Page 89 of From West, With Regret

“Is this you thanking me?” he asks, wrapping his hand around the back of my head.

“Not yet.” I smile against his mouth and gently push him back onto the floor.

Straddling him, I tuck my long, black hair behind my ear and lower my face until it’s just above his. I roll my hips, rubbing myself over his already swelling cock.

“This is my way of saying thank you,” I tell him, feeling the groan rumbling from his chest vibrate through my body.

His hands move to the bottom of my shirt. I raise my arms up over my head as he pulls it off. I’m sitting on top of him, bare from the waist up. Holding onto my hips, he flips us over until it’s my back against the floor instead of his.

“You’re welcome.” He shrugs out of his suit jacket, then loosens his tie.

Raising my arms above my head, he wraps his tie around my wrists, tying my hands together.

I’m writhing for him, unable to lie still. “I want you, West.”

“I want you, Dimples.” His voice is low, slithering over myskin like velvet. “You have no idea how bad I want to sink my cock into that sweet pussy of yours. Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

After picking up a piece of my charcoal, his heated gaze travels down the length of my body before stopping on my stomach. He flicks his eyes up to me with a mischievous, devious grin that makes my heart flutter. Pressing the tip of the charcoal to my stomach, he draws a line from the top of my belly button before sliding over to my breast. My mouth falls open. I’ve never felt anything like it. I’m tugging at the restraints around my wrists, arching my back off the floor. Wearing nothing but my leggings, I know I’m already soaking wet.

“You’re absolutely beautiful, London.” He admires his hand creating circles around my breast.

He’s drawing me, paying delicate attention to every detail, outlining my curves with precise measure. He circles the charcoal around the bottom swell of my breast before gliding it up over the mound and circling my already-peaked nipple. It’s tantalizing, sending shivers down the length of my body.

I let out a moan. “Oh, God, West.Please.”

Gasping for air, I look down as he drags the charcoal from my nipple to my chest, directly over my heart. Once there, he draws his initials.

W. K.

Then he draws a simple heart around it.

“I tell you you’re mine all the time,” he says, lifting his gaze to mine. He tosses the charcoal aside, climbs over my body, parting my legs with his knee. “But the truth is I’m yours.”

“West,” I breathe, unable to control my movements. “I am yours.”

My words catch him for a moment, stealing two beats of breaths he should be taking, then he starts moving again. He’s already lowering himself, grazing his chin between my breastsand down my stomach. His eyes have transformed, filled with hunger and need.

He presses his mouth over my center, kissing it, then licking it, and my eyes flutter shut as I tilt my head back into the hardwood floor.

“Eyes on me, Dimples.” West growls against my heated skin, fisting the top of my leggings before tugging them down. “Eyes on me.”

Yes, sir.

TWENTY-FIVE

WEST

I don’t think I’ve ever seen London this happy. At least not since we were kids.

We’re surrounded by Emily Rapture’s art, but all I can look at is London and the permanent smile she’s carrying with her around the gallery.

My girl.

She’s always been mine.

The bottom of her black sundress flares away from her body at the hip, swaying to the rhythm of her steps. I stay a few feet behind her, watching and admiring as she follows Emily throughout her gallery, who is explaining the inspiration behind each piece and the medium used. I don’t understand either of them half the time, but I see the beauty in Emily’s work. Although, I must admit, I love London’s more. What can I say? I’m biased.