Real Regrets (Kensingtons Book 2)

My steps are sure as I approach his office, but the back of my neck is hot and itchy. It feels like every eye in this hallway is on me, wondering why I’m knocking on Crew’s door.

“Come in,” Crew calls out.

When I walk in, he’s rubbing a temple and staring at a sheet of paper.

Crew looks up, spots me, and smiles. “Hey.”

“Hey. You have a minute?”

He tosses the paper down and leans back in his chair. “Gladly. This fucking contract is driving me insane. I’ve reread the same page five times now.”

I take a seat in one of the chairs facing his desk, glancing at one of the photos angled toward the computer. It’s one I’ve never seen before, Crew and Scarlett smiling with the city of Paris spread behind them.

“When was that?” I ask, pointing to the frame.

Crew glances at the photo and smiles. “A couple of months after we got married. Scarlett went to Paris on a work trip, and I tagged along.”

“Looks nice.”

“It was,” he replies. “If you ever went on social media, you’d know that I post a lot of travel pics.”

“Is that what you do on your phone during meetings?”

Crew smirks. “Sometimes. You should try it sometime. Good brain break.”

“Not sure what I would post.”

He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it. Probably hearing the wistful note I didn’t mean to let slip out. Because it’s really only recently, since I’ve gone to Vegas and tried surfing and spent time in the city at other places beside my office and my penthouse, that I’m realizing how empty my eat, sleep, work lifestyle is. Like glimpsing light and then sitting in the dark.

Before I can decide how to transition from the lingering silence to the reason I’m here, there’s a knock on Crew’s door.

“Come in,” he says.

Jeremy walks in, carrying a thick stack of papers under one arm. He halts when he sees me, glancing uncertainly between me and Crew.

Crew seems oblivious to the awkward energy humming in the air, taking a sip from the coffee mug on his desk. “Oliver, you know Jeremy, right?”

“Right.” I flick a piece of invisible lint off my pants, attempting to appear unbothered about being stuck in a room with my divorce attorney and my brother, who has no idea I’m married. “Good to see you, Jeremy.”

“You too,” he responds. “I’ll come back later.”

“Does an hour work?” Crew asks. “I should be through this by then.” He taps a pen on the papers piled on his desk. “We can get drinks after.”

“Sounds good. See you then.”

The door clicks shut behind Jeremy, and Crew glances to me. “You’re welcome to come too. Scarlett’s parents are watching Lili tonight and she’s going to a dinner, so I’m basically a bachelor for the night. Like old times.”

“Have you ever regretted it?” I ask. “You could have told Dad you wouldn’t do it.”

“No,” Crew replies, rubbing his jaw. “I’ve never regretted it. But that has everything to do with Scarlett, and nothing to do with Dad.”

I nod. I knew that would be his answer. “I’m going to turn down his deal. It’s not how I want CEO. And Quinn deserves someone who could make her happy. That’s not me.”

There’s no change in Crew’s face, his expression carefully controlled. “Date didn’t go well?”

“That’s what you got from what I just said?”

He shrugs. “It’s your decision. And I’d rather see you happy than successful.” I raise a brow, and he grins. “More successful.”

I clear my throat. “Thanks.”

“So…it didn’t?”

“No.” I sigh. “It didn’t.”

“I’m sorry.” Crew’s teasing tone turns sympathetic.

“I’m headed to meet with Quinn now. Let her know I’m not…it’s not…you know.”

Crew whistles. “Good luck. At least you know what you’re going to say.”

I roll my eyes, and he smirks. “If you need a drink after, offer stands.”

“Thanks,” I say, and mean it. The invitation matters to me, so I feel obligated to add, “But I, uh, have plans already.” I pull in a deep breath. “And that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Crew’s eyebrows rise as he leans forward to grab his mug. “So asking me if I regret my marriage and telling me you’re not taking Dad up on CEO was your version of small talk?”

I rub my hands on my slacks. “I guess so.”

“Okay.” He leans back and laughs. “Hit me with it.”

“I’m bringing a date to Garrett’s wedding tomorrow.”

“Okay… Not Quinn, I’m assuming?”

“Her name is Hannah Garner.”

I track every emotion that passes across Crew’s face. Surprise. Uncertainty. Concern.

“Wow. I…I, uh, didn’t realize you…” He grabs a pen off his desk, rolling it between two fingers. “I didn’t realize you two knew each other.”

“Likewise.”

“How’d you find out?”

“She told me, after learning my last name.”

He nods, still rolling the pen.

“I get it’s awkward, Crew. If I’d known about the past when I met her…” Married her, I add silently. I clear my throat. “I like her.”

“You like her.” His voice sounds stunned.

Crew has always been better about sharing thoughts and feelings than I have been, especially since he met Scarlett. It’s never been a strength of mine. I’ve considered it to be a weakness, actually.

But I feel like I owe him some explanation about Hannah, especially since it feels like our relationship has shifted since that night he showed up at my door drunk. I don’t want this to become another wedge between us. To erase what little progress we’ve made. And it’s nice, in an unexpected way, to finally have something—someone—meaningful to share, after years of hearing about Scarlett.

I nod. “Yeah. A lot.”

His eyebrows creep a centimeter higher. “How long have you been seeing her?”

“A few weeks.” Longer than most of my “relationships” have lasted, which Crew knows.

“Since before Dad went to you about Quinn?”

“Yes.”

“Is she factoring into you saying no to Dad?”

Rather than respond, I reach out and grab the baseball off its holder on his desk. “Remember when you got this?”

Crew shrugs. “Sort of. You and Mom were out of town.”

“She took me to the Houston Space Center because I told her I wanted to be an astronaut. Which pissed Dad off because she indulged me. So he brought you to a game while we were gone. And he did it because I’d been asking him to take me for weeks. I thought it was my fault, Crew, for ever saying something to Mom.”

I rub my thumb along the baseball’s stitching.

“I’m done with Dad thinking he can control whatever he wants, whenever he wants to. Everything that happened with Candace…maybe I needed to realize how destructive chasing his approval was. If I take his deal, that’ll never end.” I exhale. “And if I hadn’t met Hannah, I probably would have given Quinn more of a chance. I might have talked myself into it, so I’m not alone and was more successful. But now…”

I continue to turn the baseball around in my hand for a few more seconds, then set it back in its holder.

When I look up, Crew’s head is tilted as he studies me intently. I’m not sure what he’s thinking. I’m dumping a lot on him at once. Years—decades—worth of hidden thoughts and secret feelings.

“I’ll support you no matter what, Oliver,” he says.

My throat feels tight and thick as I nod. “I—me, too. I’ll support you, I mean.”

One corner of Crew’s mouth creases into a comma. “You okay? You’re usually a little more eloquent.”

I scoff as I glance at my watch, realizing I have to leave now if I’m going to meet Quinn on time. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

“Do I wanna know why?”

He’s smirking when I look up, and the knot of anxiety in my chest eases even more. I know Crew has moved on. He’s happily married. Obsessed with Scarlett. But I was still nervous how he’d react to hearing about me and Hannah. If he’d see it as a betrayal or look at me with resentment. It never occurred to me he might tease me about her.

I shake my head and stand. “I’ve got to go, or I’ll be late to meet Quinn. I’ll see you tomorrow, at the wedding?”

Crew nods. “See you tomorrow.”

I head for the door.

“Hey, Oliver?”

I turn back around. “Yeah?”

Crew leans forward, grabbing the baseball off his desk and tossing it to me. “Throw that away for me, will you?”

My palm stings, as my grip on the leather tightens. “That’s not what I was …”

“We should go to a game sometime. I’ll buy a new one.”

I nod, the motion jerky and uneven as emotion clogs my throat again. “Sounds good.”

I don’t want to be responsible for marring Crew’s relationship with our father any more than it already is. He’s my younger brother, and there will always be some instinct to hide the ugliness in our family from him instead of revealing it. But I’m realizing doing so has come at the expense of my relationship with Crew, which isn’t a sacrifice I want to make.

Once I’m back in my office, I rush through grabbing everything I need, say a hasty goodbye to Alicia, and then head for the elevators.

I give my driver the address for the coffee shop where I asked Quinn to meet me, and then pull my phone out of my pocket, scrolling through the list of contacts until I come across a name I’ve never called before.

Scarlett answers on the second ring. “Hello, Oliver.”

“Hi.” I clear my throat, caught off guard by the realization she has my phone number saved. It says a lot about our dynamic, none of which I’m particularly proud of. I learned a lot more from my father than just successful business practices. “How are you?”

“Fine.” She sounds amused. “You?”

“Good. Thanks.”

“So… Is this a social call, or should I be concerned?”

“Your subtle way of asking if I fucked up again?”

“Did you?” she asks.

“I’m bringing Hannah to Garrett’s wedding tomorrow. I told Crew because I wanted him to have a head’s up. Thought I owed you the same.”

There’s a ten-second pause before Scarlett responds. “Jeremy said you filed for divorce.”

“I did.”

“But you’re also dating her?”

I stare out the window at the city, not really seeing any of the buildings or cars we’re passing by. “Honestly, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

“What about Arthur’s offer?”

“I’m not taking it. I’m done jumping through his hoops.”

“And you wouldn’t have married Quinn, if you’d met her drunk in Vegas.”

It’s a statement, not a question, but I answer it anyway. “No. I wouldn’t have.”

Regardless of what addled my decision-making that night to the point of marriage, my memory of meeting Hannah in that bar is completely clear. There was an immediate spark—an interest—that wasn’t there when I met Quinn. That’s never been there with anyone else.

“I appreciate everything you did to help with the divorce, Scarlett. I hope you know that.”

“I involved Jeremy because I thought a divorce was what you wanted, Oliver. If it’s not, then…”

“A divorce is what’s best.”

“That’s different from—” There’s a sudden commotion on Scarlett’s end of the line, followed from a sigh. “I’m sorry, Oliver. I’ve got to go handle something.”

“It’s fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

There’s a pause, where it sounds like Scarlett might be considering saying something else. But all she adds is a goodbye before hanging up.

The car pulls up in front of the corner coffee shop a few minutes later.

I spot Quinn as soon as I step inside. There are plenty of open tables at this hour. I’m not sure if this was the best choice of venue for this conversation, but I didn’t want to have it over the phone, and this was the best I could think of.

Quinn is sitting toward the back. Posture perfectly straight, her hands cupped around a mug.

She looks up and smiles as I cross the small coffee shop. “Hello, Oliver.”

“Hi, Quinn.”

I unbutton my jacket and take the seat across from her.

Her painted nails tap the side of the porcelain as she stares at me, bergamot-scented steam curling up from the cup of tea in front of her. “You’re not getting anything?” she asks, tilting her head to the right.

“I can’t stay long, unfortunately.”

Quinn nods, something knowing growing in her gaze.

“Are you feeling more settled in the city?” I ask.

“I am, yes.” She grabs the tag of her teabag and lifts it out of the mug, dropping it onto the saucer. I watch the brown liquid pool around the base of the cup. “There’s a new Monet exhibit at the Met, have you heard about it?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“I have tickets for tomorrow morning. I was going to invite you, but I’m now realizing that would make this even more uncomfortable.”

I exhale. “Quinn…”

“What’s her name?”

“Sorry?”

Quinn smiles. “I know why my father arranged the dinner with yours, Oliver. Why you asked me out to dinner. We make sense. And from everything I’ve heard about you, you fall in line. But you’re here because you’re not going to. So…what’s her name?”

“Quinn, I never meant to—”

She laughs, then leans forward. “Oliver, I barely know you. Maybe we would have worked out. Maybe we wouldn’t have. You’re exactly the kind of man I thought I would marry, so I wasn’t opposed to finding out. But my parents got married because they made sense, and I saw how that worked out. I’m not interested in sentencing myself to that same fate. Or you.”

My father turned Quinn into a bargaining chip. I looked at her and saw CEO. It’s a relief to separate the two, to have made the decision that disqualifies me from the position.

“Me neither.”

Quinn tilts her head, her expression curious. “Do you love her?”

Yes.

The answer comes to me immediately, unencumbered.

But then the doubts and second-guessing trickle in. The reality. I’m not sure if Hannah sees me as much more than a fling. She agreed to stay in New York through the weekend when I asked, but her life is still entirely in Los Angeles. There’s nothing for her here except for me, maybe. And every relationship I’ve ever had has failed, at least in part, because of my inability to prioritize anything above work. I told Crew I couldn’t make Quinn happy. I have the same fear about Hannah.

“It’s complicated,” I say.

Because we’re married. Because she has history with my brother. Because I don’t think Hannah’s answer to that question would be yes.

Quinn blows on her tea, then takes a sip. “I had one of those.”

“What happened?”

She raises a delicate shoulder, then lets it drop. “Nothing spectacular. I met him in university. Fell hard and fast. We were exciting and dramatic. The highs were high, and the lows were low. But eventually, it became exhausting. So I told him things had to change, or I would leave.” She smiles, and it’s a sad one. “Here I am.”

“I’m sorry, Quinn.”

“It wasn’t meant to be, is all. Maybe yours is.”

“Maybe.”

I’ve always prioritized logic over emotion. Reason over instinct.

But I suddenly find myself hoping for fate.

The smoke alarm is blaring when I open the front door.

“Hannah?” I call out, dropping my briefcase in the entryway and sprinting toward the kitchen.

She’s standing on the kitchen island barefoot, flapping a dish towel back and forth. A pan of charred contents sits on the top of the stove.

Suddenly, the smoke alarm stops. She sighs and swipes hair out of her face. Spins and spots me.

“Hi.” Hannah drops down and slides off the side of the counter.

“What happened?” I ask as I walk over to her.

“I was trying to cook dinner. Got a work call, and…” She waves at the pan.

“Looks good.”

Hannah scoffs, tossing the towel she’s holding over the dish. “Rude.”

I smirk, focusing on her instead of the burned food. “Good day?”

“It was okay.” She blows out a long breath. “My dad brought up me getting certified again.”

“You haven’t said anything about architecture school?”

Hannah shakes her head. “I want to talk to him in person.”

At that, I feel a stab of guilt. I asked her to stay in a spurt of selfishness, not thinking about how it might affect her life, just mine.

“How was your day?” she asks.

“It was good, actually.”

“Good.” Her head tilts back as I move closer. “Sorry for almost burning down your kitchen.”

“There’s a sprinkler system.”

Hannah huffs a laugh as I press her against the counter. “You’re home early.”

“So are you.”

Her fingers slide into my hair, nails gently grazing my scalp. I nearly groan, it feels so fucking good. She’s wearing a dress, so there’s no barrier keeping my hand from slipping beneath the fabric and up her thigh. The temptation to touch her is a relentless urge. No matter how many times I do, it’s never satisfied.

“My last meeting was canceled, and that’s when I decided to go grocery shopping. I wanted to make you my favorite meal, except—” She gasps, as my fingers pull her underwear to the side.

“Except you burned it?” I whisper, my lips moving to her neck.

“It just got overdone,” she murmurs, her head tilting to the side so I have better access.

I laugh, stepping back just enough that I have room to free my cock from my slacks.

Since she temporarily moved in with me instead of keeping her hotel room, Hannah and I have had more sex than I’ve had in the past few years combined. I slid into her this morning before the sun even rose, both of us still half-asleep, then dragged myself out of bed for my daily workout. But despite how much action it’s gotten lately, my dick is so hard it’s painful.

Hannah tosses her underwear on the floor before she spreads her legs, granting me full access. Her ankles hook around my waist, pulling me closer.

“This isn’t very sanitary.”

I smirk. “It sounds like we’ll be ordering takeout tonight anyway.”

I grip the head of my cock and rub it around her entrance, making sure she’s ready to take me. Both of us moan at the sensation. I push inside of her an inch, watching her pussy stretch around me. Feeling how slick she is for me…

“Fuck.” I freeze.

“What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t—I don’t have a condom on.”

Hannah glances down. I’ve barely entered her, but the difference in sensation is noticeable.

She swallows, a small, barely noticeable bob to her throat.

I pull out, the end of my cock glistening with her arousal as a vein pulses angrily along the shaft. “I’ll be right back.”

Hannah catches my arm, then quickly drops it. “You don’t have to wear one.”

I freeze, just as stunned as I was when I realized I’d forgotten protection. I’ve never been inside a woman bare. My father couldn’t care less if Crew and I slept around. But it was drilled into us that repercussions would ruin our lives and destroy the family name.

More than the fear of paying child support or enduring gossip, it’s something I’ve never considered because I like the barrier. It’s the same reason I prefer to have sex from a position where I won’t see a woman’s face. Even with women I’ve dated, I separated lust from feelings. Any connection was always independent from physical intimacy.

But that urge has never been there with Hannah.

I can’t seem to get close enough where she’s concerned.

The smoke alarm suddenly begins blaring again, making us both jump.

“Turn on the vent and open the patio doors,” I say, not sure if Hannah can even hear me over the racket. She must catch some of it, though, because she nods before slipping off the counter.

I force my erection back in my pants, gritting my teeth as my hard dick strains against the stiff fabric in protest. There’s a stepladder in the hall closet. I haul it out, locating the button on the alarm and pressing it. Nothing happens. I jam it three more times before the ear-splitting shriek finally stops.

The silence that follows sounds louder than the screeching was.

Hannah is out on the patio now, staring out at the sweeping view of Central Park.

I stow the stepladder back in the closet, walk to the open door, then pause. “Should be all set now.”

She glances back at me and nods, not moving from the railing. A cool breeze pulls some hair free from her ponytail, the blonde strands blowing across her face.

I’m not sure what else to say to her. Sorry for freaking out a little, I’d love to stop wearing condoms?

I’ve never had this conversation with a woman before. Maybe she’s regretting the offer. Maybe it was the heat of a moment that’s totally cooled, thanks to the smoke alarm.

And it’s most definitely a bad idea, no matter how turned on I am by the thought. We’re in the midst of divorce proceedings. I shouldn’t be having sex with her at all, let alone with less protection.

I can retrace every decision that ended up here, but I can’t figure out exactly how it happened. How what should have been the simplest of decisions—ending an accidental marriage to a stranger—somehow turned into this ball of dread in my stomach. I’m dreading our divorce, not panicking about our marriage.

I tug at my tie, the knot suddenly feeling too tight.

My phone rings in my pocket. I pull it out and glance at the screen.

It’s work. It’s always work.

“I need to take this,” I say. “Shouldn’t be long.”

Maybe I’ll have figured out what to say to her by then.

Hannah nods. She doesn’t roll her eyes or sigh the way other women have done when I’ve taken work calls, and it’s the first time I’ve wished someone would. Some sign she cares would be nice to see.

“Okay. I’ll look through takeout menus.”

“Sounds good.” I turn away and answer the call. “Oliver Kensington.”

“Hey, Oliver. I stopped by your office, but I must have just missed you.”

I don’t miss the surprise in Scott’s voice, so I don’t tell him I left the office an hour ago. Just like I shove away the voice that whispers that’s where I should be.

“Zantech wants to talk. By the end of their day, so early morning for us. Are you available for a call at six?”

Tomorrow is Garrett’s wedding. Up until the ceremony, I had an open schedule. And since Hannah’s return flight to California is the following morning, I was hoping to spend the whole day with her. But we’ve been trying to woo this company for months. Chances are, Hannah will still be sleeping when the call ends. “That’s fine. Set it up.”

“Great. Will do. Have a good night, Oliver.”

“You too, Scott.”

I continue down the hallway, but don’t stop at my office. I’m sure I have a hundred unread emails, but I’m not interested in dealing with any of it right now.

I head into the master bedroom, then walk straight into the attached bathroom. Both of my hands rest on the cold granite surrounding the sink as I take deep breaths, trying to sort the mess in my head out. It’s getting harder and harder to suppress my feelings, to pretend fucking Hannah out of my system is accomplishing anything except her sinking deeper under my skin.

And I can’t get the picture of her sitting with her legs spread on my counter out of my head.

With an annoyed huff, I jerk my pants back down and tug my cock free. If anyone had told me a year ago I’d be standing in my bathroom jerking off to the memory of my wife’s wet pussy, I’d have told them they were insane. Yet here I am, because I can’t decide what else to do and my erection isn’t going anywhere.

I’ve stroked myself exactly once when the door opens and Hannah walks in. Her blue eyes widen the second she catches sight of me standing with my pants undone.

“I thought you were doing work in the office.” She’s not looking at me. Her gaze is focused on my hand, wrapped around my throbbing erection.

“I, uh, finished.”

Hannah’s lips quirk. “Doesn’t look that way to me.”

My grip tightens as my body reacts to her attention. Having Hannah here is way better than simply imagining she’s here. She’s still wearing her dress, the fabric around her waist extra wrinkled from being bunched by my hands.

“Want a hand?”

I raise both eyebrows, hating and loving the smirk on her face.

“Or my mouth?”

She takes a step closer, her hand replacing mine as she sinks to her knees.

And from the first swipe of her tongue, I know this will be the best damn blowjob I’ve ever received. I have to brace my hand against the counter, blood rushing south and reason leaving with it.

“You taste good,” she tells me as she traces the tip and then sucks it into her mouth.

Hannah pulls back to blow on the damp skin, and my hips jerk forward. My balls are tight and aching, desperate for release even though she’s barely started touching me.

She pulls back slightly, using her hand to jack me off as her tongue swirls the tip like she’s licking an ice cream cone. And then she’s sucking me deeper and deeper into her mouth, until she manages to take all of me.

Hannah swallows, and the muscles constrict around the sensitive tip as it rubs against the back of her throat. My dick throbs, thrilled with this turn of events. It’s been a while since a woman was on her knees for me. And never, did she elicit the reaction Hannah does, even when I try to fight it.

Pleasure swims through me in devastating currents. I’m not worried about anything, but I’m not totally mindless either. I’m totally focused on Hannah, watching her head bob between my legs and knowing this will be a new fantasy when she’s gone. Memorizing the sight of her pink lips spread around my erection.

I comb one hand through the blonde strands that have fallen out of her ponytail, wanting to see her face better. She licks along the length of me, her tongue wet and warm.

Then her mouth ventures lower, sucking one of my balls into her mouth and releasing it to tease the other. I moan her name. Her lips close around the ridged head of my dick, pulling me back inside of her mouth in a hot slide that has blood pounding in my ears.

“Fuck, Hannah,” I groan, pumping my hips faster.

My hand tightens in her hair, and she moans, the vibration tingling along my shaft. Mixing with the sloppy, filthy sound of me fucking her mouth. Heat races down my spine, and I know I’m about to explode.

“I can’t—I’m not—” I tug at her hair, trying to warn her.

Instead of moving away, she digs her fingernails into my ass. I growl as a powerful release crashes over me, filling her mouth. It goes on and on in a haze of pleasure as I lean back against the wall, letting it support my weight.

Hannah swallows again before she pulls away. Some of my cum spills out of her mouth, dripping down her chin. It’s the most erotic sight I’ve ever seen. She’s my wife, and it finally feels like I’ve marked her in some permanent way.

My cock twitches, satisfaction fleeing fast. It’s still like this with her. It’s always like this with her, it feels like.

I can’t get enough.

And it’s not just physical. There’s an emotional attachment too. I can’t help but think of how certain I was of the answer to Quinn’s question.

Hannah stands and swipes at her face, missing the streak of cum entirely. I grab her waist and pull her to me, gently wiping the spot away with my thumb.

We’re both breathing heavily.

There’s too much I want to say, and nothing I can figure out how to articulate the right way. So I kiss her, realizing she tastes like me, trying to convey all the emotions ricocheting silently inside of me.

She just did that to please me, and it makes me feel inadequate. Unworthy.

I’m used to people trying to get in my good graces. But they always want something in exchange.

Hannah isn’t asking for anything.

I want to give her everything.

“I’ve never not worn a condom, Hannah,” I say, as soon as our lips separate.

The satisfaction disappears from her expression, shifting from sultry to serious.

“That’s fine. Aren’t there still some—”

“I want to. If you’re sure.”

She steps closer, surrounding me with the scent of grapefruit. “I’m sure.”

I tug the hem of her dress up, tracing a trail up the inside of her thigh and into the wet heat between her legs.

She’s dripping.

I tease her for a minute, before I drop my hand and wrap it around my hardening dick, using her arousal as lubrication. Her gaze is focused on my hand, watching me stroke myself. I slow my movements, torturing myself right along with her.

Hannah frowns at my throbbing erection. “Are you sure you’re hard enough? I’m not sure if—”

I spin her around and slap her ass. “Get on the bed.”

Hannah laughs but listens, pulling her dress over her head and walking out of the bathroom. By the time I pull off my clothes and join her, she’s sprawled out on the comforter.

I arrange her until she’s on her hands and knees in front of me, then line up my cock and shove inside of her, too impatient to tease.

This has always been my favorite position. I like the control of deciding how deep and how fast a woman takes me, and I also like the way I can’t see her face. It’s easier to focus on the physical gratification, which is usually the whole point of having sex.

And I know exactly why I’m choosing it now.

Because it’s terrifying to take this step with Hannah, and it has nothing to do with risking pregnancy or transmitting diseases. She told me I could trust her, and this is me doing that. But I’m also doing this because I love her, and I’m not sure if we’ll have much of—any—relationship past Sunday.

But it’s not as satisfying, looking at the smooth lines of Hannah’s back and her blonde hair.

I want to watch her react, to see her response to my touch.

So I pull out of her and lie back on the bed beside her. “Ride me.”

Hannah’s face turns so she’s looking at me. Her hand lands on my chest, tracing down over the ridges of my abdomen and playing with the line of hair that leads down to my cock. But she doesn’t go down that far. I groan, already missing being inside of her.

“Ask me nicely.”

I smirk. “You want me to beg?”

“Would you?”

“I’ll do any-fucking-thing in the world, if it means I get to watch you take my cock and play with your tits.”

Hannah rolls her eyes, but her blue eyes are softer. And she moves, crawling over me so her body is suspended over mine.

I can’t think of a better view.

“Are you tired?” She teases me, the heat of her pussy hovering just above the tip. Brushing against my cock and then pulling away before I can enter her. I grab her hips so I can grind up against her. She’s slick enough I slip in easily, but I can feel her stretching around me, adjusting to the sudden intrusion. See her spread.

Hannah’s breathing becomes heavy pants as our skin slaps together. Her blonde hair is a wild mess, her ponytail totally gone. The bedframe knocks against the wall. If I had any neighbors, they’d be able to hear how hard she’s riding me.

“Oliver…” Hannah says my name like I’ve never heard it before, a raw, desperate sound that consumes me. She’s hot and wet and tight and perfect, and I want this to last forever.

My grip on her hips tightens as I grind my pelvis into hers. We’re sweaty and messy and desperate, racing toward the peak together. My entire body tenses, refusing to orgasm until she does.

She rises until I totally slip out and then sinks down again.

“We couldn’t do this on the kitchen counter.”

I groan. “Please tell me you’re not cooking more food.”

Hannah laughs and shakes her head, circling her hips. My hands wander over every inch of her skin I can reach, letting go of her hips and tracing her ribs until I reach her bouncing breasts. My mouth surrounds one nipple, sucking and biting. She moans, her inner muscles fluttering around me. She’s so wet I can hear it. Feel it.

My fingers slip between our bodies, finding her clit and rubbing it. Her walls clench around me in a grip so tight it’s almost painful. And she lifts her neck and kisses me, which I’m not expecting. The tangle of our tongues is just as filthy as the rest of us, an unorganized jumble of lips and mouths. Biting and sucking and tasting, as I fuck her through her orgasm. And then I find my own release, the foreign feeling of releasing inside of her pushing it longer and longer. Carnal and primal and possessive.

My mouth moves from her lips to her neck, nipping at the skin. Knowing I’m probably leaving marks and not caring at all.

Possessiveness isn’t my thing.

It always seemed like a trait of insecure men. But according to a document filed in some office in Nevada, Hannah Garner is mine.

And I’m pleased by that fact.

Proud of it.

Possessive of it.

Hannah moves first, lifting off me and rolling onto the bed beside me. Her breathing is still rapid, but her eyes are hazy and satisfied. She exhales, running a hand through her hair. “I need a shower.”

I lean down and kiss her forehead, the affection just as natural as fucking her. “I’ll start dinner.”

“You mean order takeout?”

“Do you have more of everything?”

“Well, yeah. But it will take a while to make and then cook, so…”

“Just tell me what to do first.”

“The chicken has to be roasted. I already chopped the veggies. They’re in the fridge.”

“Okay.” I roll off the bed, pulling on a pair of joggers.

Hannah stands too, and I catch a glimpse of the white liquid trickling down the inside of her thigh before she disappears into the bathroom. That same proud surge returns.

Immediately followed by dread.

If I love her, I should let her go.

We end up out on the patio after finishing dinner, which turned out better than either of us expected. The bar was low, after the charred pan.

This has become our nightly routine for the past few evenings, sitting on the outdoor couch looking up at the sky. Usually huddled under a blanket. Tonight, it’s a little warmer. There’s a hint of spring in the air.

I take a sip of whiskey as I stare at the skyline, savoring the smoky burn as it slides down my throat.

I’m a multi-billionaire. I could go anywhere. Buy everything. Experience anything. And there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than exactly where I am right now.

“Want any?” I hold the glass out to Hannah.

“Whiskey?” Hannah makes a face but takes it anyway.

“I can get you something else. A martini, maybe?”

A quiet scoff is her response to my reference to the night we met. She hands me the glass back and drops her head down on my chest. “Do you think it was my idea?”

I don’t have to ask what she’s referring to. “It might have been mine.”

It’s not hard to imagine looking at Hannah and thinking that same thing: Mine.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Always.”

“The thing with your stepmother. Was it just…physical? Was she hot?”

I rub the side of the tumbler with my thumb. Hannah has never asked about Candace, not since that night when I told her it happened. I don’t know why she’s asking now, and it wouldn’t be my first choice of topic.

“She was…there. Crew was focused on his marriage to Scarlett. My dad basically forgot about me once Crew graduated business school, it felt like. There was some bitterness there, for sure. But mostly, I knew it was nothing anyone would expect from me. Crew would be photographed stumbling out of clubs with models and everyone would pat him on the back at work the next day. If I showed up two minutes late to a meeting, everyone would ask if traffic was bad.”

“You wanted to be someone different.”

“Yeah.” I exhale. “Not that I wanted to be Crew. We’re different. Always have been. He’s happy being the center of attention; I hate it. He’s naturally charming; I research the interests of every investor or client I work with, so we have something to talk about. He was patient with Scarlett; I would have just ignored her.”

“And you felt different with Candace?”

“I felt like shit. The first time, I was so drunk I could barely get hard. And I never came after that, which pissed her off. She took it as some twisted challenge…” I shake my head. “It was toxic.”

“Then why did you keep having sex with her?”

“She blackmailed me.”

I feel Hannah’s eyes on me, but I don’t look over at her. I’ve never told anyone this before.

“The first time, I’d gone over to the house to give my father some documents. He wasn’t home. He’d told Candace he was visiting the Miami office. We don’t have a Miami office. It wasn’t hard for either of us to piece together why he lied.”

I take a sip of whiskey, staring out at the skyline.

“She begged me to stay with her. Said she was lonely and depressed and hated being alone in that big, empty house. It was the first time we’d ever been alone together. I’d always avoided her. It was strange—my father marrying a woman a few months younger than me. One he basically ignored and treated as a possession, just like he treated me and Crew like employees instead of family. At least we had each other, in some form. Candace had no one. Money and beauty, but no love or power.”

I swirl the glass, watching the amber liquid slosh up and drip down.

“Cheating on Arthur Kensington with his son? Controlling me by threatening to tell my father what happened between us? It was a thrill for her. An obsession. All she had in her life. And I didn’t see it until too late. I thought she just wanted a night to forget, which is what I was looking for. Crew was marrying Scarlett. I wouldn’t be CEO. It felt like nothing was really important—like my whole life was reorganized in a split second. And every time my dad credited Crew with an account I’d worked on, and I sat silent, I knew I was getting back at him another way. But that was just for me. I didn’t want him to know.”

“She told him anyway?” Hannah asks.

“She told him she was pregnant. To get his attention, I think. To scare me because I was getting more and more fed up? I don’t know. Regardless, my father had conveniently forgotten to tell his bride they wouldn’t be having any children. He had a vasectomy after my mom died. So as soon as Candace told him, he knew she was cheating.”

“What about you?”

I glance over. “What about me?”

“You can have kids, right?”

An unwilling smile tugs up one corner of my mouth. Because she’s not looking at me with disgust or judgment, and I didn’t realize how worried I was it might be there until I’m seeing it isn’t. “As far as I know.”

“What happened to the baby?”

“Never existed. As soon as my father told her the child couldn’t be his, she folded. Told him about our affair, admitted to lying about the pregnancy. Their divorce was finalized a few months later. I haven’t seen her since. Hopefully, I never will.”

“She let you think…”

“Yes,” my response is short, but I’m not annoyed with Hannah.

I’m irritated she’s focused on the part of my past that has always bothered me the most. The few people who know about Candace and me are typically too caught up in the scandal and the torrid affair to comprehend there was a point when I thought I’d be a father.

“I’m sorry.”

“I probably deserved it.”

“You didn’t.” Hannah’s voice is fiercer than I’ve ever heard it. “You didn’t, Oliver.”

“I told Crew about us. Not the marriage, but everything else.”

“What did he say?”

“He was…surprised.”

“I don’t have to go tomorrow.”

“I want you to.”

She’s silent for a minute. “I’m going dress-shopping in the morning. I asked my friend Savannah to help me pick something out, since I didn’t bring anything to wear.”

“I want you to go, Hannah. But you don’t have to, if you don’t want to. For any reason.”

Another long pause, as she plays with the fringe of the blanket. “I don’t do things I don’t want to do, Oliver,” she finally says.

She’s talking about the wedding, I know.

But I can’t help but wonder what else she might be referring to.