Page 81 of Power Play

thirty

. . .

Riley

Al is quiet on the drive back to the house. The snow is falling steadily, so even though I want to touch him, I force myself to keep my hands to myself. I don’t want to imagine a wreck where Emmy loses all three of her parents.

When we finally walk through the front door, Brigitte is on the couch, reading a thick textbook, the baby monitor on the coffee table. The faint crackle of the white noise proves Emmy is sound asleep, and I sigh with relief.

“How was she?” Al asks, rushing over to the monitor and peering at the grainy picture on the screen. The tension in his shoulders loosens as the device relays Emmy’s soft, steady breaths. My stomach flutters at how adorably overprotective he is.

“She was perfect. Fussed a little at bedtime, since she was off her routine, but nothing I couldn’t handle,” she reports.

Within a few quick minutes, she has packed up her things, we’ve paid her, and she’s gone.

Al looks exhausted. It’s easy to forget he played a full game today.

“Let’s head to bed,” I say, taking his hand, and his eyebrows shoot up.

All my earlier nerves come flooding back as I lead him up the stairs, bypassing my room and heading directly to his. The snick of the door closing after us is loud in the otherwise quiet room, the only sounds his ragged breathing and the pounding of my heart.

I want this. Want him. And that’s confirmed the moment I turn to face him, drinking him in. The way his broad chest fills out the custom suit, his thick thighs and powerful frame.

“I have no expectations here,” he says, his voice hoarse. “If you want to go to sleep⁠—”

My heels click on the floor as I step forward, reaching for his suit jacket. I slip it off his shoulders, and he helps me shrug it off, then his tie, before I reach for his shirt. Slowly, I unhook each button, revealing his wide, furry chest. Body hair has never really drawn me in, but something about the scrape of his against my knuckles drives me wild.

I turn to give him my back. “There’s a zipper.”

His thick fingers brush against the nape of my neck, smoothing my hair out of the way. He presses a kiss to the notch at the base of my skull as he drags the tiny metal tab down, down, down my spine. The fabric gapes and I step out of my dress, letting it pool to the floor.

I face him again, and his eyes dart between my lips and my black lace bra. When I reach for him again, he helps me discard his shirt, and then I push lightly on his chest until he sits on the bed. Al stares up at me, his eyes dark.

There’s no sexy way to take off a pair of tights. But the heat in his gaze proves he isn’t turned off by how the spandex digs into my belly, leaving red marks behind.

He snags my hips, pulling me closer until I’m standing between his spread thighs. His fingertips run over the edge of my panties, leaving tingles in his wake.

“Are you okay if these come off?” he murmurs, his tone husky with need. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“I want to,” I whisper back. I don’t know why I’m whispering, though.

This moment feels big. Heavy. Like I’m walking on a tightrope, high above the ground, and he’s the only thing keeping me from tipping over. I know he’ll catch me if I fall. When I fall. For the first time, tumbling off the ledge and into his arms doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world.

Reaching behind me, I unclasp my bra, letting it fall to the floor. Then I hook my fingers in the waistband of my panties and shove them unceremoniously off my hips.

Al is still wearing his suit pants, the crotch tented by his erection. Warmth floods between my legs at the visible proof of his arousal. We have an emotional connection, a legal obligation to each other, but knowing he wants me in this way… I can finally relax a little. I’m not alone in this. Whatever happens between us will happen, one way or another. I don’t need to be afraid and hold myself back any longer. He’s promised me the moon. Now I have to trust that he’ll deliver.

His hands land on my hips, his thumbs caressing the divot of the joints as he pulls me closer. I take a step forward, then another, and straddle his lap, bringing my chest flush with his. The rapid-fire pounding of his heart hammers against mine, sending my own into overdrive. His coarse chest hair tickles my breasts in the most delicious way that makes me wet.

Threading my arms around his neck, I sink onto his thighs, his hard cock pressing against my ass. He lets out a groan, the sound pained.

“Riley…”

Holy fucking hell.

I never thought my name on his lips would sound so good. It soothes my soul in a way I didn’t know I needed.

His arms loop around my waist, holding me to him, and then he surges upward, twisting, and tosses me onto the bed. I bounce on the mattress, and he grins, hunger in his eyes.