His tongue swirls against mine and my core melts for him, ready for him to take me to new heights. We may be on the fifty-fifth floor but when his hand slides down my belly, stroking me between my legs, I rise to the heavens.
Elation takes over as his lips return to where they were in his car, kissing my neck, making me moan, his one hand pinning my wrists so hard I fear there may be fingertip shaped bruises on my skin tomorrow, and I welcome them.
I welcome his mouth, his body with reckless abandon, held tight to the words of his love, his declaration a promise that this will work out. That we will be together.
His other hand dips into my leggings, beneath my panties and he holds me there, his prisoner against his wall as he kisses my mouth with hot wet kisses, his fingers dipping inside of me, gathering the slickness of my arousal, and fingering my throbbing clit that aches for him, and him alone.
His kisses muffle my cries as I climax, my back arching against the wall, my fingers curling into my trapped palms. He releases my wrists to lower my clothing. I stand there, panting, beads of perspiration forming on my skin.
Then he’s back. His mouth on mine, his hand slipping up my shirt, fondling my breasts. My hands run through his hair as he hitches me up, bringing my legs around his waist. My ankles lock together and the head of his cock presses against my slick heat.
Yes. Yes. Yes. Take me up against this wall. Take me as hard as you can. Fuck me until all my worries, all my doubts leave my mind and I know that you are mine and I am yours.
He enters me with a growl, thrusting fast and hard, the full length and strength of his cock entering me at once.
I cry out his name, cry out my love, cry out everything. “Darius, Daddy, I love you... I love you.”
His hand slips below the curve of my ass, cradling me as he fucks me. He pummels into me hard and fast, as if he knows exactly what I need. The delicious friction grows and grows until I enter another climax, this one twice as powerful as the first.
I hear him murmur my name, a strangled sound of passion. “Katie, my Katie.”
And we come as one, clutching one another as if our life depends on this moment, on this closeness, this thrilling connection between two bodies.
Two souls.
As we lay in bed later that night, basking in the afterglow of our love, I think to myself, so this is love. Now I understand what all those songs are about, the poems, the stories of crazed lovers who can no longer live after they’ve suffered the loss of this... this great, precious, powerful thing that I’m feeling.
And I know I’ll stop at nothing to keep it safe.Chapter 16DariusSeveral days after our trip to Georgia, I’m sitting at my desk, looking at my calendar. In four more days, by contract, my time with Katie is up. But does that contract mean anything anymore?
I scowl down at the calendar and click it off my desktop. I dial Ruth.
“Yes, Mr. Morrow?”
“Ruth, make me a reservation at Bellacasa tonight, please. Table for two, privacy booth. I want champagne, and the four-course meal.”
“Certainly, sir.”
She doesn’t ask questions, but does what I ask. I get to my feet and pace, my hands in my pockets. I look out the large windows at the sea of pools below, and I wonder.
What will it be like when this honeymoon phase wears off? Katie’s sweet and seductive and unpretentious, and I adore spending time with her. Spoiling her. Just yesterday, I had her spend the afternoon at the local spa while I finished up work, and later that night I heard her tapping away on her keyboard while I took an overseas conference call. Everything inspires her to write, and it’s adorable.
But will she be happy here? She told me she enjoyed going home to Gran’s more than she did the high life here in Vegas. But she’s got her own home here, her own job, and I have work to do.
So many questions. I hate that we have the contract we signed, because it feels as if there’s an invisible wall between the two of us. A reminder that this isn’t real. A contract for love? How does that work?
I walk into the bedroom, where Katie’s perched in bed. She’s got her hair on top of her head in a messy bun, a pen between her teeth, and she’s tapping away at her keyboard. She doesn’t even look up when I come in the room, she’s that intent. I walk quietly to the bed and sit beside her.