Page 31 of Baby I'm Yours

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice rough and his cock still buried in me from behind.

I turn over my shoulder, whispering, “It’s almost seven. What if the Thai place is already closed?”

He smiles as he arches a brow. “Woman, this is New York City. Restaurants don’t close at seven.”

“They don’t?”

“No, they don’t.” He kisses my shoulder before pulling back and standing to adjust his clothes. And though a part of me is sad to feel him leave me, I need a beat to recover from the intensity of what just happened.

And I’m hungry.

Really,reallyhungry…

“I think we need two orders of spring rolls,” I say, accepting the tissues he presses into my hand as I stand. I reach between my legs, catching the come that leaks from inside me. “Baby-making sex makes me hungry.”

“Fucking women straight again makes me hungry,” he says, already wandering into the kitchen. “I’ll order now. Two of everything and extra rice to share.”

“I was never gay,” I call after him, grinning in spite of myself.

“That’s what they all say,” he calls back, making me laugh.

Fuck, he’s funny.

And amazing at sex.

And has amazing taste in food, I realize half an hour later, as we tuck into the best Thai food I’ve ever had.

“Good thing he’s an asshole, or you’d totally fall in love with him,” I say to my reflection afterwards, as I’m applying my face lotions, post-shower, and getting ready to join him in his bed.

I’m wearing a black lace teddy and sinfully soft silk shorts, one of the dozens of new lingerie pieces Hunter bought for me sometime between last night and tonight and had delivered to his place. They were waiting in a drawer for me in the closet, right above another drawer filled with designer yoga clothes, fancy silk pajamas, and a vintage swimsuit I can’t wait to take for a turn by the pool.

Apparently, he enjoys spoiling me a little, and I’m not about to complain. I’ve never been spoiled. Hunter thinks I’m a brat, but I’m pretty sure brats have boyfriends who remember their birthdays, but none of my loser exes did.

I’ve never had a man get me a present for a special occasion, let alone just…because.

“Don’t fall for him. Don’t,” I warn, pointing a stern finger at my own face.

“Are you coming?” Hunter calls from his oh-so-swanky bedroom.

“Not yet, but I will be soon, I bet,” I whisper, a wicked grin curving my lips.

And, sure enough, we’re not twenty minutes into Ferris Bueller’s Day Off before Hunter is getting off inside me. I’m on top this time and the attention he gives to my nipples as I rock on him is top tier.

So top tier, I come even harder than I did in his living room, so hard I have no memory of falling asleep. I simply come myself unconscious and wake up near midnight, snuggled against Hunter in the little spoon position, feeling riskily safe and adored.

nine

HUNTER

I no longer have to work fora living—I’ve been independently wealthy for most of the past decade—but I enjoy my job. The thrill of the financial kill never gets old, but being cooped up in an office certainly does.

I rarely work a full day anymore, but I do work almost every day, and I can’t remember the last time I took off on a Thursday. Thursday is a day when things happen, when everyone’s pushing to finish business before the weekend.

But I have no problem calling to let my assistant know that I’m taking an extra day off, this morning. Elaina is a handful and can’t be trusted to follow directions without clear and explicitly-outlined boundaries.

Or so I tell myself as I wake her with a cup of coffee, telling her to get dressed for a tour of the neighborhood.

“A tour,” she murmurs, blinking sleepily as I open the drapes, revealing the sun-drenched city below. “Sounds fun. Will there be snacks?”

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