Текст книги "ARROGANT PLAYBOY"

Автор книги: Winter Renshaw

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Chapter Seventeen

BECKHAM

“You shouldn’t have gone.” Dr. Brentwood chides me with his signature lulling voice from his end of the phone. “Hopping on a plane, flying across the country, and sitting by her side as she delivered her baby was the worst thing you could’ve done. You’ve undone almost a year’s worth of work for all of us.”

“Missing the birth of my child isn’t something I could live with.” It sounds weird. My child. I still don’t know. She’s got a full head of dark hair, like both of us, and her mother’s dark eyes. I tried not to get choked up as I held her for the first time last night, and I couldn’t help stroking her cheek as she nursed her mother’s breast. On the off chance she is my kid, I don’t want to have missed those early moments.

“Do you truly believe she’s yours?” Dr. Brentwood has the patience of a saint. Usually. But not today. I hear him sigh through the receiver. Nine months ago, we thought we’d put this issue to bed. She was seeking help. The restraining order was filed.

“Did I think this would happen?” I ask. “No. I’ve had a vasectomy. We always used condoms. But she works at the fertility clinic where ten vials of my…product were cryogenically frozen.”

“They have very strict chain-of-custody protocols. It’s one of the top fertility clinics in the nation,” he says.

“Right. And Eva’s the lab manager,” I say. “Everything’s coded with numbers to protect patient confidentiality and prevent mix ups. Guess who has access to all that information? Guess who’s in charge of semen prepping when patients come in for procedures?”

Dr. Brentwood is silenced by my theory.

Eighteen months ago, I decided to have a vasectomy.

I thought I was doing the responsible thing.

I went the cryogenic route on the extremely slim chance I might change my mind someday. That’s when I met Eva. Bumped into her in the hall, right before I was about to deposit my tenth and final batch. I’d never seen anyone so exotic and mysterious before. Long neck, high cheekbones, naughty gleam in her eye, and an accent that slayed.

One dinner turned into drinks, and within weeks we were hooking up on a regular basis until I had to end it months later. She was getting attached. Dirty talk turned to pillow talk, which escalated into Eva allowing herself to fall in love which wasn’t part of the agreement.

I jumped that sinking ship while she rearranged deck chairs.

Eva capsized as soon as she realized I wasn’t coming back.

“I’m waiting on a call back from my attorney. I spoke with him last night. He’s going to get in contact with the clinic.” I run my fingers through my hair. It’s product-free for the first time in a long time. I barely had the motivation to take a shower this morning having stayed most of the night at the hospital staring at that innocent little girl and searching for a sign that she was mine. “The clinic will probably come back and say all ten vials are accounted for. If Eva switched numbers or swapped out a vial of my specimen with someone else’s, there won’t be anyway to tell without unfreezing the samples. That’ll destroy them.”

Fuck.

“You’ll have to do DNA testing,” Dr. Brentwood said. “Which could take weeks. Possibly months.”

“What do I do?” I slink back in my chair, glancing at the time. It’s half past eight. Odessa should be rolling in here any moment. “Do I pretend she’s not mine? Pretend that didn’t just happen? Ignore Eva? What if she threatens the baby?”

“She won’t,” he says. “If she believes that baby is yours, or if indeed that baby is yours, she won’t do anything.”

“You and I both know we can’t guarantee that. Eva’s unpredictable. Unstable.”

“Exactly.” He clears his throat. “Which is why you should’ve called me first before going to the hospital.”

“Forgive me for not thinking clearly.” My fist clenches the handle of my desk phone, resisting the urge to slam it. He’s not helping. I need answers. I need directives. There’s no protocol on what to do in a situation like this. Surely someone somewhere has had their ex-fuck-buddy-turned-stalker impregnate themselves with their cryogenically frozen sperm?

I laugh because this situation is as absurd as it is real.

“Can you go to the hospital, Dr. Brentwood? Talk some sense into her? Try to get some answers?”

“I can’t go unless I’m called for a consult,” he says. “The only reason we’re speaking right now is because of the signed release in her file. That expires in two months by the way.”

“Great.” I grit my teeth. “So what do I do now? She’s discharging in a couple days. She’s going to need help getting home, getting around. Caring for the baby. Her friend goes back to Baltimore tonight. She’s all alone.”

I have to ensure the baby gets the care she needs. She didn’t ask to be born into this. I’ve never been so protective of anything before, but seeing her helpless face cradled in the arms of a mother who is clearly mentally unstable brings out the bear I never knew resided in me.

“Can I hire someone? A nanny?” I ask.

“No,” Dr. Brentwood says without pause. “Again, Beckham, we do not want to send the wrong message. You cannot allow her to manipulate you this way. You cannot give in to her demands.”

“It’s not about Eva right now. It’s about the baby.” I don’t know what to call her. Eva asked me to name her, flat out refusing to offer any suggestions. It’s another one of her attempts to manipulate me, to forge a bond between the baby and me. The child needs a name, but I need to prove a point to Eva.

I need to talk to someone else about this. Not Dr. Brentwood. He doesn’t understand. I understand he can’t legally tell anyone what to do. Should anything go awry, he could be held liable, and psychiatric patients of the Eva Delgado variety can be particularly unpredictable.

Xavier’s not exactly level-headed these days, and Dane will just lecture me.

A knock at my door ushers in Odessa, two cups of coffee in her hands.

“I’ll call you back,” I say to Dr. Brentwood.

“Beckham, whatever you do, do not engage with Eva,” I hear him say before I hang up.

“Figured you could use one of these.” Odessa places a cup on my desk, her gaze scanning the bags hanging under my eyes. “Long night?”

“Very.” I take the Styrofoam cup. “Thank you.”

She takes a seat across from me, her tablet tucked neatly under her arm.

“Shit. The website,” I say. “Sorry. I completely forgot.”

“It’s fine, Beckham.” There’s something softer about her today, like she’s going easy on me. “You’re going through some stuff. I understand.”

I almost wish she’d fling a jab at me. Make an underhanded remark. Anything to make my life feel like it did twenty-four hours ago.

Fuck, life was simple then.

“Everything go well?” She crosses her legs and sits straight. “It was a girl, right?”

“How’d you know?”

“The friend. She told me. I didn’t want to be the one to tell you,” she says. “Not my place.”

“Fair enough.”

“Have any pictures?” Odessa asks. I suppose her question is only natural.

I take out my phone. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” She laughs, leaning closer.

I honestly don’t recall. I spent most of last night in a daze. Thumbing through my photo album, I come across a picture I must’ve snapped toward the end of the night, just before going home. The memory of taking it escapes me but there it is.

I hand my phone to Odessa who smiles at the photo of the sleeping baby in Eva’s arms.

“She’s beautiful,” Odessa says. “Like her mother.”

My lips part, the truth lingering on the tip of my tongue.

She hands the phone back, and I go to tuck it away but it starts to ring. My attorney’s name flashes on the screen.

“I have to take this,” I say. Odessa rises, hurrying out of the room. “Roger, what do we know?”

Chapter Eighteen

ODESSA

The second I shut Beckham’s office door, I hear him mutter something about a DNA test.

Seriously?

Some woman he obviously had sexual relations with in the past just had a baby and his biggest priority is doing a DNA test? The fact that he flew back to New York the second he got the news leads me to believe he feels the baby is his, so I’m struggling to find sympathy for his little predicament.

Serves him right.

And he should be there. At the hospital. Not sitting at his desk making phone calls.

That poor woman.

I felt sorry for him yesterday on the plane. He didn’t say more than a handful of words, and he sat there staring ahead with his legs crossed and his ankle bouncing for damn near five hours.

The coffee was a peace offering. For whatever reason, I felt sorry for him, which in retrospect was a huge mistake.

When I return to my office, I check my phone for the millionth time. Jeremiah still hasn’t called me back. It’s not like him. Break or no break, he’s not the type to ever ignore someone.

Especially not me.

I fire off an email to Dane and Beckham with a link to the preliminary website and ask for feedback. After that, I return a call to the Charity Falls Register to confirm the interview date and time. Yanking out a fresh legal pad, I jot down some key statistics and points I want Beckham to hone in on during his interview.

An hour of immersing myself in work leads me right back to where I started: worrying about Jeremiah.

Dragging in a defeated breath, I check his blog. The interface hasn’t changed. We did a good enough job with it, that the show’s branding has been coordinated around it. I click on the latest blog post: a recipe for sweet potato pie tied in with some pie crust sponsorship. He didn’t write it. Those aren’t his words. Some intern must’ve put that together for him.

I’d be lying if I said picturing him swarmed with college interns and industry executives all day didn’t hollow out my heart.

Scrolling through pictures on my phone of better days, I stop when I get to the one of me sitting on his lap last Christmas at my parents’ house in Minneapolis. We wore matching cable knit sweaters and Jeremiah donned a Santa hat my nephew had given him the previous year.

The Jer and Sam in that picture are content. Carefree. Living for the moment. Excited for the future. Our relationship was easy and effortless. We used to be so happy.

“I’m heading out for a bit.”

Startled, I glance up and see Beckham in my doorway.

“Going to the hospital?” I ask.

“Absolutely not.” His face scrunches as if my question insults him.

Maybe it’s residual resentment still coursing my veins and mixing with the flood of nostalgia and insecurity, but I feel the words rising in my throat before I have a chance to stop them.

“That’s shitty, don’t you think?” I can’t believe I just said that. A fresh batch of sharp opinions form fresh in my mind, snapping to the surface before I have a chance to stop them. “Shouldn’t you be with your family right now?”

Beckham’s usually relaxed composure tightens, starting with his mouth and followed by his jaw, trailing down his shoulders until it gets to his clenched fists.

“Please tell me you’re going to man up and take responsibility,” I say. I regret the words the second they come out, but I’m powerless. All my fears, apprehensions, and anger swirl together and cloud my better judgment. “Maybe the universe is trying to tell you it’s time to stop screwing around and settle down. Have to grow up sooner or later.”

Beckham’s eyes darken. “You. Know. Nothing.”

Shit.

In an instant, he’s gone. And now I feel like the world’s biggest asshole. Running after him, I grab his arm by the time he’s halfway down the hall. He stops, jerking his elbow from my grasp, and turns to me.

“I’m sorry.” My palm covers my heart. “I mean it. I shouldn’t have said those things, Beckham. I…”

He studies my face, staring down his nose and breathing hard.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat again. My mother once told me tacking on a bunch of excuses to an apology does nothing but dilute it. “You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry.”

I feel the need to apologize twenty-five additional times, slathering him in apologies until he assures me it’s okay.

There’s no acceptance in his stern gaze, only a bitterness that chills me.

“I don’t know your situation,” I add. “I shouldn’t judge.”

“No, Odessa. You shouldn’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I heard you the first three times.”

“If there’s anything you need…” I sound pathetic. I know that. He’s probably wondering what the hell is wrong with me. I’m starting to wonder the same.

“I need you to stop groveling,” he says. “I don’t like this version of you.”

Me neither.

He steps toward me, and I amble backwards until I hit a nearby wall. I shut my eyes, breathing in his clean scent. It transports me to that night when I was just a girl in a bar and he was just a guy with every promise of wicked intentions.

“Today, of all days…” Beckham leaves his thought unfinished, his face twisted.

“I know,” I say, my eyes protesting and apologizing all at once. “You’re going through some stuff. I’ll leave you alone.”

“No, Odessa. I want you to treat me the way you did before.” His hand cups my jaw. “Don’t bring me coffee and act like we’re best friends all of a sudden because you feel sorry for me. And fuck, don’t you ever accuse me of being a shitty person because I’ve been nothing but honest with every woman I’ve ever taken home.”

His thumb traces my lower lip, leaving a trail of tingles. I offer an understanding nod, scared to breathe another word.

“I want everything to go back to how it was a couple days ago,” he sighs.

“I don’t understand.”

A couple days ago we did nothing but bicker, and my intentional thorniness was like emotional pepper spray between us.

“You want me to be rude to you?” I ask.

His hand leaves my jaw, trailing down my arm.

“Two days ago, my biggest problem was figuring out how to convince you not to hate me. Two days ago, my main priority was seeing how long it would take for me to fuck that hard-to-get pussy of yours again because not having the upper hand with you is the most infuriating thing I’ve ever experienced.” His eyes roll before he looks to the side. “Until yesterday.”

My mouth falls, my head and heart trying to reconcile the squall of emotions coursing through me.

“Fuck, Odessa. Life was easy then.” Anger abandons his expression, though pain wasted no time replacing it. His tongue glides across his bottom lip. “You threw up barricade after barricade, and I spent my time plotting ways to break them down so I could have you one more time.”

I knew it.

“I had no intentions of sleeping with you again,” I say, keeping my voice low in case Julie hears us.

“But I had every intention getting exactly what I wanted from you,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

His thumb grazes my cheek, sending pinpricks down my spine. My chest rises and falls. When did I lose my breath? A tingling sensation washes over my palms as they rest flat against the wall behind me. The ache in my hands urges me to grab onto something, preferably him, but I’m safely frozen in place.

“Unfortunately.” He frowns. “I’ve got a mess to clean up, and I’m quite certain by the time I’m done, you’ll be back with that jackass.”

A sliver of me doesn’t want him to give up that easily. The rest of me scolds that sliver for entertaining such an inappropriate thought.

“It was fun while it lasted, huh?” My voice breaks, but my gaze holds steady, locked in his.

Beckham pulls away, and I exhale. “For the record, you didn’t stand a chance.”

He flashes a smirk. The Beckham I first met is still alive and well in there somewhere, hidden behind the fact that life as he knows it has just come to a screeching halt.

“Likewise.” The corner of my mouth pulls. My eyes trace the perfect shape of his mouth, sending heat to my lips. I wonder if it’s possible to miss a kiss you never knew you wanted.

Beckham’s everything I never wanted and nothing I need. He should be with his new family, and I should to try to fix things with Jeremiah.

It’s just the way it has to be.

Chapter Nineteen

BECKHAM

I walked around most of the Upper East Side this morning. No destination in mind. I couldn’t stand another minute trapped behind concrete walls. In the last twenty-four hours, my life – and my mind – have become a prison.

Just before lunch, I hailed a cab to New York General.

“Eva.” I stand in the doorway of her hospital room. Dr. Brentwood told me not to come here, not to engage her, not to give her what she wants. But I’m a man with limited options and the stakes have been raised. I’ll be damned if I sit back and ignore her because she’s not going away.

And it’s not about us anymore.

Bringing a baby into this changes things, especially if she’s my baby. I’ve never been paternal. I don’t know the first thing about being a father. I’ve never pictured myself coaching soccer or strolling around Central Park Zoo with a kid on my shoulders and a camera around my neck, but if she’s mine, I’ll try my hardest to be everything she deserves.

I’ll be the father Dane and I never had.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Eva’s face lights, the baby snug in her arms sleeping. She grins, her hair piled high on her head. As I get closer, I see she’s wearing makeup. Eva wanted to look her best today because she knew I’d be coming back.

If she were any other normal person, I’d be asking how she’s feeling. I’d refill her water or hold her hand, but that’s not why I came here today.

“We have to do a DNA test, Eva.” I keep a safe distance. “Just to be sure. Before any arrangements are made. Before we can move forward from here. I have to know.”

Her smile fades, her eyes dimming. “Why would you say such a thing, Beckham? She’s yours. She’s all yours. She has your chin. Your ears. Your dimples.”

I try not to look, not to give in and let her think she’s winning.

“I had a vasectomy, Eva, before we were together. There’s no way this could’ve happened.” I swallow the hardness in my throat but it returns. “I don’t want to believe you could’ve tampered with anything at the clinic, but…”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” Her eyes glass over until large tears fill at their brims. “We’re a family. You. Me. Our baby. To suggest that this wasn’t in God’s plan…”

She glances down, stroking the baby’s cheek.

“She’s beautiful, Beckham. We created her. She’s here because of our love.” Her voice is strained.

My stomach churns. Eva is not well. She hasn’t been for a long time.

“How are you going to take care of her?” I ask. “When you leave here. Do you have someone?”

Eva whips her attention toward me. “I thought we could come home with you. You have space for a nursery. A couple phone calls and we could have one set up within a day.”

She’s clearly fantasized about this a hundred times before.

“Eva…” Pressing my chin against my chest, I squint across the room at her. “Did you really think it would happen like that?”

“You’re a good man. I know you’ll do the right thing. I know you’ll come through for us. It’s not in you to walk away from family.”

She doesn’t know me. At all. I’m not some valiant prince. I’m a man with minimal responsibilities, reigning over a kingdom of beautiful women with my mighty cock in hand. I’m a playboy. My only commitment is to a life of debauchery.

“Remember what Dr. Brentwood said? About projecting?” I remind her. “I’m not a family man, Eva. I told you that from the beginning.”

“Then why were you at a fertility clinic?” she snaps back.

She has a point; a tiny point that doesn’t help my case.

“You knew you wanted to be a father, just not yet. Not now,” she says, her tone rushed and excited. “You knew there was a chance you might change your mind someday.”

“My mind was made up, Eva,” I groan. The sperm-freezing was nothing more than an insurance policy to keep me from backing out of my decision to get snipped.

“Sometimes we don’t know what’s best for ourselves,” she says, glancing down at the baby again. A tiny fist rises above the blanket and stretches out, grabbing onto the flannel fabric of Eva’s gown. She hums a little tune, something sweet and unfamiliar. I’m guessing it’s an Argentinian lullaby.

“I can’t be in your life, in her life, until we get the results of the test.” A sear of something sharp flashes across my chest. The thought of leaving the baby in Eva’s care for God knows how long unsettles me.

“She’s yours, Beckham. I would never lie to you, mi amor.” The humming continues.

Convincing Eva to agree to this is a tight walk along an unstable balance beam.

“And if you don’t think she’s yours, I have no problem moving back to Argentina,” she says a minute later, lightly raking her fingers through the baby’s jet black hair. “Raising her in my homeland.”

My fist clenches. The thought of the baby being whisked overseas despite not knowing if she’s mine was a possibility I hadn’t yet entertained. I wouldn’t put anything past Eva.

“Did you decide on a name yet, baby?” Eva smiles, looking up at me like we’re not locked in crossfire. “Something pretty for our pretty girl?”

Dr. Brentwood would be waving a checkered flag, telling me to abort the mission. Shut it down.

“You have to name her. It’s tradition in the Delgado familia. The fathers choose the names,” she says.

 “I haven’t given it any thought.”

She holds the baby up, grinning ear to ear and examining her. “You’ll think of something for our little angel.”

“The test, Eva.” I clear my throat, crossing my arms. “There’s a clinic uptown that does them. Results come back in two-three days.”

“No!” She holds the baby against her chest, patting her back vigorously.

“I hoped we could do this the easy way.” I grab my phone, dialing my attorney.

“What are you doing?” she spits.

“Getting a court order,” I say. Roger answers. “Roger, I talked to her. Make it happen.”

“You’re making a huge mistake.” Eva shakes her head, bouncing the baby in her arms. “She is our daughter.”

“I’ll file the petition,” Roger says. “Beckham, this won’t be quick. A judge has to determine if there’s sufficient evidence before he can order the paternity test, and even then Eva can hire an attorney. She’ll have thirty days to contest it from the time we serve her.”

“What choice do I have here?” I fire back. “Get it done.”

I hang up and step toward the door, watching as Eva sits up and places her hand out. She pleads with me to stay a while longer before slick tears slide down her cheeks.

Hate doesn’t usually reside in my heart, but right now, I hate Eva for doing this, for creating a self-serving, chaotic mess.

“I don’t love you, and I never did.” A furious burn fills my chest. I want to look at the baby, but I can’t bring myself to. “I will never be with you. And if she’s mine, God help us all because you’re not fit to care for her. You can hardly take care of yourself.”

I’ll never forget finding a medicine cabinet full of sedatives and benzodiazepine in her bathroom. Tranquilizers. Prescription sleep aids. Anything a person might need to forget about life for a while. None of it was in her name. I set her up with Dr. Brentwood immediately after that. She needed managed care not black market Xanax.

Her lips tremble as she squeezes the baby tight. Maybe I’m an asshole. Maybe I should’ve kept my mouth shut and walked away, but it’s all I can do to maintain my composure. It’s building, burning inside me. It has to come out.

“We could be happy. Just give us a chance.” Her voice is tired, small. I won’t stand around and listen to this anymore. When I storm out the door, I hear her say, “I’m not lying, Beckham. She’s your daughter...”

I don’t want to believe her, and I fucking hate the fact that part of me does.

***

“You’re back.” Odessa glances up from her desk when I return.

I’m not sure why the first place I went was to her. I’m standing in her doorway. Not talking. I don’t know what to say. In the blink of an eye, I lost all control over my carefully crafted, painstakingly perfected bachelor life.

My hands ache for something real. Fuck, if I could feel those sleek auburn locks through my fingers and press my lips against hers, maybe I’d taste a bit of calm again.

“Hey, you okay?” Odessa raises an eyebrow, shutting the lid to her computer. “You’re freaking me out here.”

She comes to my side with hesitant steps, her sweet perfume filling my lungs. I’m in a mood. Fuck, am I in a mood.

I’m in a mood to burn everything to the ground.

“Say something.” Odessa laughs, not because it’s funny. She’s nervous. She winces, slightly, as if I scare her. “Where’d you go?”

She rises on her toes, brushing a rogue strand of hair off my forehead. I close my eyes, pulling another lungful of Odessa in. I have to have her. Fuck Dane’s rules. Fuck the consultancy. Fuck mind games.

“Odessa.” I swallow, eyes still closed.

“Yes?”

“Don’t touch me again.” My instructions are concentrated, clear as day. I peer down at her now, catching a slight shake in her chest when she breathes.

She backs up, her hand resting across her chest. “I-I’m sorry.”

“If you touch me again, I’m going to touch you back,” I say. “And I can’t promise I’ll stop once I start.”

“Beckham, you need to sit down.” She reaches for my hand and stops, heeding my warning. “Let me get you some water at least.”

“Stop being so nice. Thought I made myself clear this morning.” Her kindness confuses me, and I sure as hell don’t deserve it.

“Maybe I should leave for the day. I can’t do anything right around you.” She zips around her desk and gathers her things, shoving them into a bag and muttering under her breath. “God forbid I try to be a decent human being.”

“Don’t go.” I need the distraction. She grounds me.

She stops shuffling about. “Maybe you should go home then. I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be around each other today.”

“Why?”

“Because you confuse me. And you’re making me nervous, which never happens.” She stands two feet in front of me, head cocked, studying me. “And I don’t trust myself.”

“Don’t trust yourself?”

“You’re clearly two seconds from doing something we’ll both regret,” she sighs. “And I’m two seconds from letting you.”

Odessa’s hands lift to her face, tucking her hair back.

“Which is absolutely ridiculous because hooking up with you is the last thing I should be doing right now, and I–”

Without thinking, I rise and grab her by the wrists, backing her up against the wall.

She doesn’t protest, she melts.

I crush her mouth with mine, locked in a state of carnal survival. I don’t think. I just act.

Odessa moans against my lips, and I let her arms drop. Her hands slink around my neck, her fingers twisting into the hair above the nape of my neck. Impatient seconds pass before my hands run down her sides, cupping her ass and scooping her up until her legs lock around mine.

Thank God she wore a fucking skirt today.

With lips locked and tongues fused, I run my hand along her inner thigh, finding wetness at her core that sends an aching throb to my cock. She fucking wants me, and there’s no better turn on.

My kisses are generous, hungry, and desperate. I drown in the sweet cinnamon taste of her tongue as my finger slips under the crotch of her panties. Dragging a fingertip between her seam, I separate the folds and slide a finger inside her tightness. Her head falls back, leaving my lips. The soft flesh of her neck just above her collarbone welcomes me, and I reward her with teasing grazes.

Odessa’s hips buck against my hand, my thumb circling her clit. Her lips tighten as she struggles to keep quiet. I pull my hand from the most exquisite pussy I’ve ever felt and drop to my knees. The taste of her sweet arousal on my tongue fills a craving that runs much deeper than it belongs.

Yanking her panties to her ankles, she kicks them off and lifts the hem of her skirt to her waist. Hair falls in her face though I can still see the ‘o’ shape of her pretty lips as she loses herself with me at the helm.

Gripping her thighs, I run my tongue along her seam before swirling it around her swollen nub. Her free hand grabs a fistful of my hair, pulling it taut as she struggles to breathe.

She tastes of Heaven and sin, and devouring her transports me to a world where nothing else matters. My tongue explores her delicious pussy, making no apologies or concessions for the enthusiastic vigor.

“I’m getting close,” she breathes after a while. I’m not sure how long it’s been. My mind is colored with vivid urges that drown out all illusions of space and time. Her declaration brings me back to the moment, and I rise, licking her from my tongue. “Why’d you stop?”

She brushes thick strands of hair from her flushed face, gasping for air.

I press myself up against her, teasing her with my hardness. “You’re coming on my cock, not my tongue.”

Unzipping my pants, I pull a condom from my wallet and sheath my swollen girth. Hoisting Odessa against the wall, she wraps her legs around me again, her heels digging desperately into my back.

Readying myself at her entrance, I plunge myself into her as deep as I can go. Hands gripping the flesh of her curved hips, I bounce her up and down, thrusting harder and faster with each push. Her fingers press into my shoulders as her tongue runs the length of her bottom lip.

I fuck Odessa Russo.

I fuck her like my sanity depends on it because it absolutely does.

I have no intentions of stopping until her pink lips are screaming my name and begging for the one thing only I can give her.

Time doesn’t exist inside these four walls. The rest of the world can wait until we’re good and ready.

Odessa’s warmth consumes me, fills me in and out. Her pussy clenches around my cock with each throbbing plunge. I’m deep inside her, yet I need more.

In a moment of divine release, our gazes lock. We’re transported to a place outside of Manhattan and far away from the bullshit of our current situations.

But it’s not a moment for satisfied smirks and victory laps.

I lean in and deposit a punishing kiss, dragging her full bottom lip between my teeth. She deserves to be punished if only because she’s a smart woman who knew better than to let me fuck her all over again.

She collapses against me, gasping for air, and I hold her in my arms until her thighs relax and slide down my hips. Propping her against he wall, I take her by the chin and taste her lips one more time.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” I half-whisper.

“What?” Odessa tugs her skirt down and finger-combs her wild hair all while wearing a delirious grin.