that impression from him.
He’s seems serious about this and honestly what have I got to lose?
“Okay.”
“Okay?” he repeats.
“Yeah, okay. I’ll do it. I’ll be your mother buffer at the event. If I’m working, I’ll swap with someone, and then we’ll . . . you know . . .” I wave my hand in the air.
His eyes go soft as he leans in for another soft brush of the lips. “Just promise me one thing.”
“Shoot.”
“Whoever you meet and whatever you see, don’t ever think I’m like them.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m my own man—I just happened to be born into a world where my name has a legacy attached to it.”
“Okay . . .” I reply, now totally confused as to why he feels the need to tell me that.
So much so that it’s got me wondering what the hell I’ve just agreed to.
I’m in the bathroom putting on a pair of diamond stud earrings when there’s a knock at my front door. I add two final dabs of my Sensual by Johan B. perfume below my ears and between my breasts. .
Knowing we were going to one of the trendiest restaurants in the city, I’d chosen a dress that was flashy but not trashy. I’m going for a combination of intriguing and seductive while also screaming class.
I am a lover of clothes and especially dressing up. I work hard because I’m ambitious and want to be proud of my achievements when I’m old, gray, and wrinkly in all the wrong places, but also so that I can afford nice things—my apartment, good clothes, and even sexier heels, because we know it’s always all about the shoes.
Happy with how I look, I make my way into the living room. With my purse hooked over my arm, I swing open my front door and stop dead at the sight of Cade standing there looking like sex on a stick that has been rolled in chocolate then dipped in sprinkles of ‘jump me now.’
Charcoal tailored shirt? Check. Black slacks that look like they were made just for him? Check. The barest hint of stubble on his jaw that makes me shiver in anticipation of the feel of it against my thigh—and other places? Check.
He meets my eyes, and a rumbling chuckle escapes his lips. His gaze does a slow—thorough—scan of my body, pausing at the low V of my cleavage, then my hips, my clenched thighs, and freezing when he reaches my shoes, the same four-inch black Louboutins I was wearing when I met him.
I’m forced to clear my throat when he remains transfixed by my feet, so long my brain starts to consider the possibility that Doctor Hottie might have a foot fetish.
He moves, walking forward one step for every one I take until my legs hit the back of my couch. Holding me in place with his hips, his hands move with purpose and intent, one cupping the back of my head, the other one gliding down over my ass and dipping beneath the hem of my dress.
He crashes his lips on mine, his tongue spearing into my mouth at the same time as his fingers dive inside my underwear and his thumb is right there.
“Cade,” I whisper hoarsely, the sound muffled by his mouth on mine.
“If you’re going to look that fucking hot sitting at the table opposite me, I’m going to do it knowing it was my fingers you were riding when you made yourself come.”
Fuck me sideways and call me Nancy, why does his dirty mouth make me want to fall at his feet and offer him everything I have?
He slowly presses one finger inside of me, his thumb enacting glorious swirls over my clit.
Dragging his mouth over my jaw and down to my neck, his lips, teeth, and tongue torture my skin, causing my limbs to convulse and cling tighter to him. I anchor myself while undulating my hips and taking everything he gives me. Cade bites into my neck, and my climax catapults towards me. My back arches and I grind down, just about to go over, but he quickly pulls his hand away, my responding growl bouncing off the walls.
Cade hums against my skin, and I try to catch my breath while secretly planning his death in my head. I jerk away from him and he chuckles, gently kissing that perfect little spot beneath my ear before simultaneously lifting his head and righting my panties.
Looking down into my wide—and no doubt dagger-wielding—eyes, he grins and slides