Page 161 of Failure to Match

I clicked my tongue, teasing. “Friends don’t torture each other’s private parts, Mr. Sinclair. They play much nicer than that.”

He chuckled. “If you’ve got any nonnegotiables, you should probably say them now. I’m taking you upstairs the second we’re home and you won’t be able to pry my mouth from your pussy until I’ve had my fill. It’s been a long fucking week.”

I squirmed on his lap. “I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned it yet, but the dirty talk really does it for me.”

His smirk turned a touch dark. “Eating you out is what does it for me. It’s at the top of my kink list.”

“You have no idea how hot that is,” I breathed. Or maybe he did. Maybe he knew exactly what he was doing to me.

“Tell me your conditions. I need the distraction.”

There was one topic we needed to discuss that would sober us right up.

“Kids,” I said. “We need to talk about that whole thing.”

Sure enough, the heat in Jackson’s eyes went out with a blink. It was replaced with uncertainty.

I cleared my throat. “Obviously, your aunt wants to secure an heir... but that’s a massive decision, and I need a lot—and I meana lot—of time to think about it. And I can’t promise anything right now one way or the other.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Okay. That’s more than fair.”

I released a breath. “Really?”

“Really. If you decide to do this with me, we can talk about it in a year or two... see how we both feel about it.”

He said it with firm, unwavering confidence. Like there was no doubt in his mind that we’d still be together, just like this, in a year or two.

“But what if Minerva?—”

“Jamie.” He tipped my chin until I didn’t have a choice but to meet his gaze. “It’syou, or it’s no one. We can talk about the rest whenever you’re ready, but I’ll never push you to have a child if it’s not something you want. I don’t care what Minerva decides to threaten me with next. Fuck her. Fuck the company. Fuck the shares. It’s me and you, okay? We’re in this together.”

Relief washed over me. I sighed. “We would make a pretty good team.”

His grin was devastating. “Best friends for liiife,” he teased in a shocking, sing-songy voice. Like a dork. And when I was done giggling over it, he murmured, “I love you, Jamie.”

The man was dead set on sending me straight to an early grave, I swear.

“I love you, too,” I whispered back.

His breath hitched, the smile falling off his face. “Yeah?”

“Hell yeah.”

“You’re the full way there?”

“I’m the full way there.”

This time when he kissed me, he didn’t stop. Not until we’d arrived at the penthouse, he’d kicked his bedroom door shut, and my half-naked body was splayed out on his bed.

And the only reason he stopped was to make good on all the threats he’d made about what he’d do with his tongue if I were his wife. Every. single. One.

40

It tookanother eight days for me and Jackson to finalize the terms of our non-agreement agreement, partly because he insisted on being unreasonable (in what world did I need a personal bodyguard???), and partly because we couldn’t be alone in the same room for more than ten minutes before I attacked him mouth-first, or vice versa.

We were insatiable. It was honestly exhausting. Thirty percent of my muscles were sore at any given time and in seemingly randomized batches. Still, no matter how many times I had him, it never seemed to be enough.

Most of the household staff had learned to steer clear of whichever section of the house Jackson and I were hanging out in, and all the security cameras he’d installed before my arrival were disconnected.

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