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  “It’s not Tess.”

  Braden. How did he get my cell number? Ridiculous question. He’s Braden Black.

  “Hi,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant.

  “I see you’re gaining quite a following.”

  “Yeah. It’s pretty weird.”

  “Get used to it.”

  “I’ll try. I can always put my account back to private.”

  “You can,” he says, “but you won’t.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Just trust me. Do you want to get dinner?”

  “I’m heating up leftovers.”

  “Enough for two?”

  “Well, yeah, but—”

  “Great. I’ll be there in three minutes.”

  “In three minutes? What—”

  “I’m right outside your building.”

  “How did you— Never mind. Christopher knows where I live.”

  “He does, but I didn’t need him to find you. See you in a few.”

  I race to the bathroom and run a brush through my hair, fluffing it. My makeup is fine, but I’ve changed into sweats and a tank top and my feet are bare. Oh well. This will have to do.

  A minute later, Braden is knocking on my door.

  I open it.

  My breath catches. He’s clad in a black suit with a white shirt. He’s removed his tie, though, and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt. His eyes are heavy-lidded and his full lips slightly parted. I’ll never tire of his male beauty. The fact that he rarely smiles only makes him hotter, for some reason unknown to me.

  He walks in as if he owns the place. Come to think of it, that’s how he always walks in any room. My modest studio is a large closet compared to his palace. I say a quick thanks to the universe that I made my bed this morning. That’s a fifty-fifty possibility on any given day.

  “Smells good,” he says.

  “Beef stew. One of my specialties. My mom’s recipe, a staple from my childhood.”

  His lips quirk, and for a second, I think he’s going to smile.

  He doesn’t. “I love beef stew.”

  “Good. Though I’m sure Marilyn could prepare you a gourmet version that totally puts mine to shame.”

  “Marilyn has never made beef stew.”

  He loves beef stew but his personal chef doesn’t make it? Puzzling. But I’m done with the subject of stew. “So much for small talk. Why are you here, Braden?”

  “To join you for dinner.”

  “We just saw each other at lunch.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “I’ll go if you’d rather I not be here.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” I want him here. I really want him here. I’m just confused as all get out. “Stay.”

  “All right.”

  “I just meant…you said you didn’t want a relationship, but here you are.”

  “And…?”

  “And…we’ve seen a lot of each other in a short time. Doesn’t that make us…something?”

  He rubs his jawline. “It makes you my girlfriend, Skye. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  “Girlfriend?” I shake my head. Then it dawns on me. “You saw the comment on my Instagram post.”

  “I did. I’ll ask again. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  “I don’t know what I want, honestly. I only know I want more than a purely sexual arrangement.”

  “Which is why I’ve agreed to date you.”

  “Then let’s date.”

  “Isn’t that what we’re doing right now?”

  I look down at my feet. “No. I don’t normally date in bare feet and sweats. Why are you really here, Braden? Because I’m absolutely sure it’s not to eat my leftover beef stew.”

  “Do you even have to ask?”

  I warm all over. Then I gulp. “Yeah. I have to ask.”

  “I’m here to fuck you, Skye.”

  My knees wobble. “Then I definitely need to eat.”

  He smiles. Almost. “So do I.”

  I motion to my small table. “Have a seat. Dinner will be ready in a minute. Can I get you a drink?”

  He removes his suit coat, hangs it on the back of a chair, and sits. “Wild Turkey.”

  I smile. “I always have that.” I pull the bottle out of a top cupboard, grab a lowball glass, and pour him a double. Then I add one ice cube and hand him the glass.

  He takes a sip. “Going to join me?”

  “Not tonight, no.” He’s already changed my plans by showing up. Not that I mind, but I want all my faculties tonight. I busy myself dishing up the stew. I stopped at the bakery after work—not to look at erotic cakes, though it crossed my mind—and picked up another baguette. I slice it and set it on a plate. What’s missing? Of course. Water. I pour two glasses and bring everything to the table.

  “Dig in,” I say.

  He nods, spoons up some stew, blows on it, and then into his mouth it goes.

  I wait, holding my breath. My stew is good. Though it’s my mom’s recipe, I’ve made it my own over the years.

  “Delicious,” he says.

  I let out the breath, nod, and take a bite myself. It is good. Stew is one of those dishes that’s even better as a leftover. The extra time for the herbs and spices to soften and blend makes all the difference. “Bread?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.” He takes a hunk. “Do you have any butter?”

  “Oh, yeah.” I rise and resist the urge to hit myself in the head. Who forgets butter? I find a stick in the fridge, unwrap it, and place it on my butter dish. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.”

  A few minutes pass. Then—

  “You’re a good cook, Skye.”

  “Thanks.”

  “This is the best stew I’ve had in a long time.”

  “I’m glad you like it. I wasn’t sure you were a stew kind of guy.”

  “Are you kidding? My mother made stew all the time while I was growing up.”

  “Right. It’s easy to forget sometimes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well…” Way to put your foot in your mouth, Skye. “You grew up like I did. You didn’t always have billions.”

  “You’re saying stew is a poor man’s meal?”

  My cheeks warm. “I don’t know what I’m saying. Forget I said anything.”

  “I still enjoy the simple things,” he says. “A walk in the rain, watching the sun rise, a warm bowl of stew, and a slice of crusty bread. Money doesn’t change who a person is.”

  “I didn’t mean that it did.”

  “Okay. No big deal.”

  Maybe it is a big deal, though. “If you like stew so much, Braden, why don’t you have Marilyn cook it for you?”

  He doesn’t hesitate. “It wouldn’t be the same.”

  “As your mother’s?”

  He nods.

  Braden’s mother passed away before he made his billions. It’s common knowledge. He’s opening up a bit. A tiny bit, but I’ll take what I can get.

  “Tell me about your mother,” I say.

  He swallows his bite of stew, his eyes darting to the side. “I don’t talk about her.”

  “Why?”

  He meets my gaze this time. “It’s too hard.”

  So much for that. “What about your dad? Can you tell me about him?”

  “You can google him and find out everything.”

  “I don’t want to read it in some rag, Braden. I want you to tell me.”

  “I don’t talk about my family.”

  What do you talk about, then? I don’t say the words, though. Instead—

  “What happened between you and Addison?”

  He wipes his mouth with his napkin and stands. “Your stew is delicious, Skye, but I’ve had enough talking for o
ne night.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Braden yanks me out of my chair, pulls me into him, and smashes his mouth to mine. His tongue invades me, tasting of Wild Turkey, beef stew, and cinnamon—an intoxicating mélange that both burns and cools me simultaneously. I melt into the kiss and explore every inch of his delicious mouth. Already my core is throbbing in time with my racing heart.

  Braden pulls me closer, grinding his bulge into me. Has he been hard this whole time? While I was asking questions? Or is the kiss making him hard?

  I don’t care. I just need him inside me. I need another orgasm more than I want my next breath of oxygen. I’m already halfway there with his drugging kiss.

  Yes, his kisses are like a drug I can no longer live without. I’m addicted to him, to Braden. To his body and his mind.

  Be careful, Skye. He doesn’t want a relationship. Don’t fall in love.

  I erase all thoughts from my brain and surrender to Braden’s amazing kiss. It’s not gentle, and though it’s passionate, it’s not a kiss of love.

  It’s a kiss of possession. Of power.

  He’s urging me to give up control once more.

  My nipples harden, and I ache for his lips and tongue on them. Wetness surges between my legs, and the blood in my veins heats, sending every cell of my body into chaos.

  Beautiful chaos.

  I want him to fuck me.

  I have no blindfolds here, no cool metal objects he can torment me with. No weird contraption hanging from the ceiling.

  I have only a bed.

  And Braden.

  I thread my fingers through his thick hair, like silk against my skin. Our kiss deepens and it’s like our mouths are fused together.

  Need to breathe.

  Don’t want to break the kiss.

  Need to—

  He pulls away. “Bed.”

  I point. He drags me to the alcove where it sits and shoves me down. I bounce lightly on the mattress. He strips off his shirt. I gape at his perfect chest—those broad golden shoulders, the smattering of black hair, nipples brown and hard, his tight abs, and then that black hair narrowing down to his cock, still clothed.

  He kicks off his shiny leather shoes and unbuckles his belt. In a flash, he pushes his pants and boxer briefs over his hips and steps out of them.

  He’s naked.

  Gloriously naked, and I’m still fully clothed.

  Usually it’s the other way around.

  He meets my gaze, his blue eyes full of sapphire smoke. “Get on your knees, Skye.”

  Tingles skitter through me. He wants me to suck him. I can do that. I’ve done it before. But on my knees? I can do it sitting on the bed. “Braden, I—”

  “On your knees!”

  The dark passion in his voice slides over me like melted caramel. I’m both terrified and aroused. I sit, immobile.

  “Don’t make me say it again.”

  I drive all thoughts out of my head and drop to my knees. His dick bobs in front of me, and I reach toward him—

  “No,” he says. “Stay still. Don’t touch me.”

  I widen my eyes.

  “I’m going to fuck your mouth like I fuck your pussy. You stay still.”

  “But it’s better for you if I can use my hands.”

  “Maybe I’ll let you do it your way sometime. Tonight, we do it mine. No hands. And no more talking.”

  That won’t be hard, since his dick will be in my mouth. Does he realize I’m still dressed?

  He nudges his cock over my lips. “God, your mouth is so sexy. Open for me.”

  I drop my lips into an O, and he slides his cock between them. Since I can’t use my hands, I’m not steady. I take a chance and grab onto the backs of his thighs, relishing the firm muscle. He doesn’t stop me.

  He pulls out and then shoves himself back into my mouth, going as far as he can until he hits the back of my throat. I’m good at this. I don’t gag, usually. But Braden stays embedded in my mouth for what seems like an hour. I hold my breath, but if he doesn’t move soon, I know I’ll—

  He pulls out, and I relax the back of my throat. By the time it feels normal, he’s sliding into me again. He holds it again and then pulls out. Is this good for him? Isn’t it the thrusting that gets a guy going?

  Before I can say as much, he’s inside my mouth again, my lips embracing his erection. He goes faster this time, and soon he’s doing what he said—fucking my mouth. It’s uncomfortable at times, but I’m determined. If this is what he wants, I’ll give it to him, and I’ll give it to him better than Addison or anyone else ever has.

  My jaw aches and saliva drips from my lips, creating a slick lubricant.

  “Yeah, that’s it, baby. Your sexy lips feel so good around me. Perfect. Just perfect. Fuck!” He withdraws quickly, and I inhale a much-needed breath.

  “I need to come, but I want to come inside you.” He grips my shoulders and brings me to my feet, turns me around, and slides my sweats and panties over my hips before nudging me onto the bed. My sweats are around my knees, so I can’t spread my legs, but he thrusts into me, and the narrowness makes him feel even bigger than he is, like a rocket blasting through me.

  “Damn, you feel perfect,” he groans. “So good.”

  I gasp as he thrusts once, twice, three times—

  “Fuck!” He propels into me, burning a trail through me as my clit bumps against the bed.

  He slaps one cheek of my ass as he releases.

  I try to grind into the bed to sate my clit, but I can’t move with his weight bearing down on me.

  No orgasm this time.

  I can live with that. In fact, I feel wonderful because I gave him what he wanted.

  He stays buried inside me for a few moments, breathing heavily. I don’t move or speak.

  I wait.

  And wait.

  Until he pulls out.

  Then—

  “Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”

  I look over my shoulder. “What? What is it?”

  “I forgot the damned condom.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  I swallow audibly. I forgot the condom, too. He and I both know I have one in my purse, just as he has one in his pocket. This is just as much my fault.

  I’ve been on the pill since college, and I know I’m clean. I’ve had all the tests, and I haven’t been sexually active in more than a year. He has nothing to fear from me.

  Braden, however, has probably had myriad sexual partners. I turn over, pull my sweats and panties back up, and sit on the bed. “Do I have reason to worry?”

  “Not from me. I get tested every three months.”

  “Every three months? Whatever for?” Then I clamp my hand over my mouth because I really don’t want to know the answer to that question.

  “Because it’s good policy, Skye, that’s why. What about you?”

  “I’m good. Clean.”

  “That’s not what I’m concerned about.”

  “What’s the problem, then?”

  “Pregnancy. I don’t want a kid. You carry a rubber around in your purse. Does that mean…?”

  “Extra protection. I’m on the pill.”

  Still naked, he sits down next to me. “Thank God.”

  He’s distant tonight. He’s always a little distant, but tonight more so. I itch to cover his hand with my own, but something stops me, as if an invisible barrier exists between us despite the acts we just shared.

  I let out a nervous laugh. “The good news is we don’t have to use condoms anymore.”

  “I always use condoms.”

  Again, he puzzles me. Most men are thrilled not to use condoms. “Why? If we’re both clean, and I— Oh.” I press my lips together.

  “Finish what you were going to say, Skye.”

  I in
hale and let out a stream of breath slowly. “I’m not the only woman you’re sleeping with, am I?”

  “This week you are.”

  A wave of sadness explodes inside me. I do my best to stifle it. I will not cry in front of Braden. I have no hold on him. I don’t want to give him up, but I won’t be part of a harem, either, no matter what kind of silly emotion I’m feeling.

  Silence for a few more seconds. Then—

  He turns to me, his eyes serious. “That’s never happened to me before.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve never forgotten to put on a condom.”

  I’m not sure how to reply, so I don’t.

  He’s still naked and not making any move to get dressed. Maybe I’ll get that orgasm after all. I won’t push it, though. Instead, in my head I’m dissecting his words.

  I’ve never forgotten to put on a condom.

  The operative word is “never.” Braden has had a lot of sex. I mean, look at him. Plus, he’s a billionaire. And he’s never forgotten a condom until tonight?

  His desire for me overtook his rational thought.

  What other meaning can there be?

  Though I’m tempted to smile, I don’t.

  Finally, I think of the perfect thing to say.

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  He huffs harshly. “Not using a condom? Hell yeah. You felt amazing.”

  “Then why use them?”

  “It’s hard to explain.”

  “Try.”

  “I’m not sure. It’s kind of a…” He closes his eyes. A few seconds later, he opens them and meets my gaze. “We’ve done enough talking for one night. I owe you a climax.”

  The magic words.

  I’m ready to strip and fall back onto the bed with my legs spread…but I don’t. Instead, “I don’t want you to sleep with anyone else while you’re sleeping with me.”

  Yeah, I don’t know what I’m thinking. I probably just gave up a climax when I’m still in single digits.

  His gaze burns into mine. He was in a dark mood when he arrived, and it’s become darker. I won’t back down, though. As much as I want that orgasm, I deserve to be the only one in his bed, and not just because that’s what I want. I deserve it because I don’t want to be exposed to anything someone else might be carrying, condom or not.