Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
I go back to the bedroom, expecting Kayleigh to be awake, but she’s still dead to the world. I sit on the edge of the mattress, close enough to touch, and watch her breathe.
She’s so fucking young. I remember what that felt like—to be new, to have every nerve ending exposed, every pleasure and pain dialed up to eleven. I wonder if she’ll remember this as a mistake, or if she’ll get hooked on it. If she’ll ever be able to walk away.
I lean down, close enough to feel the heat of her skin, and press my lips to her shoulder. Not a kiss, exactly, but something like gratitude. Her body tenses, then relaxes, a faint murmur in her throat. I want to mark her up all over again. I want to keep her like this, in my bed, under my hand, forever.
She wakes, just barely, blue eyes unfocused. For a second, I see the confusion: Where am I? Then the realization, the soft flush, the memory of what we did. Her mouth parts, but she doesn’t speak. She looks wrecked, golden hair mussed, so fucking beautiful, and all mine.
“Draw a bath for yourself, sweetheart,” I say, voice low. “Epsom salts, as hot as you can take it. You’ll be sore.”
She blinks, trying to process.
I smile, reach out, and run my thumb over her lower lip. “It’s normal. I’m not a small guy, and the first time’s always rough. But you did perfect, sweetheart. You were perfect.”
She blushes, the color blooming down her neck and over the tops of her breasts.
“Okay,” she whispers, then winces as she shifts under the sheets.
I watch her try to gather herself, the way she curls up a little tighter, arms crossing her chest. She’s embarrassed, but not scared. I like that. I want her to remember every second, every bruise, every mark.
She glances up at me, then looks away. “What about the rest of the list you left me?” she says. Her voice is thin, barely audible. “I need to finish it.”
I shake my head. “Forget the list today. You need recovery time.” I pause, let my hand drift down to her hip, the skin there marked with the outline of my fingers. “I use my women hard, Kayleigh, so you need to rest. You’re not going to want to do much else for a while.”
She lets out a little laugh, half nerves, half delight. I watch her face—how fast the embarrassment and pleasure chase each other across it. I want to make her do it again.
She stares at the ceiling, then at me. “We even broke the bed,” she says, voice even smaller. “It snapped. I think. Or maybe it was something worse.”
I look at her, then remember the crooked angle of the headboard, the way the frame cants to one side. I can’t help it—a slow grin breaks across my face.
“That’s what happens when you fuck like you mean it,” I say. “And that wasn’t even a demonstration. I was being nice, sweetheart, on account of it being your first time.”
Her eyes go wide, and she actually gasps. I can see the titillation and the thrill coiling together in her. She’s trying to picture what “not nice” would look like, and I want to show her. I want to see how much she can take.
“Relax,” I say, and stand, smoothing my shirt down. “Today, you rest. Tonight, we pick up where we left off.”
She nods, biting her lip, eyes wide but eager. I can’t decide if she’s faking it, or if I really have her hooked.
I watch her for another second, the way the morning light cuts across her bare skin, the pale map of bruises and love bites I left last night. It’s almost a shame to leave her alone in the bed, but I have meetings. A life. People to manage and control.
But now, there’s something here worth coming home to.
With one last kiss to her bare shoulder, I step out of the bedroom, into the silent expanse of the penthouse. The glass wall throws the city at my feet, all steel and darkness and distant noise. I can see the bridge, the river, the endless churn of people going to jobs they hate and lives they’ll never escape.
Not me. Never me.
I hit the elevator, the doors gliding shut behind me. As I descend, I let myself think about what’s waiting for me later tonight: the girl in my bed, the sweet, exhausted body, the perfectly tight pussy that’s now molded to the shape of my shaft.
I think about how I’ll use her next.
And I realize, with a jolt of surprise, that for the first time in my life, I actually want something I already have.
When the elevator opens, I walk out into the new morning, smiling like a man who’s finally, finally whole.