Penthouse Prince

by Kendall Ryan

  With that, he pushes my legs all the way apart and dives into me, his tongue parting me with quick, furious strokes.

  Good God in heaven. It’s been ten years too long since this man was between my thighs. As he sucks and licks at my core, my body tenses against him, my breath quickening into short, shallow pants.

  “Lexington,” I say softly, hardly able to speak. “I’m so close.”

  He hums his approval against me, then sinks two thick fingers inside me, pulling a gasp from my lips. This man remembers everything about me, every curve and sensitive spot, and more importantly, exactly how to make me come undone for him.

  With one last crook of his nimble fingers, all the tension in my body comes to a head, spilling out of me in white-hot waves. The high lasts for a long, sweet moment, but before long, I’m back on earth, spread across his sheets in an exhausted heap.

  Before I have time to catch my breath, he’s joined me on the bed, an undeniable hunger flickering in his eyes.

  I know that look. It was in his eyes the first time I saw him again, all those weeks ago in the park. But back then, none of this made sense. It’s been weeks of this push and pull. Constantly slapping myself on the wrist for thinking there could be anything between us again.

  But now that he’s looking at me with those perfect, hungry eyes, none of it matters. It’s just Lex and me, right here, right now.

  I know what he wants, and I want it too.

  18

  * * *

  LEXINGTON

  Corrigan swore she wanted her first time to be with me, before I left for college. And though I was in love with her, I refused. Because while I did love her, I also knew that things would change once I moved away for school.

  I guess I should clarify. I refused—at first. But eventually I gave in. Because a naked and willing girl in your bed trumps everything else at age nineteen.

  Maybe I should regret what we did, but I can’t bring myself to. Our first time together felt like it was meant to be. It was perfect. Although nothing is as perfect as the way Corrigan feels in my arms right now.

  I never knew sex could be this good. I greedily drink in everything I’ve craved so desperately for the last ten years—Corrigan in my bed, naked beneath me, the bliss of her hot, tight body squeezing my cock, her soft, sweat-damp skin against mine, the air thick with the sounds of her pleasure. And her beautiful brown eyes, sweeter and warmer than melted chocolate, shining on me like I’m her whole world.

  But could I be? Could I be lucky enough to have that kind of love twice in a lifetime?

  With my mouth fused to hers, I slowly sink deeper. Her hips lift, finding an angle that makes her shiver with pleasure.

  She makes a sound that’s drenched in desire, and I love it. Then she moans out my name, and it’s the best thing I’ve ever heard.

  “Yes, baby. Fuck, it’s so good.”

  I can’t help but move faster, pushing her closer to her release. It’s all I want. I’ve waited years for this.

  She says my name again and comes apart, her body gripping mine in wave after wave of exquisite pleasure. I groan aloud as my orgasm slams through me.

  We collapse together, panting. I head from the bed to the en suite bathroom to remove the condom and wash my hands, and then I’m back where I belong—in bed with Corrigan.

  The need to keep her close still burns, and I gather her into my arms to hold her against me. As we cool off and our breathing slows, the peace of an indescribable afterglow descends, loosening tensions I hadn’t even known were gripping me, and everything is warm and serene and perfect.

  We lie there together for several minutes, and I lazily stroke her arm that’s draped over my chest. This feels right.

  Stay here with me.

  But before I can get the invitation out, Corrigan says, “I should probably go. If I’m around in the morning, Grier might ask questions that are hard to answer.”

  Unable to argue with that, I mutter, “Whatever you want.”

  I help her find all her clothes, watch her cover up the gorgeous body I just worshiped, and walk her downstairs.

  She opens the door, then says, “Well . . . good night,” with a smile I never want to stop looking at.

  Then she gives me a kiss, soft and lingering, and before I know it, she’s gone.

  And me? I go back to bed alone.

  • • •

  I wake up to something yanking my hair. Hard. Still half asleep, I let out a grunt of discomfort and confusion.

  “Hi, Daddy,” Grier says cheerfully, then starts tugging at my cheek as if she’s trying to stretch taffy.

  “Good morning to you too.” I pry off her tiny, surprisingly strong hand and sit up to look at her. Even after attacking me, she’s cute as hell, grinning and bright-eyed with her pale hair all mussed and sticking up in crazy directions. “I’m guessing you want breakfast.”

  Bobbing her head, she says, “Hungwy.”

  “Then let’s get you something to eat.” I stand up reluctantly, still able to smell Corrigan on my sheets. But that’s only a small consolation for my empty bed, the cold spot where she should be.

  Last night was mind blowing, and I hate that she had to sneak out instead of sleeping over. I wish we could have woken up in each other’s arms and cooked breakfast together, fed Grier, played with her—shared the closeness of all the little things that make up a life. But that’s not how it worked out, and today I’ll be doing all those things by myself. As usual. And I’m trying not to feel bitter about that.

  On autopilot, I heat up sausages, butter toast, wash grapes, and get Grier set up in her high chair, my head filled with nothing but Corrigan. What’s she doing today? How does she feel about last night? How soon can I see her again?

  There’s an easy way to find out the answers to all these questions, idiot. Grow some balls and ask her.

  “Daddy, icky!” Grier yells.

  I look up from my plate, which I notice is half-empty, even though I don’t remember eating anything. “What’s wrong?”

  “Icky!” She flings her toast away. Naturally, it lands butter-side down. At least the floor is tile in here.

  “We don’t throw food on the floor,” I say, then realize that I gave her buttered toast when I know damn well that she hates butter, which is, of course, insane. Butter is amazing.

  “Sorry, love bug. Daddy was distracted and made a mistake. I’ll fix it. But you should still use your words and be patient instead of throwing stuff, okay?”

  I give her fresh toast, her favorite jelly-topped version, and we finish breakfast without further incident.

  After Grier is dressed and absorbed in playing, I reach for my phone—then put it down, instinctively thinking, No, I shouldn’t act too clingy. Then I think, Fuck playing games, and pick it up again, but sit there frozen for a minute trying to figure out what to say.

  Finally, I just hit CALL and hope the right words come on their own.

  Corrigan picks up after a few rings. “Hello?”

  “Hey, it’s Lex.”

  “I know. Your number’s saved in my contacts.” Her voice sounds amused and . . . happy is the most fitting descriptor I can think of.

  “Right. Um, how are you?” I ask.

  “I’m fantastic.”

  “I agree,” I say, chuckling. “So you . . . about last night, you don’t . . .”

  “Regret it? No.” Her answer is quick and her tone absolutely certain.

  Relief floods through me. Thank God.

  Keeping my voice low, I say, “I’m glad to hear that. I had an incredible time, and I wanted to make sure you did too.”

  “I definitely did. But it’s sweet of you to check up on me.”

  I take a deep breath. “I know you said one date, but I thought I’d ask if you’d be interested in hanging out again? Maybe we could grab lunch?”

  Lunch is the most nonthreatening meal there is. She can’t say no to lunch, right?

  “That sounds nice. I’m actually
not doing anything today, if you have time.”

  “Yes,” I say immediately. I can figure out how to rearrange my schedule after I get off the phone. “How about noon at Hazel’s Cafe? I went there with Mom the other day, and the food was great.”

  “Sounds good. Text me the address, and I’ll be there.”

  • • •

  We take advantage of the warm, but not yet oppressive sunshine with a patio table. Not long after we order, who should pass by on his way out but the old man with the huge dog. Grier gasps and flails until Corrigan takes her out of her high chair and puts her down.

  They pet Hamburger together, with Corrigan occasionally delivering gentle admonishments when Grier gets too rough in her enthusiasm, but the dog wags his tail regardless. The sight of them together is calming. Corrigan really is amazing with kids.

  As we watch them enjoy themselves, the old man says to me, “Now I see where the little one gets her looks.”

  It takes a second to process what he means. Corrigan and I lock wide, alarmed eyes with each other.

  “She’s not Grier’s mother,” I say. “She’s . . .”

  She’s what? I don’t even know if this is a real date, let alone if I can say we’re dating.

  The old man clears his throat. “Oh, I see. Pardon me. I only meant to compliment your lady friend, not bring up any awkwardness.”

  I shoot a questioning glance at Corrigan.

  She just smiles, although she still looks a little uncomfortable. “It’s all right. Thank you.”

  “You all have a nice day, now,” he says as he leaves.

  For a minute, we just sit and listen to the sounds of the birds and the wind rustling the tree that shades our section of the patio. I place Grier back in her high chair while Corrigan wipes both Grier’s hands and her own with hand sanitizer.

  Smart.

  When our meals arrive, Grier immediately scoops up two fistfuls of oatmeal and stuffs them into her mouth, smearing most of it all over the lower half of her face. We can’t help chuckling despite the mess. Grier looks so proud, grinning at her attempt to feed herself.

  “Try your spoon,” Corrigan says, gently wiping off Grier’s nose and cheeks with her own napkin. “That might work better.”

  This time, the sight of her caring for Grier hits me even harder than usual. Something deep in the back of my mind whispers, What would it be like if that man had been right? The thought provokes a flurry of strange feelings—not good, exactly, but far from bad. And although I quash it, refusing to acknowledge anything, I can’t quite ignore it either.

  The rest of the meal passes in a blur of bliss. It sounds cheesy, but I love this. The lingering glances and stolen touches between Corrigan and me. And the sweetness of seeing the two most important ladies in my life so happy with each other.

  When Corrigan bumps her knee against mine, I dare to caress her leg under the table and am rewarded with a mischievous smile.

  She murmurs with a sultriness that makes my skin tingle, “After Grier’s down for her nap, maybe we could—”

  Grier grabs at Corrigan’s sleeve and shouts, “Mommy, juice!”

  The word crashes into us like a wrecking ball. The carefree atmosphere vanishes.

  Stunned, I turn to look at Grier. Corrigan also watches her, her eyes steady and intense, ready to hang on whatever she says.

  “Gimme juice.” Grier reaches for the cup that’s just out of her grasp.

  I fight to keep my voice calm. “I’ll get you more in a second, love bug, right after you tell me what you called her.” I point to Corrigan. “Please. Who is that?”

  Grier frowns at us as if she can’t believe how dense we are, then says again, too clear to deny it, “Cor-gan Mommy.”

  She hasn’t said that word before. But every time a cartoon mommy comes on the screen, I cringe, and have been waiting for this. Maybe to Grier, any woman who takes care of you, cleans your hands, and plays with you is called Mommy?

  It’s sweet and heartbreaking and impossible, and I have no idea what to say to Grier. How do you explain the truth to a two-year-old?

  Corrigan still hasn’t said a word. I tentatively touch her hand, only for her to pull it away. Under her breath, she says, “When we get back, we need to talk.”

  Fuck.

  I nod, feeling a little numb.

  We quickly finish our meals. I don’t know about Corrigan, but eating the rest of my food feels like forcing dry sand down my throat. Without another word, we drive home.

  Once we get Grier settled down to nap, I follow Corrigan back downstairs, where she says quietly, “We have to stop this, Lex. It’s not fair to Grier. We’re obviously confusing her.” Her voice cracks, and she looks down at the floor. “I can still be your babysitter, but that’s all I’ll be. No more sharing meals, no more going on outings together, no more sex. It’s not healthy.”

  I just stand there staring at her, struggling to think. What the hell can I say to that?

  I was just as disturbed to see Grier confused about who her mother was. I’ve always known I’d have to explain to her someday, when she was old enough and the time was right. But I always thought I had a long while, so I never worked out how best to approach that conversation. And now I’m afraid it’ll need to come sooner rather than later.

  At the same time, hearing Grier call Corrigan Mommy also triggered a wave of that sense of rightness, of how things could be, should be.

  And the idea of losing Corrigan again, this time before we were even really back together, makes me feel like punching something.

  Corrigan swallows hard, looking away and blinking fast. “I’m sorry. I have to go.” Before I know it, she’s turned and headed out the door.

  The sound of the latch closing jolts me. The shock of losing her now, as an adult who has much more at stake, is so much more painful than it was all those years ago.

  And I know it’s entirely my fault.

  19

  * * *

  LEXINGTON

  Careful not to wake Grier, I carry her to the car and strap her into her seat. As much as I’d like to tear off straight to Corrigan’s place, I have no idea how long our conversation will take or what kinds of things we’ll need to say that Grier shouldn’t overhear. So instead, I head to Mom’s.

  Dawn answers the doorbell, blinking in obvious confusion.

  “Lex? What a wonderful surprise,” Mom calls from her recliner.

  As I come inside with Grier conked out on my shoulder, I get close enough for Mom to see the somber look in my eyes, and her face falls.

  “Is everything all right?” she asks in a low voice.

  “Yeah, it’s fine,” I say softly, deciding it’s best not to get into it right now. “Sorry for not giving you any warning, but can you watch Grier for a couple of hours?” I ask, erring on the side of extra time, just in case. “I just, uh . . . one of my contractors just called, and I have to go meet him at the property immediately.”

  “Well, I’m always happy to see my grandbaby . . .” Mom looks at Dawn, her brow furrowed. “But would you be okay with that? I don’t want to impose.”

  “It’s fine with me,” Dawn says, her voice quiet like ours.

  “Thank you so much,” I whisper with a sigh of relief. “Sorry again. I’ll pay you double for these hours.”

  Dawn’s eyes widen. “You don’t have to d—”

  “Really, I insist. It only makes sense, since you’ll be looking after two people. And I promise I’ll come back as soon as I can.” Hopefully, I won’t be an emotional wreck when I do, or I’ll have to finally answer Mom’s questions about Corrigan and me.

  “Is there anything she needs?” Dawn asks.

  “I’ll bring her bag in, but right now she’s in the middle of her afternoon nap, so she should just sleep for most of the time,” I say as I pass her gently into Mom’s outstretched arms.

  As if on cue, Grier stirs, mumbling, “Gamma?”

  Mom chuckles softly. “Yes, sweet pea, Grandma’s
here.” She settles Grier in her lap and rubs her back soothingly until her breathing starts to slow again. “Shh . . . that’s a good girl. Sleepy time now.” Looking up at me, Mom whispers, “Good luck with your business. But in the future, try not to work so hard, okay? I worry.”

  “Thanks, Mom. I’ll try.”

  I’ll definitely need that luck—this meeting is the most important I’ve ever had. I head back out the door and shut it quietly.

  I drive to Corrigan’s apartment and check the labels on the mailbox by the entrance when I arrive. After locating her name, I stride up the stairs two at a time to her apartment. I knock twice and wait.

  Dressed in a pair of cotton shorts and an oversized T-shirt, Corrigan pulls open the door. “Lexington?” She squints against the afternoon sunlight. “What’s going on? Is something wrong?”

  The words leap out of my mouth. “What if I want it all?”

  She blinks at me. “What are you—”

  My grand gesture of pleading for her heart is sure off to a roaring start.

  Trying again, I say, “What if I want to make what Grier said come true? What if I want us to be a family and share a home together?”

  Corrigan’s eyes fly open wide with shock. “You . . . you don’t know what you’re saying,” she chokes out, even as she takes a half step closer. “You couldn’t even handle the responsibility of having a girlfriend back when I knew you, let alone—”

  “I’ve changed,” I say, willing to beg her to believe me. “I’ve had ten years to grow up, to think about what I missed out on. To miss you. I’m not some commitment-phobe, immature boy anymore. I’m a man now, and I’ll act like one.”

  Taking a chance, I grab her hand.

  “I know what’s on the line here, Corrigan. I lost you once, and I never want to feel the pain of that again. More than just playing house, I want you in my life. Move in with us. Be Grier’s mommy. Be my everything.”

  I’ve just bared my soul and laid my heart on the line, and the heartbeats that tick past silently are filled with uncertainty.

  She looks away, her eyes glistening, worrying her lip so fiercely I’m afraid it might bleed. But she doesn’t pull her hand out of mine. “I don’t . . . how would that even work? How do we know it’d be okay?”