“You think I would do that?” The skin around his eyes tightened.
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “We’ve spent time together these past weeks, but I honestly don’t know. I’d rather not take the risk.”
“So what do you propose?”
“Professionally, things stay the same. Personally, we have fun with each other.”
“You want me to be your friend with benefits.”
“Boss with benefits,” I corrected.
“And what if I say I don’t want that?”
I shrugged. “Then we leave it. I’m prepared to put this weekend aside and continue working as we have been. I know you need me for Monk.”
A sardonic smile twisted his lips. “You’re not entirely powerless, then.”
“Maybe not.”
His shoulders softened, and he reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I also have rules.”
“Oh?”
“We’re exclusive. I’m the only man in your life from this moment onward.”
He’d been the only man in my life for a lot longer than that, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. I nodded. “Fine. As long as that goes both ways.”
Jared nodded, then stood and extended a hand toward me. I slipped my palm into his and let him pull me up to my feet. He took my glass of wine and set it next to his, then faced me. His hands slid over my waist, and his gaze was steady on mine.
“So. You agree,” he said softly. “You’re mine, for as long as you decide you want to be.”
My heart rattled. I wasn’t sure that was exactly what we’d negotiated, but his body was warm and his hands were drifting over my hips, so all I could do was dip my chin. “Yes.”
A fierce, victorious smile stole over his lips. “Good,” he said-and crushed his lips to mine.
Jared’s POV
I’d never been the possessive type. A long time ago, I’d learned not to let people in. When you invited people into your inner sanctum, they had power over you. They could hurt you, reject you. They could leave. They could die. As a result, I kept people at arm’s length.
I’d always been stronger on my own. It was a lesson I’d learned time and time again, and at the tender age of forty-two, it wasn’t something I’d thought to change.
But holding Iris in my arms and tasting her lips made me forget myself. I’d kept my expression calm while she told me what she wanted from me, even though I raged inside. I didn’t want casual fun with her; I wanted all of her.
Still, I couldn’t deny that she was right to put bumper rails on our situation. We’d lost control at some point, and now we needed to wrench the wheel so this speeding car was at least traveling between the lines.
I could bend my own rules for her-for this. I could indulge this need to have her for my own without having to change the core of me. It was a win-win.
She was mine, for as long as she agreed to be. And I intended to make that last a long, long time.
Iris let out a cute yelp when I lifted her legs and wrapped them around my waist. She clawed at my shoulders and dug her fingers into my hair, evidence that she wasn’t in as much control as she thought. I smiled against her lips and inhaled the scent of her.
I’d lost my mind, and I didn’t care.
Stumbling across the room, I made it to the internal elevator and mashed the button next to her hip. The door opened a moment later and I walked in as Iris began clawing at the buttons on my shirt, tearing at it to get her hands on my skin. We both groaned when she ripped the shirt apart and slid her hands down my back. Her hips bucked, her hair falling out of the knot she’d tied it in earlier.
She wore lip gloss that tasted like strawberries. Her perfume was delicate and heady all at once. Her touch was insistent and gentle in turn. She was made of contradictions, and I was drunk off the unpredictability of it all. When I shoved my hand in her hair and felt the silken strands fall down, I let out a low moan. I fisted my hand in her locks and relished the small gasp that left her lips.
The elevator door opened, and Iris slid down to her feet. She toddled on her heels but let me tow her along down the wide hallway toward my bedroom.
I locked us in. She cast one long glance around the room, then turned to look at me through her lashes. Her lips curled into a sinful smile, and she went to work undoing the buttons of her blouse. My chest heaved with every breath as I watched, intent on the slivers of skin that revealed themselves to me. My own hands were busy tearing at my shirt, pulling it out of my pants, and letting it drop to the floor.
I closed the distance between us and ran a finger over the edge of her bra. “I like this,” I said, admiring the black lace and white underlay. Everything about her was considered, beautiful, intentional. I’d never met anyone who seemed at once so effortless while very clearly making an effort.
I liked that she didn’t try to hide herself. I liked that her desire to drape herself in nice fabrics and expertly applied cosmetics wasn’t hidden behind false modesty. She was a high-maintenance woman, and not ashamed of it.
The zipper on her pencil skirt gave me little resistance. She shimmied her hips as I pushed the fabric down, then grinned as I sucked in a breath.
My fingers coasted over the thigh-high stockings, the garters, the matching underwear. “You aren’t real,” I said.
Laughing, Iris reached for my belt. I let her unlatch it and groaned as she reached inside to grip me. Blown-out pupils stared at me as she stroked me, her breaths ragged, her skin flushed.
I took her hand away then grabbed her around the waist and tossed her onto my bed. She bounced once, laughing, then toyed with the waistband of her underwear while I shucked off the rest of my clothing. I reached into my nightstand and pulled out a condom, setting it on top of the piece of furniture before kneeling between her spread legs.
My pulse was a steady drumbeat. It felt like I was marching toward the point of no return. Something was changing between us-within me. Iris’s dark hair spread out on my white pillows, her lingerie-clad body spread before me, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to let her go.
The thought blazed through me, and my control snapped. I tugged her panties aside and shoved my finger inside the wet warmth of her. She arched, her hands moving to grip my bedding as a soft cry escaped her lips. I added another finger, watching her lashes flutter, ignoring the insistent throbbing happening between my legs.
I liked seeing her undone. I liked mussing up all her careful hair, makeup, and clothing. I liked seeing lust cloud her eyes so that all that existed in her face was raw desire.
Raw desire-for me.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.