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Work is steady, even if nothing looks like I thought it would five weeks ago. My lawyer is handling the copyright infringement claim Sofia filed, compiling all the supporting evidence to shut this down with facts. I’m trying not to let it consume me, especially since the bad press has mostly eased thanks to Marin’s PR skills. Well, that or my association with Gage and all the social media girlies who seem to adore him. I’ll take either.
I’ve wrapped up work on the short indie film and have just started work scoring a small-but-promising documentary series. It’s not my first preference, but the director is collaborative and it’s keeping me focused, which is exactly what I need while the rest of my career hangs in the air.
For now, I’m just trying to keep all the threads of my life from tangling. Family, work, PR updates, childcare coordination, dating. It’s a lot. Nights like tonight, surrounded by Gage’s family and wrapped in the warmth of the girls’ easy friendship are exactly what I need sprinkled in.
Later, when the penthouse is quiet, and it’s just me and Gage, we’re in his bathroom brushing our teeth, wrapped in towels after our shower. There’s an easy ritual to this now. The casual back and forth about what our plans are for tomorrow, the handoff of the toothpaste, the way he wipes the steam off the mirror with his forearm, water still dripping from his hair, his towel riding low on his hips. It’s nothing. It’s everything. It’s the intimate kind of ordinary I cherish. The kind that sneaks up on you when you’re not paying attention and makes your chest ache in the best possible way. The kind I’ve never had.
I move into him when we’re done, resting my hand on his hip. “So, it seems I got lucky that I started dating you in March rather than in, say, July.”
He looks down at me, already amused, fully aware I’m taking this somewhere. Gently tucking a loose wisp of hair behind my ear, he says, “How do you figure that?”
“I’ve calculated there are probably only two months out of every year when you’re not obsessing over football the way a teen girl goes full feral over Taylor Swift. February and March.”
“Full feral.” He says that like he can’t believe a smart woman like me uttered those words together. Then he dips his face and steals a rough kiss before bringing his heated eyes back to mine. “The only thing I’m going full feral over is you.” His hand slides over my ass, and the way he’s gripping me says he’s thinking about doing that right now.
“I think I may need that in writing if what I’ve learned about you tonight is true.”
He scoops me into his arms and it’s very clear he’s already moved on from this conversation. I can’t be sure, but I think I need to use the words “full feral” with him more often. I think they encourage his filthy ways.
After he throws me on the bed, andyes, it was a throw, he strips the towels from us, moves on top of me, and settles between my thighs. His hands find my body. His mouth finds mine. And there’s nothing gentle about the way he kisses me. It’s hungry and dark. A kiss meant to sayyou asked for feral, now hold on.
He does his absolute best to ruin me with his lips and then tears his mouth from mine like it physically pains him to stop, breath ragged, eyes wrecked with need.
I’m breathless. Lips swollen. Heart racing like he’s already fucked me instead of just kissing me.
“I’m serious,” I say, trying to catch my thoughts while watching him move down my body. “Just how much of your time will I be losing to football?”
He doesn’t answer me because he’s too busy getting his hands and mouth on my breasts in a very impolite way. He drives me wild with how he dedicates himself to my nipples, licking and sucking like this is the only thing he ever wants to do again. When he’s finally had his fill there, his eyes meet mine, blazing with the kind of lust that sends a girl right to the edge. “You really think football’s going to come before you?” He grazes his teeth over my nipple the way he knows Ireallylike. “You have no idea if you think that, Amelia.”
Holy gravelly voices.
I grip his biceps and arch into him without even meaning to.
That voice? Saying my name like that?
I won’t survive this night if he keeps talking to me like that.
“You want feral?” he demands, his mouth hot against my skin. “You want me ruined for anything but you?” His voice isa growl now, his hips grinding slow and hard against me. “I’ll fucking show you feral.”
He flips me over. Really, it’s more of a toss. Like he’s in a fucking hurry and doesn’t have time to wait for me to do it myself. Hands to my hips, he hauls me up until I’m on my knees, breath caught in my throat. “I’d cancel the whole fucking world to be with you.” He palms my ass, possessive and rough. “To bury myself in you.”
Then his mouth is right against my ear. “Tell me exactly how you want it. You want me to hold back?” His fingers slip between my thighs, teasing, denying. “Or do you want me to lose my goddamn mind and fuck you so deep you forget what gentle feels like?”
I’m a panting mess, so damn wet, losingmymind with the desperate need for him to just get inside me already.
“Don’t go shy on me, Princess. You said feral. So tell me what you want. Use that pretty mouth and tell me how to break you.”
I fist the sheets. “I want you to fuck me like you can’t control yourself. Like you’ll go insane if you don’t fill my pussy all up with your cum.”
His groan is guttural.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Amelia.”
Then he snaps.
He grips my hips and lines himself up, hard and hot, and in one rough thrust, he drives in.
I cry out, the sound sending him further over the edge.