Page 19 of Staking His Claim

I needed a longertime to recover, especially after he insisted I sit on his face after we showered. Then in the many hours thereafter.

And for the second time that day, after I fell into a boneless heap, this time in Fletcher Knight’s California king size bed, he'd scooped up his phone and placed the call to Tony Strada.

Turned out the intemperate chefcouldbe coerced.

Especially since his nephew needed urgent help with his second DUI. Fletcher had promised to put his best person on it, turning to wink at me as he said that, then winking again when I’d rolled my eyes.

Then he’d gone one better and promised to pay for Strada’s nephew’s fine.

Which was how we came to be enjoying leftovers from the veritable feast on Saturday afternoon, accompanied by wine from Fletcher’s extended selection.

Fletcher never made it into work yesterday, and by simply stating I was working with him from home, neither did I.

“On Thursday, when you said that thing about not dating... I mean, I know you said vows are vows but she didn’t keep hers to you. So…”

He shrugged. “Tit-for-tat fucking wasn’t my thing. So no, I haven’t had sex with another woman in three years.”

Oh God. That accounted for the unhinged edge to our coupling on his desk. But that also worried me a little. Because once he appeased the years-long hunger and deprivation, would he grow bored with me?

“I see you thinking again, baby. What’s up?”

It was deeply disconcerting how easily he could read me. But in a way I was also glad. Because left to my devices, I would’ve suppressed then obsessed about this until I tore out my metaphorical hair.

With his implacable demand, I could blurt it all out.

So I did.

Fletcher

I wasn’tsure what I’d expected her to say, but what she did say triggered a bark of laughter.

When she frowned, then pouted her adorable lips at me, I kissed her irresistible mouth before I answered. “You think you’re just an itch I intend to scratch then discard?” I asked, incredulous.

“It’s not funny,” she grumbled when I chuckled some more.

I had to kiss her again.

At this point it felt likenotkissing her was a cardinal sin. And I was a good, ruinously perverted, mostly unhinged Catholic boy when it came to Emily Hartley.

“No, it’s not. But I don’t want to scare you, so will you accept my oral statement when I say I won’t grow bored? Or do you need irrefutable evidence?”

A slow blush crept in her cheeks, and she looked slightly abashed when she flicked me a glance from beneath her lovely lashes. “I wouldn’t mind a little more concrete evidence, please.”

Grinning, I pulled her closer until she was splayed on top of me. Fuck, she was so soft. So gorgeously supple. Touching her was an addiction I intended to feed often and unreservedly.

I wrapped my fingers around the long strands of her hair, watched the silky fall caress my skin for a moment before I met her beautiful blue eyes.

“I know your favorite meal—pancakes with three pieces of bacon, a shaving of butter and blueberry syrup—which shampoo you use—Pantene with argan oil, where you buy your perfume. The only thing I didn’t know until today was just how incredible you would taste. How insanely good your little pussy would feel around my cock, whether that toy you ordered online had done its job so you would be able to take all of me the first time.”

Her mouth dropped open and a deep flush flooded her face. Had I not tightened my hold on her, she would’ve fidgeted. Probably jumped out of my arms. “Oh God! You know about that?”

I chucked inwardly.

This girl. I was a little worried for her when she found out the extent of my obsession. How I hadn’t left a single stone unturned when it came to making sure I knew her inside out.

It did help to know she’d pulled a few tricks of her own too.

“Yes. Just like I know the dry cleaners didn’t lose my shirt.”

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