“Is it still the escape for you?”
He nods. “Absolutely. It’s how I process things—emotions, problems, big decisions.”
“What are you processing now?” I ask.
He sits forward, and I let go of him. He spins around on the bench, sees that I’m still naked, and his eyes flare, widen, heating. He captures my ass in his hands, chin on my diaphragm, eyes turned up to lock on mine. “Us.”
“That’s something to process?”
He nods, chin bobbling against my belly. “Yeah.” A silence. “I’m falling in love with you, Makayla. And…I don’t know how to be in love. I don’t know what that means, or how to do it.”
I swallow hard, fingers in his hair. “Me either.” I want to look away, because the honesty and vulnerability in his eyes are almost hard to see, in a man otherwise so strong and arrogant and dominant. “I’m falling in love with you too, and it scares the shit out of me.”
“How did this happen, Makayla?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. I really don’t.”
“The thing that makes it feel…more real, I guess, is that I was falling in love with you before we slept together.”
I laugh. “I know. I think I gave up the fight to not sleep with you mainly because I knew I was falling for you, and it seemed stupid to be in love with you and not sleep with you.”
His hands knead my backside, caressing and exploring. “That does seem silly, doesn’t it?”
I brush at his hair. Cup his cheek. “Very silly.”
He blinks up at me, smirks. “Will you do something for me?”
I shrug. “Sure. What?”
“Stay here, just like this, for ten seconds.”
I chuckle. “Okay, easy enough.”
He leaves the bench, heading for the bedroom. “Ten seconds. Don’t move.”
He’s as good as his word, and returns in moments, resuming his seat on the bench, hands playing with my buttocks, chin resting on my diaphragm.
“What did you do?” I ask.
He shrugs. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
“Fine, have your secrets, then,” I say.
He stares up at me for another long moment, and then his hand slides down from my ass to my thigh, and he gently lifts and settles my left foot on the bench. He nudges my thigh away, opening me. I gasp, hiding a smile, keeping my fingers in his hair.
“Yeah?” he murmurs.
“Yes, please.”
He needs no more encouragement. His tongue finds my wet center, and soon he’s not just tasting me, teasing me, but lashing me to a frenzy. He holds me in place with his hands on my ass, squeezing, clutching, pulling me tighter against his mouth, and I ride his face to an orgasm I can’t even breathe through, coming apart so hard under his mouth that I nearly collapse.
He reaches into his pocket and produces a condom, makes quick work of rolling it on. I wait, and then grasp him in one hand, guide him to me, nestle his thick erection at my opening, staring down at him with my lower lip caught in my teeth, heart caught in my throat, eyes welling with emotion.
I sink down on him, and we both groan at the same time.
He leans back against the piano keys, and I grip his shoulders as he holds my ass and lifts me up. I rise on him, and he lifts, and his mouth sears against my breasts, and then he lets me fall, and I slam down hard, and his grunt is rough and hoarse.
There is no rhythm to this—it’s hard, rough, fast. Uncontrolled. He grunts, and I scream. I moan, and he snarls. I whimper, and he whispers my name.
It’s quick. Fresh off of one orgasm, it takes me less than half a dozen thrusts of his huge beautiful erection inside me to bring me to the cusp again, and our eyes are locked on each other, moving together, in thrall with one another. I rake my fingernails down his chest as I come, leaving eight parallel red tracks on his skin, and I growl his name in my throat again and again as I fall into pieces on top of him. He thrusts through my climax, each movement drawing clanking, tinkling notes from the piano as his back moves against the keys. His eyes never leave mine, and I rise and fall on him through my climax and to his own—slamming harder on him to bring it out of him. To get more and more. To make him come harder and harder, until our joining is a syncopated symphony of tinkling piano keys and slapping flesh and ecstasy-lost voices.
When he comes, I feel him fill the condom, and bury his face between my breasts. I’m writhing against him until we’re both sweaty again, and frantic.
Finally, we’re both done, and I rest my cheek on the top of his head, and his face is still buried in my cleavage, and I think he would live there if he could.
I lift up, pressing my breasts together around his face, laughing. “You like my boobs, I take it.”
He groans, nuzzling them. “Love 'em.” He replaces my hands with his, cupping them. “They’re the best. Literally, the best, ever.”
“Well, they’re yours now.”
“Not yet they aren’t.” He stares up at me. “I know it sounds crazy, and maybe it is, considering how we feel. But, Makayla, I don’t want you to marry me for the arrangement anymore. It would’ve worked if we were two strangers who only sort of tolerated each other.” A pause. “But now that I know we’re falling in love, marrying this soon seems kind of…”
I put my fingers over his mouth. “I still want to.”
A slow blink. “You do?”
I nod. “It’s still crazy, and honestly crazier than it was when it was supposed to be a fake thing, and temporary. But I want to.”
He sucks in a deep breath. “Would you still want it to be temporary?”
I shake my head. “No, Pax, I wouldn’t.”
A grin. “Funny enough, I think this will piss off Mom more than anything else could.”
“So win-win all around?” I laugh. “Get married, keep your family connections, plus you get a wife who actually loves you, and piss off your mom.”
He blinks hard. “Wife.”
I choke. “Husband.”
“You’ll say I do?”
I nod. “And I’ll mean it. It’s batshit crazy, Pax. I mean, agreeing to marry you for what amounted to financial reasons was crazy enough. Wanting to marry you when I’ve known you for a matter of months is even crazier.”
He rubs the tops of my thighs. “You really want to?”
I nod.
“Why?” he asks.
I shrug. "It’s hard to put it into words.” A pause as I think. “I’ve worked nonstop my whole life. Done the responsible thing. Been the breadwinner, the hardest worker in the room, the one willing to take extra shifts. I’ve never had a serious boyfriend because I haven’t had time. I haven’t been willing to let myself fall for anyone, because I couldn’t handle the thought of him leaving me the way my father did, and because if I got my heart broken, I’d fall apart, and Mom needed me too much to let that happen.” Another pause. “I’ve always done the responsible thing, the selfless thing. It’s all been for her, for Mom. This would be for me. It’s reckless, it’s crazy, it’s probably kind of stupid, but I want it. I want you. I want us. I want to do this because it’s selfish.”
“Does she know?”
I nod. “She told me to give you a chance. To do something for me.”
“Then it’s not selfish. It’s taking care of yourself, for once.” He smiles at me. “You just have to let me take care of you.”
“You want to take care of me?” I ask.
He nods. “Very much.”
“Then give me a bath, feed me, fuck me again, and then sleep with me.”
A grin spreads across his face. “I think that sounds like you taking care of me.”
“Exactly.”
That’s exactly what he does: he draws me a hot bath, and we soak together in the scalding hot water until we’re sweaty, and then we rinse off in his shower.
Or, at least, it starts out like that.
What really ends up happening is I get greedy. He gets worked up in the shower, scrubbing me wi
th a bar of soap, and I can’t help but notice.
When I’m clean, I take the soap from him, lather him up starting at his shoulders, working my way down. Slowly, I scrub his chest, and then his abs, and then of course to get his thighs and ass clean, I have to go down to my knees.
I grin up at him. “I mean, since I’m down here…” I murmur.
His eyes widen. “Makayla, Jesus, you’re insatiable.”
I stroke him with both hands, eyes on his. “You have no idea.”
I take him into my mouth, and he gulps loudly. “I think I’m getting the message.”
The only way to really communicate the enormous intensity of my reawakened sex drive is to show him, and so I do. Slowly, at first, and then more vigorously. I take him deeper, using my mouth more and my hands less, and I don’t let him put me off, even though he tries to tell me I don’t need to do this, he doesn’t expect it, he’d rather be inside me.
I ignore him.
He cups my cheeks, forcing me to stop. “Makayla. Shit—stop. I want you. I need to be inside you.”
I let him slip out of my mouth. “You are inside me,” I murmur.
“Not what I meant.”
“You’ll get that again too.” I smirk up at him, my grin teasing and arrogant. “Can’t keep up, Paxton?”
I stroke him with both hands, waiting for his answer.
The water is lukewarm, but I don’t care.
“I can keep up. I can take everything you have to give, and still want you again.”
“Everything I have to give?” I echo.
He nods. “Everything.”
“Then what I want to give you is this,” I say, and plunge my mouth down around him again.
He groans, falling backward against the marble, hips tipped forward. “Fuck, Mack. Okay, okay. It feels too good to make you stop anyway.”
He takes a lot longer, this time, and I’m okay with that. I take my time, hands and mouth slow and soft around his thick manhood, tasting his essence, feeling him throb and hearing him gasp. He reaches down, takes my hands in his, and we tangle fingers, and it’s only my mouth now, taking him and sucking and licking and feeling him tense and throb until he’s gasping helplessly.
I taste his release on my tongue, and he whispers my name raggedly through it, using every ounce of his restraint to hold still and let me take him to the end of his ecstasy.
When he’s finished, I let him fall free of my mouth, and he’s dangling limp, and his breathing is harsh, and the water has gone cool, I smile up at him.
“Jesus, Makayla,” he gasps. I stand up, and he turns off the water.
He wraps me in a towel, and takes another for himself, and then leads me to the bedroom and I lie down, the towel around my body.
“What was that for?” he asks, sitting on the bed beside me.
I shrug. “I wanted to.”
“Why?
I blush. “I saw you. In the bed at your mom’s hotel. You were naked, and I was going to clean the room. You weren’t entirely covered by the sheets, and…” I bite my lip. “And you were having a morning erection.”
He grins. “I knew you’d seen something.”
“Oh, I saw something all right.” I groan. “It’s haunted me ever since.”
“Haunted you? Why?”
“Because the first thing I thought when I saw that monster cock of yours was how much fun it would be to blow a man hung like you.” I can’t help the grin. “I squashed the thought real fucking fast, but I thought it.”
“And?” He smirks at me. “Is it everything you’d hoped it would be?”
“All that I’d hoped it would be, and more.”
He leans over me, kisses me. “Now, I feed you.”
The next hour or so, we chat and snack, lounging in his bed, naked but for towels—our bed, I realize.
I’m sleepy, and Paxton brings me up against his side, snuggles me close, my head on his chest. I’m still horny, still ready for more, for him, but my body has other ideas.
“I still want you,” I murmur.
He laughs. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I force my eyes open to meet his. “Neither am I.”
I wiggle my towel off, toss it aside, and he does the same, and then he settles the thick comforter on us, and I rest my head on his chest and our fingers are tangled and I hear his heart beating under my ear, and it’s all almost too much.
“Makayla, I—”
I reach up, touch his mouth. “Shush. Not yet.”
He laughs past my fingers. “No?”
I shake my head sleepily. “No.” I twist my face to kiss his skin where shoulder and chest meet. “Too sleepy. Too emotional. Too worn out.” I gaze blearily up at him. “I’m not ready for that, yet.”
He nods. “Okay. But it’s true.”
I nod. “I know.” I kiss his chest again. “For me, too.”
He sighs. “I like having you in my bed.”
“Good. I’m moving in with you in the morning.”
He chuckles. “You already did move in,” he says. “And it is morning.”
“I meant into your room.” I peek at the window—dawn blushes against a gray-black sky. “Can you stay in bed with me?”
He nods. “I’ll stay.”
“Paxton?” I ask.
A silence. “Mmmm?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“What you’re doing for Mom. You don’t have to.”
“Want to.”
“Why?”
“Because I can. It’s something…meaningful…that I can give you.” He exhales harshly. “Stuff, no matter how expensive, doesn’t seem to matter to you. It’s all just stuff. This is something that means something.”
I cling to him more tightly, draping myself on him. “You get me.”
“I do.”
I laugh. “I do.”
He snickers. “Soon.”
“What can I give you that’s meaningful to you, Pax?”
A long silence; I wonder if he’s fallen asleep without hearing my question, but then he groans, a sleepy sound of tenderness. “Already did.”
“Blowjobs don’t count,” I say with a snort.
He shakes his head drowsily. “Not that.” His eyes find mine, so sleepy. “You. Your heart. Being here. Staying here with me.”
“Good,” I say. “Because that’s all I have to give.”
“I have everything else, Mack,” he murmurs. “Love, affection, tenderness…those are the only things I can’t buy.”
“Pax—”
He groans. “If you don’t shut up and go to sleep, I’m going to say it.” I close my mouth with an audible snap, and he huffs a laugh. “Good. Now sleep.”
“Yes, dear,” I mutter.
21
New York City. One p.m. A flurry of people buzz around me, curling, blow-drying, and putting my hair into an elaborate updo, applying makeup, doing my nails, affixing fake eyelashes.
Wedding day.
Camilla has tried to barge in at least six times, and each time she has been rebuffed by Liam and his army of bodyguards, who are being paid by Paxton rather than Camilla, and so are immune to her anger, threats, and attempted bribes.
I can hear her outside now, berating the door guards.
“—my wedding, I’m paying for it, and you damn well better let me in—”
I snicker. “How long do you think she’s going to stay out there yelling?” I ask my nail technician.
She shrugs. “I have no idea.” Her eyes widen. “I did her nails once. She scares the hell out of me.”
I grin. “Would you believe I used to be a maid in her hotel?”
The technician stops, staring at me. “No way, really?”
I nod. “Really.”
“And now you’re marrying Paxton?”
I grin even more widely. “I know, right? I feel like Cinderella.” I wiggle my bare foot. “Hopefully I don’t turn back into a pumpkin.”
She laughs
. “I don’t think that’s how the fairy tale goes.”
After an hour and a half of glam squad prep, the team leaves, and I’m alone for a blessed moment, in nothing but a thin silk dressing gown, waiting for Julie to arrive with my dress—she did some last-minute alterations to it, and she is still on the way here with it.
The door opens behind me, and I turn expecting Julie. Instead, it’s Paxton. “I wanted to catch you before you put your dress on,” he says.
I give him a tender smile; he’s incredible in his tuxedo—he’d better be, though, considering it’s a bespoke Kiton three-piece. “You look delicious,” I tell him.
He kneels in front of me. “Thank you.” He bites his lip. “I realized something, late last night, or early this morning.”
“What’s that?” I ask, touching his stubble with my fingertips.
He hesitates. “A hundred and sixteen days ago, we agreed to marry each other, as a business arrangement, more or less.”
I nod. “I remember.”
“And then things changed.” He blinks hard. “I fell in love with you.” He still hasn’t said it—I won’t let him. I told him I don’t want him to say it until we’re married.
I cup his cheek. “Save it for the vows, honey.”
He shakes his head, gazing up at me earnestly, seriously, desperately. “Is this still what you want?”
“Yes, without a doubt.”
“Absolute truth? You’ve considered it long and hard?”
I nod, wondering where he’s going with this. “I barely slept last night, asking myself that. Do I want to marry him? Do I really? I’ve known him for four months.” I bite my lip to keep the emotion at bay. “I want this, Pax.”
He reaches into the inner pocket of his tuxedo, brings out a ring box. “Then I have one more question for you, Makayla.” He opens it—inside is a diamond engagement ring, twin round diamonds set in delicate, intricate platinum filigree, the band encrusted with countless scintillating tiny stones, each enormous stone at least two full carats. “Will you marry me?”
I laugh, tip my head back and sniffle, reaching for Kleenex to dab at my tear-filled eyes. When I have something like control, I look at him, and I laugh. “An hour before the ceremony, you ask me.”