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The way she pleads my name goes straight to my dick, precum leaking in my sweats.
I’m not about to refuse her, but there’s one fact I need her to know. “I could pound you into the floor, and you’d love it. It shouldneverhurt. You understand?”
She nods emphatically. I’ll find out who he is, but it’s the last thing I want to hear right now. I’d much rather listen to her lusty moans and whimpers.
“Come for me, babe.” I double down, sucking and tonguing her clit while fucking her with curled fingers.
Her thighs quiver against my shoulders, and she grips my hair, keeping me where she wants me.
Acry of pleasure rips from her throat as she throws her head back in ecstasy. Her walls squeeze me tight, and then, to my utter shock and fucking awe, her pussy creams my fingers.
I lap it up like a starving man, not wanting to waste a single drop of her.
For as long as I live, I’ll never forget the sensation of her cum dripping down my inner wrist.
Her body settles, and when I glance up, she’s gaping at me with the same wonderment. A sense of urgency comes over me. I need her—every part of her.
I need to make her mine.
Our lips collide, and I tangle my fingers in her hair. She clings to me just as fiercely, our tongues intertwining and desperate moans resonating between us.
Maybe there is a god, because this girl is straight from Heaven.
Or maybe she’s the devil sent to claim my soul.
Regardless, she consumed every part of me the instant I laid eyes on her.
And no matter where the rest of our story leads, she’ll always be mine. I’ll always be hers.
Our souls will always be one.
FOUR
AURORA
Two Years Later
This is a mistake.
I can’t do this.
I have no choice. Ihaveto do this.
To make matters worse, I’m late. Late to meet my first substantial client in nearly two years.
My clicking heels come to a halt on the sidewalk. There’s no turning back now. There he is—leaning against an idling limo, arms crossed over his broad chest, giving off a vibe of annoyance as he drums his fingers on his bulging biceps.
Great.
And, of course, my date is gorgeous—in an older, unrefined, rugged kind of way. In an all-black suit with dark wavy hair, Ethan Blackwood oozes confidence, a demeanor that teeters on the edge of arrogance.
Why couldn’t he be ugly? Ease my crushing self-doubt and insecurity for once?
He’s tall, a handful of inches over six feet, and has the undeniable physique of a professional athlete, well-defined muscles stretching the fabric of his tailored suit. Since we’re attending a charity gala hosted by LA’s professional hockey team, the Huskies, I shouldn’t be surprised by any of this.
I set myself up for this disaster.
His surly behavior is almost endearing, but I’m far too nervous, my bubbly mask struggling to stay affixed. Reentering thedating scene after a disastrous relationship has me walking on eggshells. Add the high likelihood of seeing my worst mistake at the gala tonight, and I’m wavering on the precipice of a panic attack.