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Reluctantly Yours(84)

Author:Erin Hawkins

That sentence sends me over the edge.

“Oh, God. Barrett. Yes.”

My back arches up and a million sparks of pleasure explode from my core and radiate throughout my body. I recover just in time to open my eyes and see Barrett kneeling over me, his hands wringing out pleasure, sending the hot liquid of his orgasm across my chest.

I lay still, wondering what I should do, what the protocol is for this moment. The evidence of an insanely hot hookup with my sexy fake boyfriend slowly drying on my chest.

“Don’t move,” Barrett says. He climbs off the bed and walks into the bathroom.

With Barrett gone, I give into the urge to run my fingers through his cum, smear it across my chest. Then another thought occurs to me. I haven’t tasted him. Curious, I put my finger in my mouth.

It’s tangy and slightly salty, with a sweet, milky texture. I like it. I go for another taste.

At that moment, Barrett strides into the room with a wet washcloth in his hand.

“Jesus, Chloe.”

“What?!” I say, alarmed by his sudden appearance. Also feeling embarrassed and maybe a bit guilty, of what I’m not sure. Curiosity?

“Are you licking my cum off your chest?”

“Um, yeah. Is that okay?”

“Yes. It’s insanely arousing.” He walks to the bed and climbs over me. “Did you get enough?”

I nod and he begins to clean himself off of me.

It’s a good question, but I’m starting to wonder if I can ever get enough of him.

When he starts to move away, I grab his arm, careful not to claw at his skin with my nails.

“Stay.”

CHAPTER 21

Barrett

Chloe stares up at me with those big blue eyes.

“Yeah. Okay. But put this on.” I hand her the robe hanging on the bathroom door. She pulls it on and ties it around her waist. With her gloriously naked body no longer on display, I can focus.

She pulls back the covers and slides in, patting the space beside her, but a picture frame on the bedside table draws my attention.

It’s a family picture. I immediately pick out Chloe. She’s the oldest child, yet her petite frame places her toward the front of the picture.

“You’ve told me how loud and busy your childhood was. What’s it like having that many siblings?” I ask, holding the picture up so she can see. “Are you close with everyone?”

Chloe leans back into her pillow. “Chaotic.” She laughs. “But seriously, you’re never lonely. There was always someone to play with growing up. As a teenager that became annoying because there was always someone around. It was hard to get alone time. I shared a bedroom with my sister, Lila. The boys shared and then Penelope, the baby, got her own room.”

I’m realizing that while I view Chloe’s tiny apartment as inadequate, she sees it as a milestone. Her own space. I feel like a jerk for being critical of it, but in my defense, there were repairs that needed to happen.

“Lila and I are three years apart, which at times felt much further, but we’ve been close since high school. Levi and Hudson are five years younger and Penelope is seven years younger. She just graduated from high school.

“The downside was we didn’t travel much or take vacations. That’s what books were for. Escapism in its cheapest form.” She slides her hand under her head. “I’m sure you traveled a lot as a kid.”

“My dad worked all the time, but my mother took me places. Paris, London, Venice. There’s a photo of me in my mother’s office when I was three or four eating gelato outside the Colosseum.”

“You do like ice cream! I knew it!”

“I was four and it was gelato.”

She smiles. “That’s definitely on my bucket list.”

“Gelato?”

“No. Traveling out of the country. A stamp in my passport. I have one. I got it when I turned eighteen thinking I was an adult and I was going to see the world. I haven’t made it that far.”

“You moved to New York. That’s impressive.”

“Yeah. I guess it is. I love being here. I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”

We’re quiet for a moment, my hand slowly tracing up and down her back. It’s impossible to be near her and not touch her.

“What was your dad like?” she asks.

“He was older when he and my mother married and then she had me later in life. If he were alive, he’d be eighty-six.”

“I didn’t realize he was that much older than your mom.”

“He was a bachelor, married to his work before my mother convinced him to settle down. Except marriage and a child didn’t really change his work habits. With my father absent all the time, I imagined a different life for myself. Traveling, having a family and being young enough to see my kids graduate and get married or have kids of their own. One where I would be there for my children. Not an empty chair at the dinner table. I wanted to do things differently. Ironically, now business is the only thing I care about.”

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