Page 48 of It Destroys Me

“I hope it’s okay that I’m here.”

“You would already know if it wasn’t.” I circled her waist and brought her closer to me, hooking her leg over my hip and squeezing her ass with my hand.

Her eyes moved down to my chest, where she traced one of my tattoos with her finger. She had the plumpest lips, the kind that made women pump shit into their faces to achieve. Pronounced cheekbones. Bright eyes that were sometimes green and sometimes hazel. She was the same woman, but she changed right before my eyes, becoming more beautiful with every passing day. “You wanted to surprise me. So, surprise me.”

Her cheeks darkened as she blushed, her eyes dropping to my chest again. “Well, I was supposed to be on the bed when you walked inside.”

“Then get on the bed.”

“I was going to be on my hands and knees?—”

“Show me.”

Her confidence waned as her insecurities came to the surface. Maybe it was because her makeup was messed up or because her hair had flattened from sleeping for hours, but she showed the kind of hesitation she’d never had before. “I—I thought we could do that thing you like.”

“I like a lot of things, sweetheart.”

She still wouldn’t look at me. “When I first started coming over here, you said you were into something…something I’ve never done before.”

A flush ran straight through my body, a heat I hadn’t felt with another woman all my life. It was borderline desperate. My dick had been hard when I’d gotten into bed beside her, but now it was a metal pole. “You want me to fuck you in the ass, sweetheart?” My fingers went to her chin and forced her eyes to mine.

“I—I thought I could try it.”

“It’ll hurt,” I said honestly. “A lot. Until you get used to it.”

“I assumed…”

“I’ve wanted to fuck you in the ass since the moment you were in my study in that little pencil skirt.” Every time she turned around, my eyes went straight to her ass, which looked like a goddamn summer peach. Every time I grabbed it, I got hard. Every time I fucked her from behind, I wanted to slide my thumb inside. “But don’t do it for me. I’m very satisfied with what we have. There’s no obligation.”

“You don’t think I can handle it.”

“Most women can’t handle it—at least with me,” I said. “Which is why I usually have to pay for it.”

“Well, you don’t have to pay for it with me.”

That was sexy as hell, but I didn’t tell her that, not when it would make her feel obligated. “Like I said, I’m satisfied with what we have.”

“But I know you like this.”

“I’m a man, sweetheart. I like all sex.” I had more crass things to say, but I kept the locker-room talk to myself. “I can tell you feel obligated, and I don’t want you to feel obligated to do anything?—”

“Of course I feel obligated,” she said. “I want to be your woman.”

My eyes hadn’t strayed from hers, the two of us sharing a pillow, her thigh hiked over my hip. “You are my woman, sweetheart.” Maybe she thought I called all women sweetheart, but I didn’t. Never called anyone that in my life except her. I’d become monogamous without her asking. I had been faithful to her even when she’d gone home to her husband, before she left him. I didn’t know how it happened, how the fuck I got into the very position I didn’t want to be in, but I was here. I’d rather be a man and face it than run like a coward.

Affection burned bright like a forest fire in her eyes. I could see the way my words traveled from the surface of her eyes all the way down to her soul. She latched on to them, tucked them into her heart to keep forever. “Then I really want to do this with you—and not because I feel obligated.”

Aldo let me into the house and escorted me to the study. The room seemed empty, given its lack of use. Before Axel retired, he used to do his paperwork in here, have meetings. But now, it was just a room to drink and smoke.

I looked at one of the paintings on the way, probably something from the museum his family owned. For a man with such deep aristocratic ties to royal society, he didn’t seem to care about art or culture or wine…or whatever else snobs lived for.

That was probably why we got along so well.

Axel walked in a moment later, just in his sweatpants like he’d been in bed when Aldo notified him of my visit.

“It’s nine.”

He dropped into the armchair and poured a glass of scotch from the decanter that Aldo had placed on the coffee table. “I wasn’t sleeping, asshole.” He set the glass down on the table beside him. “What brings you here?”