Page 45 of Missed Exit

“I do still believe that. I also believe you are covered in champagne. And someone should clean you up.”

“It’s all over you, too.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to clean each other.”

“I think I’m probably the messiest so—”

“You know I plan on taking care of you first.”

“Lead the way.”

“Bring the bottle.”

His hot tongue licks drying champagne from my chest, clearing a path through the stickiness on my skin as his mouth moves closer to my nipple.

My fingers trail through his hair. “I’m not sure this is how all songwriting duos celebrate, but it could definitely be the reward that motivates me to keep writing.”

“Better than chocolate?”

“Chocolate, champagne, and you. I’ll take that trifecta all day every day.”

“You want it all, huh?”

“Always.”

He sinks his thick cock into my drenched pussy, pushing his hips forward until he’s fully sheathed while his mouth encases the hardened peak his tongue has been teasing.

Yeah, I want it all. Always.

The bulb in my bedside lamp flickers before it goes out completely right as the washing machine buzzes to let me know my clothes are ready for the dryer, momentarily drowning out the monotonous tune of the ice cream truck filtering in from the street. All around us, it’s just another ordinary Saturday afternoon, but here we are, doing unseen extraordinary things in this completely unremarkable place.

I push against his shoulders and shift to my side to let him know I want to change positions. He goes up onto his knees to allow me to flip over, but I shake my head and smile.

“No. It’s my turn to be on top.”

Sitting tall, I circle my hips until I feel his dick pulse and my walls do the same. I lean forward and grab the champagne bottle from the nightstand, bringing it to my lips when I resume my position.

Taking a slow, measured drink, I savor every sensation—the gentle tingling as tiny bubbles fizz on my tongue before I swallow, the firmness of his hips between my thighs as I rock forward and back, fucking him like he belongs to me, even as his gaze elicits goosebumps over my skin because he owns me, too.

We’ve become intertwined in ways that give over parts of ourselves to each other. My lyrics don’t work without his music, but my anger didn’t fade until it brushed up against his stubbornness either. And it wouldn’t have fallen away to let my secret dream flourish if I hadn’t seen the embers of his ambition still smoldering behind all his headstrong avoidance. He’s still avoiding it, but I see it.

I take another drink, and tilt my head back to let the bubbles slide down my throat. I feel light and unburdened. Sexy and desired. Capable and trusted.

He’s smiling up at me when I glance down to make sure he’s still watching. I don’t think he’s taken his eyes off me since he walked through my door.

Without considering if I should or not, I just say the words.

“I love you.”

“I fucking adore you, Greta. I’ve loved you since before you could tell the difference between a ball and strike.”

“We’re going to be incredible.”

“We already are.”

23

Law

---