would be in awe of the masterpieces he owned. Just the Monet painting alone cost him ten million dollars.
The sound of the front door pulled my attention from the screen. It sounded like the knob was turning or the lock was being picked. Damien had no problem breaking in to my home, so I tossed my computer off my lap and grabbed the gun I kept hidden underneath the table. I clicked off the safety then faced the door, my gun aimed and held at the ready.
The lock was opened, and Cato walked inside.
Like he owned the place.
He was wearing black jeans and a gray t-shirt, and his height gave my vaulted ceiling a run for its money. His eyes moved to mine as he shut the door behind him. Unaffected by the loaded gun pointed right between his eyes, he sauntered into the room.
“What the hell are you doing?” My heart slowed down when I realized Damien wasn’t there to shoot me again, but I kept my gun pointed at the asshole who was trespassing on my property.
He walked right up to me and let the barrel of the gun press against his chest. Fearless, he looked down at me, that distinct look of amusement on his face. He cupped my cheek then tilted my face so my lips were angled toward his. “A beautiful woman with a gun…that’s pretty sexy.” He pressed his mouth to mine as he pulled the gun out of my hand.
My fingers turned lifeless as I let him pull the metal away from my grip. His kiss immobilized me, like I was the one being held at gunpoint. His warm mouth was as comforting as I remembered, soft and full. He gave me purposeful kisses that nearly made me forget he’d barged into my house without knocking.
He pulled down the straps of my yellow sundress and pushed it over my chest so my tits were on display. His lips didn’t break from mine as he gripped both of my breasts in his large hands and squeezed them. He moaned before he gave me his tongue. “I missed you, baby.”
I loved how sexy his hands felt as they groped me. So large and warm. They were a man’s hands, big and callused. They knew how to handle a woman’s rack, how to squeeze and massage until I was running out of breath. His thumbs flicked over my nipples as he kept kissing me.
“Say you missed me.”
I didn’t have an urge for disobedience. I turned into mush in his hands, my hormones overriding my rage. This man had done something unforgivable, but I was letting him kiss me and feel me up. “I missed you.”
He gripped my dress then pulled it over my head, revealing my choice of a white thong. He stared down at me in approval, his fingers moving to my slender tummy and my wide hips. He turned his hand over and trailed the backs of his fingers down my stomach and toward the apex of my thighs. When his fingers reached my clit, he rubbed it gently, using two fingers to supply the perfect amount of pleasure. He touched me better than I touched myself, as if he could feel my own pleasure. “Say it again.”
I didn’t hesitate. My desperation came out without shame. “I missed you…”
His mouth moved to mine as he kissed me again, his fingers still working my clit with precision. He sucked my bottom lip into his mouth then grazed his tongue past mine. His fingers rubbed me harder until my hips moved into his body.
This man made me fall apart—and I hated it. “You can’t just barge into my house like that.” I pushed my hand into his hard chest, but he didn’t move. Instead, I was the one who moved back, his fingers falling from my clit. “There’s a doorbell.”
“I don’t like doorbells.” His eyes stayed glued to my lips, like he was waiting for the next chance to kiss me.
“Then knock.”
“I don’t like that either.”
“Well, that’s not how this is gonna work.” I crossed my arms over my chest, but that only pushed my tits higher up my body. “Knock, or I’ll shoot you next time.”
A charming grin stretched across his face. It should annoy me, but anytime he wore a grin, it was innately arousing. “Fuck, you’re sexy.” He pulled my gun from his back pocket and set it on my coffee table. His shirt came next before he tossed it on the floor.