Page 143 of Call Me Mrs. Taylor

I shake my head.

He frowns, slowing his strokes, keeping his fingers resting lightly against my neck like I’m fragile. But that’s not what I want. I’m done with gentle. I wanna feel it. Everything.

“I trust you,” I whisper.

That’s mostly true. I don’t trust anybody 100%, especially men, but Ace is as close as I've ever been.

He holds my gaze, searching for something. I stare back, unblinking, waiting for him to give me what I want.

Finally, he does.

He squeezes. The pressure builds. The air grows thin, each breath a struggle that turns the erotic ache between my legs into throbbing pleasure. I swear I see stars.

I love this.

Not just the feeling. The surrender. The knowing that Ace could end me right now and I wouldn’t even fight it. I’d go limp beneath him, forever young. Forever his.

My thighs tremble as he thrusts harder, enjoying it as much as I am. I’m floating, somewhere between pain and pleasure, and I never want to come back down.

Because honestly, right now, I don’t care if I live or die.

If Ace’s face is the last thing I ever see, that’s good enough for me. And I wouldn’t want him to stop on my account. I’d want him to finish inside me so I could take his legacy to my grave.

Nowthat’slove.

My chest aches, but I don’t think it’s from Ace’s hand. I think it’s deeper than that. It’s the ache that’s been dormant all my life, the one I hide behind makeup and fake self-confidence. Ace awakened it like a virus, and now it’s spreading.

It’s ironic that the first man to truly love me is the one to make me see how unloved I’ve actually been.

A tear rolls down the side of my face.

I’m so close. My nails drag down his back. My eyes roll. It’s not until his grip tightens a tiny bit more that I come apart, my whole body spasming, stars and supernovas bursting behind my eyelids.

Ace is saying something, but the fuzz in my ears drowns him out. He’s still fucking me, not stopping on my account, and I love it. I love when he feels good.

The pressure eases completely when he cums. I gasp for air, only realizing now that I was on a different plane, maybe a different dimension. Or maybe I was losing consciousness, I don’t know. Whatever it was, I liked it.

We lie tangled in the sheets, my head on his chest, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on my back. He keeps glancing at me, checking me, I guess, making sure I’m okay.

Then he says it.

“I got invited to the White House.”

My head lifts. “Are you serious?”

He tries his best to minimize his smile. “Some sustainability event. We’re not meeting old boy. Just some officials. I’m taking my mom.”

I go still.

His mother. The wine-guzzling cunt.

He’s takingher. Not me.

Heat creeps up my spine as a new heaviness settles over me. But I don’t react. I just rest my cheek against his chest again, smiling against his skin.

I’m fine.

Everything is fine.

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