I push into her a second time and her pleasured shudder undoes me. I cup the back of her head, tilt her hips, and thrust into her harder and faster. Sweat covers our skin, and Dayton tightens her grip on my waist, allowing me to push even deeper inside her.
She reaches her fingers into my hair and grips hard, dropping her forehead to my shoulder. Every clench of her pu**y brings me closer to the edge. Her high moans are my kryptonite, tightening my grasp on her body and deepening my thrusts inside her.
And I can feel it, the moment she holds back. The sharp intake of breath is too much.
“Stop f**king holding it back,” I whisper into her ear. Her cunt clamps down on me, and my balls tighten as my own orgasm threatens. “Fuck. Dayton. Come. Now!”
She drops her head back, but that’s not good enough. I want her looking into my f**king eyes so she remembers this moment. So she remembers that the person making her come isn’t just a f**king client.
“Eyes. Look at me.”
She moans, and they open briefly.
“Open your eyes!”
She does as I say this time, and I find myself lost in her dark, seductive gaze.
“Don’t you dare close them. I want to see you and feel you come.” I push deeper into her.
“Fuck,” she whimpers.
“Hard. Come hard or not at all. Got it?”
She nods, and I take that as my cue. I pound into her, my c**k reaching the very depths of her pu**y, rubbing that sensitive spot over and over. I feel my c**k swelling as her muscles tighten around me, and when I think she’ll never come, she does.
She all but screams my name, tugging hard on my hair and squeezing my cock. The simultaneous action pulls my orgasm from me.
“God, Dayton,” I groan into her neck, burying myself deep inside her as her muscles clench and pull everything she can from me.
She’s shaking in my grip. Her whole body is quivering against me, and I kiss her to steady her. Her lips are warm as they sweep against mine, and I pull her from the wall.
Dayton pulls her hands from my hair and wraps her arms around my neck, hugging me close. I lower her to the bed, but she doesn’t let go. Her arms stay firmly around me, and my c**k is still inside her. I silence all the questions in my mind and spin us to the side.
I wrap my arms around her beautiful body and pull her against me. She snuggles into me, burying her face in my neck, and I close my eyes to a sigh leaving her lips. A sigh that sounds decidedly happy, I think.
I trail my fingers up and down her spine until, eventually, we both fall asleep.
The One Where The Truth Comes Out
I was raised to believe that every man has his own beliefs, whether you agree or not. I don’t tend to agree with a lot of people.
I don’t believe in God. I’m not religious, and I’m not convinced that there’s a greater being out there, hovering above the clouds, watching my every move. That wasn’t the family I was raised in.
But I sure as hell believe in f**king miracles, because nothing less could have brought Dayton Black back to me after seven long years.
I don’t know what kind of luck was hanging over my head that day five weeks ago when she pulled that curtain shut and faced me. I wish I knew what f**ked-up coincidence pulled us back together in a cruel yet beautiful twist of fate.
All I know is that she’s here. And for now, she’s mine.
I gently rub my thumb across her silky cheek, keeping my breathing shallow so I don’t wake her. She looks so damn peaceful now, so damn beautiful. When she’s sleeping like this, I know she’s not worrying about us. She’s not worrying about this ridiculous situation I keep forcing on her.
She’s just being.
Her gorgeous tits are rising and falling with every breath she takes, and those pink lips I was nibbling on last night are parted ever so slightly. The urge to drop my mouth to hers and sweep her away in a sea of seduction is too much, too f**king much, so I pull my hand away from her face and roll over.
The bed creaks when I move, and I pause to look back at her. She doesn’t move, deep in her slumber, and I stand. I grab some underwear and pants, tug them up my legs, and quietly leave the room. The door stands ajar behind me so I can hear her when she wakes.
‘Cause, damn. I love her, but she’s a real bitch until she’s had her morning cup of coffee.
I fill the machine with extra coffee beans and water and turn it on. The low hum of it grinding the beans is an odd relaxant to me.
Spending so much time in London has lead me to prefer tea over coffee, if only just, but Dayton has reversed that. Her incessant need for “real caffeine,” as she refers to it, is rubbing off on me slightly.
That, and she keeps me up all hours of the night with her wandering hands.
My phone buzzes from the kitchen counter where I left it last night, and I answer it without checking the caller ID.
“Aaron Stone.”
“Son.” My father’s voice is tight yet warm, and I know instantly that he’s calling with bad news. It’s the middle of the f**king night in New York. “How are you?”
“Better than you, I assume, considering you’re calling me at three a.m.”
He takes a deep breath that makes the line crackle. “How is your time off?”
“What’s the problem, Dad? It’s eight in the morning and I don’t have the time or patience to run through pleasantries.”
“What makes you think something is wrong?”
“Twenty-seven years of life means I’m fairly well equipped to know when my father is keeping something from me.” I walk across to the window and trace the outline of the Eiffel Tower the way I’ve watched Dayton do so many times. “Is there a problem with the business?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what, Dad?”
“Naomi.”
I exhale harshly. Fuck. I knew she’d pop up somewhere. “What’s she done this time?”
“Somehow she’s discovered that you’re in Paris and has taken it upon herself to organize a welcome dinner for you in your hotel.”
A stream of curse words leaves my mouth. I’m not in the habit of swearing in front of my parents, but this situation calls for it.
“She’s supposed to be in London. That’s the entire reason for this week’s break—to avoid a confrontation with her.”
“I know, but she found out, and you’re going have to attend this function.”
“I’m not supposed to be working this week. You know that, Dad.”
“I do, son. But the issue is that she’s invited a lot of the Paris staff, including models and some clients. You understand the implications if you don’t show your face.”