh open and Brooklyn Moss strides out like she owns the place.
She gives me a cursory glance, her eyes stopping to linger on my bare chest before she brushes past me and spins to face me, arms crossed.
“So,” she says tightly. “How to do you propose to pull off this sham of a marriage?”
Brooklyn
Chapter 8
Now that I’m standing in Luka’s penthouse, I’m not entirely sure how to play this. I’d been so sure of myself on the way over, but then he had to answer the door wearing nothing but a pair of clingy sweatpants, flashing that ridiculous six-pack and those broad shoulders I’ve never forgotten. It takes all my willpower to keep my eyes off the obscene bulge of his cock.
His skin is flushed and there’s a light sheen of sweat at his temples, as if he’d just been working out or something. Too bad I hadn’t gotten here earlier. I could have been his workout.
No, Brooklyn! I made a deal with myself that I wasn’t going to think about sex, or kissing, or Luka naked with me under him. None of that. This is going to be a professional meeting. I know what I want from this visit, and it’s not an orgasm.
I sweep my gaze over his chest, my hands twitchy with the need to trace the dips and lines there. Who am I kidding? An orgasm is exactly what I want.
He runs a hand through his hair. His eyes are lit up as if he’s happy to see me. “Hello to you, too. Does this mean you’ve changed your mind?”
“No.” I grip the strap of my purse with both hands and clear my throat. “I just came to talk. I’m…open to discussing your proposition some more.”
“In that case, have a seat while I get you a drink.”
I’m about to decline the drink, but I don’t. I might need something to calm my nerves.
He gestures to the end of the short hall where it opens into his living room. I swallow hard as I enter the room, remembering it from the last time I was here. I can’t indicate that I know anything about this place, though. He obviously doesn’t remember having me over, and I’m not about to burst that bubble.
I take a seat on the edge of the couch. “This is a beautiful place.”
His right brow hitches up and I feel like he’s assessing me. “Thanks.”
“Professionally designed, or is interior decorating one of your talents?”
There’s different artwork on the living room walls than when I was here last, large prints of antique architectural sketches, but they somehow lend a distinctly modern feel. I expect Luka to quip something about his talents resting solely in the bedroom.
“Designer. You would not want to see this place if I was left to my own devices.”
He puts up a finger to indicate he’ll be right back and disappears in the direction of the kitchen. I let out a deep breath and give myself a mental shake. I’m determined to stick to the script in my head. I have questions. We’ll talk about it. Make a plan, and then I’ll decide if an arranged marriage is something I really want to do.
Mateo’s words keep playing in my head. What if this is my only hope of getting a break? I hate having so few options, and like it or not, the most promising one on the horizon is becoming Luka’s wife.
He returns before I get too nervous and hands me a glass of wine. Cracking open a bottle of water for himself, he ignores the open expanse of the massive L-shaped couch and sits beside me, close enough that I get a clear whiff of his sexy male scent mixed with his high-end cologne.
“How did you know where I live?” he asks casually.
I tilt the wine glass to my lips, stalling for time. Shit. I have no idea how to answer that without giving myself away.
He shrugs as I swallow down half the glass. “You must have seen my address on my driver’s license when we were comparing mug shots.”
Relieved, I laugh, hoping I don’t sound as nervous as I think I do. “Yes. I did.”
He shifts a little and my pulse starts to race. “Okay. So let’s talk.”