Page 29

“How so?”
“I’ve been reading a lot of sapphic romance lately, in hopes of turning myself gay. Or at least bisexual.”
“Really?” His tone is as dry as the Sahara. “And how’s that working out?”
“Not great,” I confess. “And Alex, though outrageously yummy, did not make me tingle.” I shrug. “I mean, I’m going to keep trying—men are the worst, and it would be great to have more options moving forward—but things aren’t looking good on that front.”
Before he can respond, the elevator doors open right into his apartment.
My eyes bulge as I take in the massive space, where our luggage is already waiting, tucked against the wall to our left near a console table that looks like it was carved out of a single chunk of California redwood.
“Woah, fancy much?” I ask, wandering into the room, taking in the giant living space with not three, but four couches, and a handful of decorative chairs, arranged in conversation areas near a vintage, pod-shaped fireplace in the center. It looks like there’s an equally massive kitchen to our left, but I can’t quite see around the corner, and I’m too busy taking in the million-dollar view.
Across the large, black shadow of Central Park, the skyline on the opposite side of Manhattan dazzles. The buildings rise like glittering sentinels against the darkening sky, the lights in their windows creating a constellation of artificial stars. Closer to ground level, the park’s winding paths are marked by the faint glow of vintage lampposts, weaving ribbons of light through the darkness.
The contrast is breathtaking—nature’s darkness embraced by the city’s perpetual glow—and I instantly know I’m going to love it here.
In this apartment, in this city…
“Not too shabby Mr. M,” I say, turning back to him with a grin. “Not too shabby at all.”
“Thank you, Ms. Murphy.” He’s already close, but then, suddenly, he’s closer, his hands on my hips, and I’m not about to complain. “I’m glad you approve of your prison.”
I bite my lip. “I think I’m going to enjoy it, actually. Your place is fucking beautiful.”
“You’re fucking beautiful, and during your time here, you’re mine,” he says, the possessive note in his voice sending a shiver down my spine.
But it isn’t foreboding.
No, it’s something far worse than that.
Those tingles I was hoping would zip across my skin when Alex flashed her baby blues my way? Well, they’re out in full force as Hunter begins to bunch the cotton skirt I put on for the plane in his hands, slowly drawing it up my calves.
I tilt my chin up, holding his gaze. “Yeah? So does that mean you don’t want me inviting Alex up for tea and cookies?”
“If she gets anywhere near your cookie, I’m challenging her to pistols at dawn.”
I start to laugh, but then he’s kissing me, a deep, hungry, laying-claim-to-what’s-his kiss that takes my breath away. His fingers tangle in my hair, tilting my head even farther back as his other hand splays across my lower back, pulling me closer.
He tastes like a hint of the champagne we had on the plane and desire, and smells like the cologne that’s been driving me crazy since the wedding. Every brush of his tongue against mine sends electricity racing down my spine, making my knees weak and my core clench with need.
When he finally lets me breathe, my lips are tingling and my heart thudding so loud I’m sure he can hear it.
“Someone’s feeling territorial,” I gasp as he guides me backward toward a sleek leather sofa.
The heat in his eyes as we move makes me feel like prey, but in the best possible way.
“Can you blame me?” My skirt is fully up around my hips now and my black lace panties bare to the conditioned air in the apartment. “After watching you seduce another woman with that little pout of yours, seconds before you tell me that you’re doing your best to get excited about eating pussy?”
My jaw drops as I exhale a laugh, my own pussy already aching for him. “I wasn’t seducing anyone! Take that back.”
“I will not.” He turns me suddenly, pressing me face-down over the arm of the sofa, making my breath rush out with an “oof” as I catch myself on the cool leather. A beat later my skirt is shoved up to my ribs. “Perhaps I need to remind you who you belong to. For now.”
The ‘for now’ sends a complicated mix of emotions through my chest, but they’re all overwhelmed by the desire pulsing between my legs as he rubs me through the soaked crotch of my panties.
“And who’s this for?” he asks, in a knowing way that makes it obvious he knows exactly who it’s for.
“You don’t have to invent excuses to fuck me,” I remind him, pushing back against his fingers. “If you can’t wait to be inside me, just say so.”