Page 142 of Love What's Left
Flipping the lock, I try one last time to suppress the caveman inside me.Give her some banter. Flirt.
Smirking, I cup her round ass. “You expect us to sneak off in the middle of a party to fornicate? I’m shocked. My delicate sensibilities—”
She strokes my cock through my pants, and I drop my head back on my neck and groan.
“We’ll make it a quickie. No one will miss us,” she promises.
I lower my head and scowl. “I’m not looking back on the day I fucked a baby into you knowing he or she was conceived in aquickie.”
She shivers with arousal. “We can’t know for sure that we’ll conceive at all. And if we do, you can tell yourself that it probably happened tonight after the party when we do it again. Or tomorrow.” She backs up farther into our bedroom, reaching under her dress and sliding down her black panties as we go, so smooth and coordinated that she never misses a step as she removes the barrier between me and heaven.
“Give me those.” I stalk her across the room.
“My underwear?” She laughs.
“Yes.”
She passes them over, and I bring them to my nose, inhaling deeply. “You’re definitely ovulating. I’ve never smelled anything so delicious in my life.”
Color darkens her chest and cheekbones. “Quickie,” she reminds me.
“Sydney.”
“Gabriel.”
Tucking the underwear in my pocket, I haul her over my shoulder and head for the walk-in closet.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere sound won’t travel. We’ve never tested how well noise from the bedroom carries into the hallway. There are children at this party.”
I flip on the sconce lighting with the switch and close the door behind us, lowering her to lean against it. My mouth closes over hers as I push her dress up and out of the way. My fingers glide over the silken skin of her muscled thighs as she goes to work on my belt buckle and zipper.
One handed, I expose her shoulder, then reveal the black lace of her bra. I press my forehead to hers. “You are so beautiful.”
“That’s my line,” she breathes, wrapping one leg around my lower back.
I slap her ass, and she laughs. Then her hand is on me, stroking my achingly hard length and guiding me toward her center. My dick jerks in her palm as I slide my thumb down to her clit. “Give me your orgasm first.”
“We’re in a hurry. You don’t have to—”
“Nonnegotiable.”
“Not everything is a deal,” she says, her eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement.
I drop to my knees. “Nothing with you is a deal, Sydney. It’s my vow. Ask me for something? I’m giving you everything. Every fucking time.”
Epilogue
Gabriel
Approximately Twelve Months Later
Ibarrel down the corridor three floors below our penthouse. Annabel Farris stands sentry outside the door to Sydney's old apartment.
When she sees me coming her way at a dead sprint, she raises a hand in greeting. “You can cool your jets. She’s fine.”
“Open the door,” I pant.
