Page 85 of The Price of Scandal

She laughed, delighted. My cock twitched between us, and I had the pleasure of watching her eyes widen.

“What’s more important to you, Derek? Your rules or your carnal urges?” she asked, her voice a low purr in her throat. I wanted to kiss my way up that slim column and nip at the skin behind her ear. I wanted to sample her, then gorge myself on her. She wasn’t scared or wounded anymore. She was a survivor.

“Having you is what I require to stay alive. A man could die of starvation.”

“Are you pressuring me?”

I shook my head. “I don’t mean to, but yes.”

“Sex isn’t some kind of spontaneous act. Not in my world,” she explained. “Blood tests, birth control, a controlled environment, a non-disclosure agreement for both parties.” She ticked off the items.

“Who knew billions of dollars could ruin the joy of sex?” I mused.

“You tease, but in my position, I have to be more careful than the average woman.”

“You fascinate me.”

“What? No ‘you know you can trust me’ statement?” she asked. She said it teasingly, but there was a heavy history there. One didn’t guard her position that carefully without having been burned before.

“Emily, the only thing I require from you is the permission to make you orgasm as many times as possible in whatever time you’re willing to give me.”

Her pupils dilated, and I felt her breath hot on my chin. I wanted to lean in and devour her whole in the midst of the glitz and glam and propriety.

“Tell me you don’t want me,” I whispered, begging her to lie to me. “Tell me you don’t want to know what it feels like to have me buried inside you, telling you how perfect you are, how good you feel. Tell me you don’t want to let me make you come until you’re boneless and breathless. Tell me you don’t want to be worshipped just for being a woman.”

“Jesus, Derek,” she breathed.

“I want you, Emily. But I don’t just want sex. I want to strip you down, layer by layer, and see you. Really see you.”

The pulse at the base of her throat fluttered under her skin. The molecules of air between our bodies were charged with electricity. I was aware of every breath she took.

“I don’t want to be seen. And I don’t know if I want to be fucked into oblivion by you,” she said, destroying my world with her words.

“With all due respect, darling, you’re a shit liar.”

Her grin was devastating.

“I’m not asking for a relationship. For an all-access pass to your life—”

“You already gave yourself that,” she complained.

I gave her a wolfish smile. “Can you blame me? I want to be close to you. So close I feel you close around me like a fist while you’re calling my name. Will you shout it? Whisper it? What will you look like when you let go?”

The color on her cheeks heightened.

“This is wildly inappropriate,” she reminded me.

“This is life, Emily. Two consenting parties who agree that we don’t require a fully functioning relationship in order to have a good time together.”

“What do we require?” she asked with equal parts interest and suspicion.

“Hours. Uninterrupted. Uninhibited. Unhindered.”

Her lips, painted in that glossy, tempting rose, curved.

“I need to think about it,” she said softly. Her hand toyed with the hair on my neck, and I reveled at the touch.

“When you figure out exactly what you need from me to make your answer yes, tell me.”