Series: Werewolves of Wall Street Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 66669 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66669 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
She stops in front of the door and searches my face as if trying to understand. “We already had sex twice today.”
I take her keys from her hand and open the door. “I’m spending the night, Madi,” I say firmly, rather than get into a discussion about whether I do or don’t want to feast between her legs and make her scream my name all night long.
Of course, I want that. But I can keep my dick put away if that’s not what she needs.
I see the flicker of vulnerability she shows when her armor cracks, and I know I’ve won.
“It smells like paint,” she warns me. “Aubrey is painting a mural in our living room.”
“Come on,” I coax, nudging her inside and following. “Take me upstairs.”
Chapter Eleven
Madi
It’s all too much.
Not the sex–the sex is amazing. But the implications of Brick being in my apartment.
Aubrey wasn’t home when we got in last night, but as Brick brings me to my third orgasm this morning, I hear her moving around the kitchen, softly singing a song by The Cure as she makes breakfast.
Brick clamps a hand over my mouth as I cry out, muffling the sound of my pleasure as he rides to his own.
He was a perfect gentleman last night, helping me out of my dress and drawing me a bath because he decided I was cold.
By the time I got out, I’d warmed up in more than one way, especially after he laid me down on the bed and took his time kissing and licking every inch of my body before he brought me to orgasm. It was incredible.
He’s incredible.
That’s what has me uneasy. It’s the worst part of all of this. I never expected this giving side of Brick. I thought he’d continue to be an asshole, even as a lover, and I was okay with that. It was part of the allure, really. The boss-employee power dynamic turned me on. Like a milder version of master and submissive role play.
But Blackthroat as attentive? Warm, even? The guy who held me all night, lightly brushing circles over my skin every time I stirred?
That I don’t even know how to reconcile. Frankly, it terrifies me.
Right now he’s like an Adonis in my bed. Naked and gloriously muscled. His eyes reflect golden hues of the morning light as he reaches his peak and slams into me to finish. I wrap my legs around his waist and hook my feet behind him to take him even deeper.
He shudders with pleasure as he releases into me, his strokes turning slow and languid. His lids droop.
What is he even doing here?
In my apartment?
In my bed?
It’s a puzzle I can’t seem to solve, and I’m the type of person who won’t stop worrying a problem until I understand it. Give me an unfinished crossword, and I can’t walk away until every box is filled.
But no matter what it is that draws him to me, it won’t change the fact that I know he won’t stay. Which wouldn’t be a problem if it was only about the sex. But it’s not that neat and clean.
I could really fall for this guy. Fall hard.
And I know there’d be no cushion to land on when I fall. The billionaire Brick Blackthroat isn’t going to put a ring on my finger and walk me down the aisle–not that I think the institution of marriage is the end-all or anything. But regardless. This isn’t Cinderella. I don’t get the prince. It’s more like Pride and Prejudice, except there won’t be a happily-ever-after. Falling in love with Brick can only mean one thing: a broken heart.
He takes his fingers away from my mouth and kisses me. “Want to get breakfast?”
“Um.” I try to swallow down the lump in my throat. While spending the entire weekend with Brick like he’s an actual boyfriend has huge appeal, I just… can’t.
It’s not the right move to make. It’s not smart or practical.
Being with Brick is starting to hurt my heart–I’m falling for him. Not the fantasy of him but the real man. And I know this won’t last. It can’t. A billionaire from a long line of wealth and status doesn’t slum long-term.
I know what I need to do here. “I think you should go,” I say. “I need some time to think.”
He studies me. “About me?”
My heart flip-flops in my chest. “Yeah,” I say softly.
He draws away, his face impassive as he climbs out of the bed and pulls on his undershirt and boxers, then tuxedo pants and shirt, which he leaves unbuttoned. I’m already sorry for pushing him away, even though I know it’s the right thing to do.
“Somehow I think you’ve already made up your mind. Let’s have it, Windows.”
“I don’t think we should have sex any more.” I pluck the sheet up to cover my breasts.