Page 43 of Power Play

“Condom?” I whisper, and he nods once, pulling his wallet out from his back pocket and removing a packet from the cash slot.

Magnum.

As if Duke Harrison could be anything else than magnificent.

“I plan to taste all of you later,” he tells me, rolling the latex down his impressive length. “I’ll start here”—his finger goes to my clit, which is tingling with need—“and then I’ll work my way up to here.” His fingertip brushes my nipple through the silk, and he laughs hoarsely. “No bra?”

“Didn’t want any bra lines showing.”

His forehead drops to mine. “You’re killing me, Charlie.”

“Same here.” I squirm against him, and he lifts me up, settling me on what’s got to be a brick level intended for plants. It’s winter. It’s freezing. There are no plants. Except for me, and I’m ready to bloom.

No, I’m not sorry about that wicked cheesy line.

“Stop making me wait,” I say, urging him on when I clamp my legs around his waist.

He abides by my demand, thrusting inside with one hard stroke that has me calling out his name. My hands dig into his shoulders. His forehead drops to the curve of my neck.

“Fuck, Charlie,” he mutters, his lips staggering kisses over my exposed collarbone. “You feel so good.”

So does he. I lose myself in the eroticism of the push and pull of his hips from my body. There are no words that adequately define how I feel—needed, desired. For the first time in my life, I feel wanted by a man.

I’ve never needed to feelwanted. Over the years, I’ve learned to love my independent streak, to enjoy the life of a woman on her own, though fate handed me those cards too early in my life.

But in this moment . . . I want it to last forever.

“Please,” I whisper, begging for something that I don’t yet know the name of, “please.”

Another kiss, this one to my forehead. “Whatever you want, sweetheart. You can have whatever you want.”

With three more sharply driven thrusts, he gives me more than I could have ever asked for.

He gives me an orgasm.

He gives me a second orgasm. (Who knew such a thing existed?)

He gives me the hope that maybe, just maybe, we can be more than just random sex on a hotel rooftop.

Maybe it can lead to love.

Chapter Thirteen

Ispendall of two hours deliberating on my decision forThe Tribune.

Two thousand words, to be more precise.

I know what Josh wants of me. I know what’ll happen when I don’t hand over the “goods,” so to speak. But after writing out an article that meets his specifications, I realize that I just can’t do it.

I can’t turn in something that, in turn, guarantees Duke’s fall from society’s pedestal.

Whether anything comes of me and Duke is just a bonus, but I can’t force myself to type two thousand words of pure tabloid fodder. I tried, I really did. Thing is, bullshit only gets you so far when you’re creating a captivating story.

By the time I typed the last paragraph, I was ready to vomit from self-disgust.

So, yeah, that’s not going to happen. If Josh decides to fire me for writing the article thatIwant to write, then I’ll tackle that obstacle when I reach that particular crossroads.

“You’re smiling like a woman obsessed,” Casey tells me from her desk. “Stop gloating.”

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