Page 94 of The Marriage Deal
35
MARRIED FOR MONEY
LILAH
Idon’t know where I summon the energy to peel myself from the desk enough to sit, but I do. I’m utterly spent. Entirely ravaged. And yet Briggs still looks a little wild. Mad with it, even.
His movements are sharp and jerky as he shoves his cock back into his jeans. It doesn’t escape me that he’s already growing hard again. Never in my life have I slept with a man who could instantly go into round two. It’s impressive and a little daunting, especially when the man fucks as thoroughly as Briggs.
He clips his buckle roughly into place, jaw clenched hard as he regards me.
“You’re upset,” I realize. “You’re actually upset with me.”
“I don’t like jokes about you with other men, Lilah.”
I slide off the desk to stand on knees that feel weak. But I’m closer to him like this. Close enough to scentthe leather that seems etched into the very pores of his skin.
I tip my head back to look into his green eyes. “I’m sorry.”
His throat works with a swallow. He looks like he wants to say something, but then he shakes his head. The sigh he lets loose is so long and so hard. I ache for him to reach out and touch me. I want him to kiss me.
I need to feel okay again. Right now, I don’t feel like we are okay.
He pushes his hand through wild waves and a dark strand falls onto his forehead. I see him glance around for his hat.
I murmur, “I think we lost it on the walk over.”
“Yeah.” His hand does another pass through his hair before he shifts to move away from me around the desk.
My heart does an icky flip inside my chest as the wedge between us yawns wider.
“Briggs?” I turn to face him, the desk between us.
His eyes lift to me, and I’m stuck. “Why don’t you like my gift?”
“I—” My mind juggles through the internal whiplash. “The car?”
“Yeah.”
“I do like it. It’s a really nice car.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
I shrug. I can’t hold his eyes anymore. “It’s just a lot.”
“Lilah,” he calls. I still can’t look at him. “Look at me.”
My eyes flick to him and away again, but I say, “It feels wrong.”
“How so?” I almost flinch at the rough clip of his words. As it is, my fingers grip the edge of his desk. My knees are weak for a wholly other reason now.
“It’s the kind of gift you give your real wife. Not the fake one who agreed to marry you, so you’d pay off her debts.” My nose stings. There’s salt in my eyes again.
There’s shame in my soul.
Hello, sore heaviness, I knew we’d meet again.
I want to hide under his desk.
