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by Tessa Bailey

  I don’t want another man opening the door for her, so I climb out and circle the car, passing along instructions to the bell hop to bring our luggage to the check-in counter. Teresa is already exiting the car when I reach her side, earning her a growl of disapproval. She only gives me a pinky wave in response, before turning to move the passenger seat forward to let out Southpaw. He sniffs Teresa’s hand and nudges her thigh, then bounds over to me, tunneling between my legs.

  “Someone is excited,” Teresa says, passing me on her way to the lobby. When we draw even, she slides a glance down to my lap. “I suppose the dog is, too.”

  “Cruel woman,” I return on a low laugh, adjusting my cock, which has been hard for so long today, I forgot to hide it. “Technically I was supposed to call a doctor two hours ago.”

  “Poor baby.”

  She continues on her way toward the entrance, swishing her tight little ass around, my dog at her heels like a faithful soldier. The image gives me no choice but to catch up, wrap an arm around her waist and draw her back against my lap. “Just so we’re clear, I love being hard for you. Feels like an honor.”

  “Feels more like an eggplant,” she breathes, wiggling her butt. “Did you book one room or two?”

  “Both. I booked a suite with two bedrooms.”

  “Cheeky.”

  I press tighter against her bottom. “Interesting choice of words.” Her husky laughter turns every head in the lobby when I lead her inside. “Right this way, ma’am.”

  “Unbelievably, I think I prefer you calling me woman.”

  “You’ll be hearing that plenty.”

  She hums in her throat. “You know what happens when you assume.”

  “Enough with the butt talk. You’re obsessed.”

  She claps a hand over her mouth, but not before she laugh-snorts, drawing even more attention. Pretty sure my smile is the definition of shit-eating, as I throw an arm around her shoulder and stroll toward the check-in desk.

  The way Teresa leans into me is almost enough to make me forget about the missed call on my phone.

  Almost.

  *

  My apartment in Manhattan has an unobstructed view of New York Harbor, heated floors, a twenty-four-hour concierge and a rooftop swimming pool. I purchased the place without a viewing and didn’t set foot inside until a week after I bought it, because I was working around the clock. I can still remember pressing a hand to the living room window, ships passing through my fingers, and wondering how the hell I got there. None of the furniture or artwork was familiar. It was a stranger’s home. Sometimes I worked longer hours so I didn’t have to go home, which is one of the reasons I didn’t spend enough time with Southpaw.

  Other times, I would stand on the roof deck and command myself to appreciate what I’d earned. To stop behaving like some poor little rich boy, when there were so many people out there who would kill for what I had. Sometimes, I could manage to feel satisfied for a few hours, before I started to feel anxious and left. Some days it only took a few minutes. Bottom line, though, I haven’t felt right in a long time. Like I wasn’t some imposter who didn’t belong. My unique brand of high-risk, high-return investing put my fund on the map, right? Made it viable? So why did taking credit feel wrong?

  Everything I built was for someone else.

  My heart was never in it. Only my head.

  Having lived as an imposter so long, I kind of understand Teresa’s reaction when we enter the room. Because even by my standards, the suite I booked is fucking impressive. Teresa stops on the threshold and backs up, like she’s getting ready to bolt, so I pick her up and carry her inside, choosing to ignore the bell hop’s choked laugh as he follows with our luggage cart.

  There’s a panoramic window overlooking the golf course and the wide body of the lake beyond. To the right is a sliding glass door leading to an opulent outdoor space, complete with a bubbling hot tub and lounge area, flickering lanterns sitting on every available surface. White curtains flutter in the summer breeze blowing in through the open slider. Straight ahead is a sunken living room with a suspended television and enough cattle-patterned throw pillows to drown in. Off to the left is a hallway with a series of doors I assume to be bedrooms. They’re right across the hall from one another.

  “Can I get you anything else, sir? Ma’am?”

  The bellman’s interruption makes me realize I’m still holding a limp Teresa in one arm. Setting her down, I slide a bill out of my pocket and hand it to the bellman. “That’s all. Thank you.”

  “Sure. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “Great.”

  A second later, the door bumps shut. When time continues to tick by and Teresa doesn’t turn around or say anything, I start to consider that I’ve made a mistake. I would have kept her safe in a run-down motel, same as I will here. Yeah, more vigilance would have been required, but at least she wouldn’t feel like a fish out of water. I know what that’s like, dammit.

  “I need to make a phone call,” she says finally, rubbing her bare arms as she turns around. “Just want to check in with my brother.”

  “Sure.”

  She starts toward the hallway but stops short. “Um. Which one…”

  “Your pick.”

  There’s no logical explanation for why I follow her—clearly she needs to be alone—only that it’s a natural, undeniable response to her withdrawing from me. It’s a power surge in my blood, shooting me into step behind her. There’s a slight tensing of her neck, but she doesn’t turn around, doesn’t break stride as she pushes into the right bedroom at the hallway’s end.

  With one foot inside the bedroom, she’s already scoffing. Probably because it’s a pink, over-the-top cowgirl theme. Without stopping to acknowledge the room beyond a sweeping glance, she continues to the bathroom, tossing me a fired-up look over her shoulder. If my dick was hard before, it’s a heat-seeking missile now.

  “You want me to come after you.”

  She keeps walking, her ass swishing left to right beneath her red dress in an absolute testament to God’s creative talents. “How’d you come up with that?”

  I follow her into the dark bathroom, where she’s all ready to face off, chin up, hands fisted at her sides. “When a woman like you wants a man to fuck off, she tells him.” When I step into her personal space, she doesn’t back away. A shudder goes through her when our bodies brush. That telling reaction tempts me to tangle my hand in the hair at her nape and tilt her head back. To turn her until she’s pressed to the marble vanity, her mouth breathing in quick puffs up at mine. “Tell me to fuck off. Or tell me to fuck you. Dealer’s choice.”

  Her lashes flutter down, but not before I catch a hint of conflict in her eyes. “And if I’m not ready for either?”

  I’ve never pressured a woman for sex in my life. I’ve also never wanted to be inside one so goddamn bad I felt my sanity slipping. The fact that she asked the question at all keeps me in check, though. Sex between us is going to be right. Filthy, with a lot of swearing, but right. In the meantime, I’m not going to forfeit the chance for a preview. Not when I sense she needs something from me and I’m turning into a madman with the need to touch her. “You want me to show you how it would be between us?”

  “I don’t want the fantasy right now. It’s too real after—”

  “Seeing the room. This place. I get it.” Regret collides with my lust and now? Now I’m not just horny, I’ve got an undeniable urge to correct my misstep. “Just you and me right now, Teresa. No games.”

  After a moment of studying my face, she nods.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Teresa

  Just you and me right now, Teresa. No games.

  Will has no idea how much I needed to hear those words. They’re like a double shot of absinthe to my system, loosening my muscles and inhibitions, making me feel like I’ve just been made boneless inside a sauna. Now I’m walking out on shaky legs, skin slick and hot…and there’s a man waiting to loosen that on
e. Final. Knot. The one tight as a bow in my loins. Yes, loins. I’ve never been more aware of that sinful southern region since meeting Will, and I’m throbbing there.

  When I give my permission, his eyes flash and then I’m being turned, turned just as I hoped I would be, to face the sink. We’re just Will and Teresa right now. Not boss and call girl. Not a hedge fund manager and the liar luring him back to New York. We only exist inside this garish, overdone bathroom, and I’m letting myself believe that for the next little while.

  Will’s fingers are still threaded through the hair at the back of my skull. He holds me there for long seconds, like an intermission to let me know the second half of the play has begun and he’s taking control. Slowly, so slowly, he tilts my head to the left, letting his mouth hover over that sensitive flesh, while his hips dip and press to mine, wedging me hard against the sink.

  A whimper falls from my mouth, my hands slapping down on the marble. And that’s when he begins to assault my neck. There’s no leaning into his lips or pulling away when the raking of his teeth and tongue becomes too much. No, I can’t move because my hair is held prisoner in his grip. There’s simply no coming up for air, so I gasp and shift between two immovable objects, his mouth relentless, marauding from the curve of my shoulder to my ear over and over, until I’m sobbing.

  “Will…”

  His voice is pure cigarettes and sex against my ear. “If we were going to fuck, I’d wait until you said my name just like that, like you can’t believe how wet I’m making your pussy…” His hand disentangles from my hair to drag down my spine, sending my head pitching forward on a moan. “Then I’d lift your skirt to see if I’m satisfied with the damage.”

  I arch my back, giving him permission with my eyes in the mirror. He takes it with a growl, gathering my hem in his fists and leaving the material bunched at my waist. Now, when he presses in against my nearly bare backside, there’s no mistaking the oversized bulge. It parts my cheeks and makes itself at home, like a king settling into his throne.

  “If I have you bent over the bathroom counter, it’s because you don’t want to wait. Not even for my tongue to give your pussy the same treatment I just gave your neck. So I’d give you exactly what you wanted.” I can barely hear him, my voice is rasping in and out so loud, so I try to hold it in, but it bursts out of me almost immediately. Because I need—need—to hear what he’s going to say next. Will angles his upper half away and I hear the sounds of metal ticking and tinkling together.

  His belt.

  He reassures me with a kiss to my shoulder that he remembers the boundary I set, but that breezy balm of comfort only lasts a split second, before leather slaps the surface of the sink—whap—and slides, flat side up, in front of me. There isn’t a hint of warning before it pulls taut. So taut, it bites into the lowest section of my belly and hips, which should hurt, right? But no. Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the Angel Gabriel, no. It’s the pressure I didn’t even know I needed. The move jerks my bottom tighter into Will’s lap and my gasp is still hanging in the air when he bends me forward, over the sink—the belt positioned between me and the marble.

  My expression is one of such naked, desperate lust, I duck my face to hide it, but the sight of Will’s fists wrapped around the ends of the belt, like reins, drains any self-consciousness from my body. If he has the balls to truss me up like a horse, I can summon the nerve to enjoy it.

  Enjoy it?

  My breasts have almost completely fallen out of my dress, I’m so winded from the intensity of the man behind me. With his shadowed face, curled upper lip and corded biceps, he’s every movie villain I’ve ever secretly been attracted to. My panties are uncomfortably wet and I can’t do anything about it, except shift around on my toes and suck wind, waiting to see what he’ll do next.

  “This is the part where we would both remember the condom,” Will says in that scorched earth voice. I’m so hypnotized by the dark rhythm of his tone, I’m taken off guard once again when he thrusts his hips hard, yanking back on the belt at the same time.

  Oh my God. Oh my God. My breasts finally give up the battle and fall out of my dress, the rush of metallic bitterness in my mouth telling me I’ve broken the skin of my lower lip by biting down too hard. None of it matters, though, because Will is talking again and I’m dangling on the end of a string he’s holding.

  “Yeah, we’d remember protection at the last second, wouldn’t we, baby? I’d have my cock in one hand, your throat in the other. I’d be pressed right up against that wet hole, ready to finally pump myself into it. To lose myself while you hold on to the counter for dear life.” Another harder drive of his hips shocks a moan from deep inside me. “There would be a few seconds where we’d look at each other in the mirror, trying to decide if stopping to suit up was worth waiting to fuck. Tell me I’m wrong, Teresa.”

  I shake my head and it loosens my thoughts, my inhibitions even more. Did I really just say no to that question? Yeah, I did. There’s nothing but total honesty and…exposure happening in this bathroom and I’m all in. I couldn’t lie or be anything but the barest version of myself right now if I tried.

  “We’d think of what would happen if we left the rubber off. That moment where I empty inside you and there’s no turning back.” His hands twist in the ends of the belt, his hips tilting and rolling, his mouth falling open on a guttural groan. “Would that moment excite you?”

  “Yes,” I whimper, moving my backside in circles. “I can’t help it.”

  “Good. I’m inside you bare, then. Right. Fucking. Now.” His open mouth lands on the curve of my neck, giving it that purposeful treatment from before, which I didn’t even realize I was craving like a drug until his teeth abrade my sensitive skin and my clit begins to throb like it’s sore and ticklish at the same time. “I’m not going to last as long without that layer between my cock and your tight little pussy, so my fingers are going to help get you there. And that won’t be very hard, will it? Nope.” He shakes his head, raking me with lust. “Look at your stiff nipples. A strong wind would make you come.” His tongue licks up the side of my neck, those teeth catching my earlobe. “Someone is a very horny girl.”

  “Look who’s talking,” I manage, my voice shaking along with my thighs. “You’re just as bad.”

  “I’m worse, baby. A million times worse.” Will drops the belt but keeps me flush to his front with strong, desperate hands, sliding them up to cup and squeeze my breasts, back down to clutch my hips. “I’m so damn deep inside you right now,” he rasps into my ear, beginning tight, measured thrusts against my bottom. “I go slow at first, dragging my cock in and out of you, trying to find a way to fuck you without coming. But you make it so hard, don’t you? Your sexy porn star tits are bouncing around and you’re pouting at me in the mirror, begging to get it rough.”

  I am. I am. I want nothing more than to be bent over this sink and treated without mercy. I’m not sure where I’m storing that final, remaining ounce of my earlier resolve, but I call on it now, searching for a way to completion without giving in to what my body craves. “Touch me,” I sob, writhing my backside on that thick part of him. “Please, Will.”

  Before the words are out of my mouth, his hand wedges in between me and the sink, no-nonsense fingers tucking into my panties. Two fleshy pads trap my clit and gently squeeze, sucking the air out of my lungs, blinding my eyes. My body jerks like I’ve been slapped with medical paddles. Lord oh lord oh lord. I’m…can I even call this an orgasm? I’ve had those. They didn’t make me feel like I was dying and being resurrected at the same time. Or like every nerve in my body was spinning in mad circles, vibrating and colliding in a frenzied dance.

  “…Will. Will. Will…”

  How many times have I said his name? He’s growling louder into my neck with every recitation, his two incredible fingers now beginning to thrum my clit, teasing my blood back to a fever pitch. And all the while, he rocks into the separation of my bottom, fucking me through his jeans and my thong, up again
st the sink. “I’m starting to get desperate now. Slamming harder and harder into your little body. Getting pissed when I hit the end. You don’t like not taking all of me, either, so you try to spread wider. Don’t you?”

  As if my muscles have decided Will is the master they must obey, my stance inches wider and I arch my back, moaning at the ceiling when his drives turn into grunting, hunger-driven grinds into my bottom. Will is using that forbidden curve to get off, and just when I think nothing about that could be hotter, he dips down and comes back up, that humongous bulge pinning the underside of my wet, feminine flesh to the sink, pumping, pumping against it, those fingers continuing to worry my clit up and down.

  “Take a good look in the mirror, Teresa. Look at us. Look what I’m doing to you.” When I don’t move fast enough, he threads powerful fingers into my hair and tilts my head back, forcing me to acknowledge my pink, dewy skin, my slack mouth, my breasts that shake every time his hips punch up and forward, dragging denim over the twisted, cotton thong covering my drenched, sensitive flesh. “You’re giving yourself up to me and I’m taking it—keeping it—like a greedy motherfucker. Do you understand?”

  Another orgasm is swelling south of my belly, constricting muscles that are still sore from the first time. What he’s saying is important and I shouldn’t make decisions that involve my brain right now, but Will seems to own that, too, at present. I think I want him to own everything when we’re together like this, bodies straining, hands grasping for purchase. “Yes. Yes, I understand.”

  “Good.” His fingers move faster on my clit, so fast, so fast that I scream when the climax strikes, like bowling pins at the end of an alley, my senses scattering in every direction. I try to slump over the sink and squeeze my thighs together to combat the intensity of what’s overtaking me, but Will doesn’t allow it. His fingers in my hair keep me facing the mirror so I can watch the bliss crash down on me. “You’re the most beautiful woman on the planet,” he rasps, staring at me from beneath heavy lids. “Jesus Christ.”