Page 180 of Unconditionally Yours

His hand slides under my skirt and settles high and possessive at the meat of my thigh.

I’m purring. I might be glowing.

“She’s bringing in Hansen and Petergrind. Same deal. If we drop ours, they drop theirs,” Walter says.

I melt like butter in a backseat summer. His fingers are painting lazy circles into my skin and I’m barely holding my atoms together.

“Old charges too?” Rhys asks, still sounding competent. The restraint on this man.

“All charges,” Walter confirms. “I’ll draw it up. Contact Benji, Jett, and Miss Darling. Should all be closed by week’s end.”

“Miss Darling says yes,” I sing into the receiver.

Rhys nuzzles my temple.

When he hangs up, I spin in his lap, thigh-highs against wool, sundress bunching around my waist like a bow on a bomb.

“So,” I ask sweetly, “does this mean I don’t have to finish out the six weeks with you?”

He raises a brow. “You done with me now that you’ve used my body?”

“Okay first of all, you used my body, and I allowed it like the generous creature I am. Second, yes. I’m done with journaling. Boundaries. The stupid behavior rules you push like you’re not also a chaos beast.”

“You mean standards for decent human behavior?”

“Yeah. Those. Gross. Dead to me. Can we be done?”

“Yes,” he says, tone warm and dangerous. “How would you like to proceed, Miss Darling?”

“Is it rude to celebrate my freedom with a little multi-boyfriend victory orgy?”

He gives me a look so dry it could blister paint. “I clearly haven’t broken you properly if that’s your first thought.”

“Not right now, obviously. First you have to pet me and lick my bite marks. Then tomorrow. Then we can plan the group festivities.” I grin, lean in, and whisper, “Can I stay under your desk and keep your cock warm while you work?”

His jaw twitches. “Jesus Christ.”

“Boundaries gone, remember?” I’m already slipping down between his knees.

He stops me with a fist in my hair, breath sharp. “Delilah. I can’t work like that.”

“Then don’t work. Be feral with me. Come on. Live a little.”

He groans, but it’s all fondness and fire. He digs into a drawer and pulls out a slim black card. Slides it into my hand.

I flip it. It’s an address. His address. Scrawled in his handwriting.

“Don’t get glitter in my office, pet.”

“Yes, Sir.” I clutch it to my chest and leap to my feet because I’ve got a mission. His house. My masterpiece.

As I reach the door, he calls after me, “Tell Benji and Jett you’ll be unavailable tonight.”

I grin. “What should I tell them I’m doing?”

He smirks. “Recovering.”

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