Page 162 of Sugar

And not for the usual reason.

Okay, not just that.

Because on my cushion at Gilded—literally mine, custom-made and brightly colored and everything—it wasn’t only horniness that was stealing my sanity.

It was curiosity.

I’d been waiting for Easton to tell me himself, but he hadn’t. It wasn’t the time or the place, but I’d reached the end of my rope.

Moving carefully so the cuffs didn’t dig in, I tugged Easton’s pant leg to get his attention.

His dark gaze shot down to me. “More champagne, mine?”

My Dirty Shirley he offered with a straw because he hated the syrupy taste. The champagne, though? That he delivered himself.

It wasn’t what I was going to ask, but I wasn’t stupid enough to say no.

He gripped my cheeks to hold my lips open as he spit the insanely expensive beverage into my mouth.

The rush of arousal was almost enough to distract me.

Almost.

I didn’t need to gesture him closer. In tune with me, he leaned forward and gave me his complete focus.

He always did that.

No matter what else was happening, I came first.

“What is it, mine?” he prodded when my silence stretched.

“When are you going to tell me about the trip?”

He sat back and blinked down at me.

Uh oh.

When I’d seen the trip reservations in his email, I’d assumed I would be going with him. It wasn’t one of the wild and impulsive conclusions I was prone to jumping to. It was a plausible inference backed by loads of precedents.

True to his promise at the beginning, Easton was greedy with my time. He never tried to play it cool. He’d moved me in between the fall and spring semesters because just staying with him nightly wasn’t enough. He still had me come to his office whenever I had a free moment. If I didn’t have enough for his liking, he came to me.

It seemed unlikely he was suddenly abandoning that single-minded obsession to take a solo trip to a remote bungalow in the Maldives.

Or so I thought.

But his shuttered expression was enough to send a flicker of doubt through my head.

“I planned to tell you after a nice dinner, but here is more fitting.” He ran a thumb across his jaw. “We needed somewhere to go on our honeymoon.”

I swallowed hard. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“But the email I saw was a reservation.”

“Correct.”

My heart and my clit thumped to the same beat. “In six months.”