“No, I’m free to talk. What happened with the Wilbur development?”
Free to talk? He was still inside me!
He wasn’t moving, but I could feel every hard inch of him buried in between my thighs.
I opened my mouth to protest, but he shot me a warning look and pressed the fingers of his free hand into my hip, silencing me.
“Bastard,” I mouthed. I knew Alex was ambitious, but I’d never expected him to take a business call in the middle of freakin’ sex.
What was worse, I’d been about to come, and I was left squirming with need while he discussed square footage and building plans.
I rolled my hips up, desperate for friction. His eyes flared and his grip tightened before he slid out of me. He muted his end of the call, placed it on speaker, and hauled me off the bed with one arm while he carried his phone in the other.
“What are you doing?” I wrapped my legs around his waist while the man on the other end of the line droned on about zoning laws.
Alex deposited me next to the couch. “Bend over and spread your legs.”
Lust speared through me at his authoritative tone. I trembled but obeyed, placing my hands on the armrest, arching my back, and spreading my legs until every inch of me was bared to him.
Satisfaction curled in my stomach when I heard his sharp intake of breath.
The man stopped talking, and Alex unmuted the line to answer his question.
I could see my reflection in the large glass window opposite the couch. Wanton and flushed, my hair tousled from our sex marathon and my breasts hanging heavy and full. Behind me, Alex stood proud as a sculpted god, his face carved with brutal lust as he squeezed my ass.
My soft moan turned into a squeal when he slammed into me hard enough that the couch scraped forward an inch.
“Don’t make a sound,” he warned. “This is an important call.”
The flames of desire burned hotter. I should be upset that he was on a business call of all things while fucking me, but I was so turned on I couldn’t see straight. There was something so dirty and delicious about fucking while his partners prattled on, clueless.
Alex’s thrusts picked up a steady, punishing rhythm until I was no longer gripping the armrest—I was on the couch itself, my hips draped over the arm, my face buried in the cushions, my rock-hard nipples and swollen clit scraping against the fabric as he fucked me so viciously my feet lifted off the ground.
All the while, he continued his call, taking it off mute only when he had to speak. When he did, his voice remained calm and even, though I could hear his harsh breathing in the moments when he was silent. I had no clue what they were talking about anymore, too lost in a fog of lust to decipher specific words and phrases.
An unbidden yelp erupted from my throat when he hit a spot that caused my back to bow.
Alex fisted my hair and tugged my head back until I was half-upright again while his other hand closed around my throat. A warning and a reminder rolled into one. Don’t make a sound.
I tried my best. I really did. But I was a mess—I could see it in the window, my tear-streaked face and glazed eyes, my mouth hanging slack as orgasm after orgasm crashed over me in an endless, white-hot wave of sensation. Was it possible to die from too much pleasure? If so, that was what was happening. I was dying a million tiny deaths, each one ripping me apart and piecing me back together only for the next to destroy me again.
Another sob of pleasure, one that had Alex releasing my hair so he could cover my mouth and muffle my whines.
One hand over my mouth, one hand around my throat.
I came again, my entire body shuddering with the force of my explosion.
Alex fucked me harder, deeper, the couch screaming with protest—it had slid halfway across the floor by now, its progress impeded only by the wall—and I realized it was otherwise quiet.
The call was over.
“I thought you were better at following directions, Sunshine,” he said silkily. “Didn’t I tell you not to make a sound?”
I responded with an incoherent mumble—my failed attempt at apologizing.
“No words?” Alex slid his hand down from my throat to my nipples. He pinched them hard, one after the other, eliciting another jumbled moan. “Did I fuck your brains out, my gorgeous slut?”
Considering I couldn’t even remember my name, probably.
And as the minutes—hours—rolled into each other, I lost myself in him. In us.
In sweet, filthy, depraved oblivion.
25
Ava
My friends had mixed reactions to Alex’s and my new relationship status. Jules was ecstatic, claiming she knew Alex had a thing for me and demanding to know what he was like in bed. I refused to answer but flushed a deep crimson, and that had told her all she needed to know. I think Jules would have died of disappointment had Alex’s bedroom skills not lived up to the promise of his devastating looks and intimidating presence. Luckily for me, they did.
Stella, meanwhile, was worried. Happy for me, but worried. She warned me to take things slow and not fall too hard, too fast. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that train had left the station ages ago. Maybe not the “too fast” part, as Alex Volkov had stolen my heart, bit by bit, over the years, even before I thought I liked him, but the “too hard?” Heart, meet freefall.
Bridget was neutral. I supposed princesses were inherently more diplomatic, which was why she said nothing other than if I was happy, she was happy.
The specter of Josh lingered in the background, and I’d acted so jumpy during our last call he’d demanded to know what was wrong. I told him I had period cramps, which shut him up. Periods sucked, but they were a useful weapon for shutting down questions from men.
Today though, I had another family member on my mind.
I waved goodbye to Bridget and Booth, who’d driven me to my father’s house—an hour and a half from Hazelburg—so I didn’t have to take the train or bus, and unlocked the front door. The house smelled like pine-scented air freshener, and my sneakers squeaked against the polished floors as I searched for my father.
It was his birthday on Tuesday. Since I had class, work, and a photoshoot that day, I’d decided to surprise him today with his favorite cake from Crumble & Bake.
I heard sounds coming from the den, and when I entered the room, I found my dad poring over papers at the table in the corner.
“Hey, Dad.” I slid my bag strap off my shoulder and let the leather tote thump on the ground.
He glanced up, surprise scrawled over his face when he saw me standing there. “Ava. I didn’t know you were coming home this weekend.”
Michael Chen was not a conventionally good-looking man, but I’d always considered him handsome the way all little girls thought their fathers were handsome. Black hair peppered with gray at the temples, broad shoulders, and a dusting of stubble on his chin. He wore a striped polo shirt and jeans, his casual outfit of choice, and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of his nose.
“I’m not. Well, not the whole weekend.” I flashed an awkward smile. “I wanted to drop by and wish you a happy early birthday.” I placed the cake box on the table. “I’m sorry Josh and I can’t be here on your actual birthday, but I brought your favorite cheesecake from C&B.”
“Ah. Thank you.” He stared at the box but didn’t touch it.