Page 96 of Hale Yes
Her legs are straddling my hips, putting her in the perfect position to feel how hard I am, and her pussy weeps in response.
“You just had to prove you needed all three of those condoms, didn’t you?” she teases.
“I’m a man of my word.”
It only takes another minute of her dragging that juicy pussy up and down my dick before I’m rolling on the rubber and settling her on top of me. This time, the sex isn’t hard and frenetic like our previous times. Instead of Nicolette sitting up and riding me like a cowgirl, I hold her close to my body and rock up into her.
We move in perfect synch, a melding of bodies in a slow and sensual dance. Our lips are connected the entire time, and I feel something inside me loosen, like a tightly-bound ball of stringthat’s being unraveled with every move of her soft body over mine.
I want more with her.That realization slaps me in the face when we come at the same time, swallowing each other’s euphoria.
I’m still thinking about it after we nap for another two hours, and it’s still at the forefront of my mind while we shower together, along with something else I told her last night.
I trust Nicolette Bell.And that scares the shit out of me. My natural fight or flight instincts tell me to end this before I get in too deep, but another part of me—a significant part I can’t quite define—craves the connection we’re building.
She’s ensnared me with her brain, her body, and especially with her heart.
“You’re quiet,” she notes as I rinse the conditioner from her long hair.
“Just thinking,” I say absently, trying to sort through those dreaded things called feelings.
Nicolette kisses her way down my body, her tongue flicking my nipple before sliding over my abs. “I’m sore, but maybe I can take your mind off things in another way.”
I snap out of my reverie and hook her beneath the armpits before she can sink to her knees.Am I really turning down a blow job? Who even am I right now?
“Maybe another time,” I tell her, softening the rejection by pressing her against the tiles of her shower and kissing the hell out of her. When I pull back, I give her one more soft peck. “Why don’t we go to brunch and talk about those labels?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The state of my asshole
Nicolette
Helix Hale lives in a palace. I’m aware the entire Hale family is loaded. After all, the cosmetics industry is highly lucrative, but holy shitballs. This is likerichrich.
“You can wait in the living room or the solarium,” he tells me as we traverse the beautifully outfitted kitchen, where we entered from the six-car garage.
“No parlor?” I ask because I’m a smartass.
His lips hike up at the corners. “It’s on the other side of the house. I’ll be changed before you can walk there.”
I sigh dramatically. “Perhaps you should provide indoor golf carts so your guests won’t be inconvenienced when they want to have a mint julep and tea cakes in the parlor,” I tell him in my best southern belle voice.
He swats my ass. “It’s this kind of attitude that’s going to get you turned over my knee.”Um, yes please!Helix kisses myforehead and instructs, “Go wait in the living room. It’s the most comfortable.”
We exit the kitchen, pass through a short hallway, where I can see the arched opening to a formal dining room on the left, and enter the marble foyer. “It’s right through there.”
He points and then heads up the curving staircase. I find the living room—honestly, it would be hard to miss because it’s the size of a car dealership—and am pleasantly surprised by how cozy the large space feels.
The base colors are black, white, and gray, though there are pretty splashes of color added in the throw pillows, rugs, soft blankets draped over black leather furniture, and modern artwork. The floor is shiny gray wood, and the walls are painted a stark white with crown molding. Arched windows allow morning sunlight into the room, and I don’t see a speck of dust anywhere, though there is one corner with a small cluttering of toys, including a pink tent I assume is Reece’s.
I’ve barely made one round around the space before I become aware I’m not alone. Turning, I see Helix standing beneath the high arch, casually leaning a shoulder on one of the columns that’s wider than the big man watching me. He’s wearing navy shorts, boat shoes, and a baby-blue V-neck tee that molds to every one of his muscles. He’s totally pulling off the preppy-but-athletic vibe.
“Does it meet with your approval?” he asks with a sardonic grin.
“It’s absolutely beautiful.” My eyes go back to the piece I was admiring on the wall. It’s abstract, but the longer I look at it, the more I can make out faces within the mishmash of colors. “I love this one.”
He strides over and stands beside me, his hands in his pockets as he gazes up at it. “The style is called ink wash. It was done by a local artist who reportedly has the same kind ofsynesthesia as me. I saw it at a gallery, and it felt like it wanted to come home with me.”
