Chapter 10 Gus

Idrag the last bundle of firewood through the easternmost side door of the cabin and let it drop onto the hardwood floor with a resounding thud. Lingering bits of snow slide off the bundle and onto the immaculate heated floor, where they immediately melt into water spots. I toe at one with the tip of my boot, reminding myself that a floor's job is to be stepped on, dripped on, dropped on, etcetera. But I laid every plank in this mudroom by myself; it's hard not to be finicky about it.

Once I've got my jacket in the closet and my boots off, I heft the bundle once more and balance it on my shoulder. Julia's room is the last one I need to stock.

I set up the bundle by the stacked stone fireplace and untie the rope binding it so I can arrange the wood more…I don't know. Artfully or something. Pretty. Halfway through, when I'm switching two logs around so the pile looks neater, I pause. What am I doing? I shouldn't worry about how nice a stack of firewood looks for the spoiled billionaire princess I've summoned to my home. She's not going to notice or care. If she wasn't impressed with my penthouse in London, she's obviously not going to be impressed with my stupid pile of firewood.

Good enough. I pick up the rope and a loose piece of bark that came in with the bundle and head back downstairs.

My phone buzzes with a message from Brent: Her flight landed an hour and a half ago. The trip from the airport in Bozeman is about an hour, give or take, so she should be here by now.

She's late. I'm not surprised.

I send Brent a thanks for the update, and he responds with, Have fun! It almost gets a laugh out of me, but the anticipation is too heavy for laughter. Instead, I sit on the sofa by the biggest window in the living room and stare out at the snow-covered expanse surrounding the property. The season has been colder than usual and residual snow from the last storm two weeks ago still dots the Douglas-Firs and the ponderosas. Not a bad backdrop for the holiday season. If I celebrated Christmas, I could have even enjoyed it.

My phone pings again, this time with an alert from the security camera at the base of the property. There's a car headed up the road to the security gate—surely Julia. I input the code to open the gate and head to the front door.

A minute later, two unprecedented sights greet me when I step onto my wraparound porch.

The first: a white Toyota Corolla rolling up my driveway. Good lord. I told Julia I would send someone to pick her up, but she insisted on driving herself—and this is what her stubbornness resulted in. Whichever car rental company gave someone a white Corolla, of all things, in the middle of December in Montana should be sued and put out of operation.

The second: Julia Ridgeway, the daughter of a billionaire, gingerly climbing out of the driver's seat. Magnificently beautiful—still beautiful enough to force me to fight back a smile—she emerges from the car and tosses back her long blond hair.

My heart pumps harder when I think back to Milan. Gripping her hair. Penetrating her with my middle finger. Depriving her. Punishing her.

She remains by the Corolla and stares at me over it, letting out a heavy exhale. Her breath fogs with the blistering cold and she calls out, "I thought the devil liked to keep things warm. You surprise me every day, August."

That smart mouth. It gets me every time. While I always appreciate a well-constructed insult, I keep my expression flat while I descend the porch's stone steps to meet her. Sure enough, she's going to stand her ground and refuse to move until I walk all the way over to her.

"Julia," I offer in greeting.

And then I'm not sure what to do next—to hug her, shake her hand…fuck her right here and now. There's no playbook for how to interact with an heiress who you've contractually bound for a night. In lieu of all of it, I end up pulling the car door wider so I can pop the trunk. All the while, she glares at me with an annoyed, petulant expression on her pretty face.

Well, I can be petulant too. Without another word, I take both of her bags into the cabin, cutting the greetings short.

Once we're inside, the cabin's familiar smell of burning firewood and coffee sets in, and I can tell she's grateful for the warmth when she breathes out and rotates to face me. The pinkness in her cheeks gives her a rare air of innocence. Her eyes lock on mine before she looks around, surely taking in the size of the place.

"You said you had a cabin and I thought the worst, but this is…certainly livable." Her attention travels to the vaulted ceiling—and yeah, she's impressed.

‘Certainly livable' is the nicest thing she has ever said to me, and I reward her by folding my arms and mentioning, "You're late."

"So?" She shrugs off her coat before she crosses her arms in a matching defensive stance—ready for battle, as usual.

I take her coat. It's Burberry and down, but not heavy enough for the weather. Damn it. I should have prepared and bought her something warmer.

"Not going to answer me?" she prods.

"The sun sets at four-thirty this time of year. The last thing I needed was you driving around in the dark and getting yourself lost."

"How could I get lost? I typed ‘bumfuck' into Google maps and it led me right here."

"Driving here in the winter is dangerous, Julia."

"I'm from Boston. I know how to drive in the snow."

She's going to fight every word out of my mouth. I figured as much, but she's just so good at it. When it comes to sardonicism, Julia Ridgeway is the greatest of all time—which pisses me off because I once thought I held that title.

Sighing, I pick up her bags again. "Shame on me for showing concern. I'll never make that mistake again."

"And they say an old dog can't learn new tricks."

I'm halfway to the stairs, but I shoot a glare over my shoulder and find her smirking at me. I bite back a thousand retorts and raise my chin. "Come. I'll take you to your room."

I lead her to the second floor, where I take her to the suite adjacent to mine. When I designed it, I initially envisioned a kids room. The door from the hallway leads into a small entry room that connects to a larger space with a bedroom, fireplace, bathroom, etcetera beyond an archway. I figured the entry could be a play area or a space for a desk and books. But when it came time to decorate, it seemed weird to set up a space for a kid I wasn't even close to having. Instead, I filled it with some of the furniture I made with the leftover wood from the dining table and chairs.

"My room is next door," I continue, placing her luggage at the foot of the bed. "Bathroom has everything you need. Closet is over there."

"I won't be unpacking. I'll be gone in the morning," she replies before she leans against one of the wooden bedposts.

"If it gets too cold for you, I'll light a fire," I continue, ignoring her comment. I don't care if she leaves in the morning. If she holds up her end of the deal tonight, she's free to do whatever she wants—and that includes fleeing in her Toyota Corolla.

"Fine." Julia glances at her fingernails. It's a dismissal.

"Do you need anything else?"

"Nope." She refuses to look at me. "But you should go. I'm sure you have companies to absorb and gut before you sell. I hear TruEarn is up for grabs."

I pause in the doorway. She's not wrong. TruEarn is a rival company, and once Davenport-Ridgeway purchases FundRight, TruEarn will likely fold.

But how does she know about that?

"Dinner is in three hours," I offer in response, trying not to be too obvious with my scrutiny. "Before then, I can give you a tour and get you a drink."

"I'll just come down in three hours," she answers in an obvious challenge. She wants me to fight her. She wants me to insist she spends time with me. Hell, she wants me to beg her. I'm sure men have begged her for the pleasure of her company for most of her life.

Such bullshit.

"Suit yourself," I respond before I turn and exit the room without a glance back.

When Julia Ridgeway says she's going to do something, she does it. I would expect nothing less from her—and I'm the same way. But even I'm impressed when she makes it a whole three hours before emerging from her room—even after I intentionally didn't offer the Wi-Fi password because I wanted her to ask.

When she finally enters the kitchen, I'm heating up the dinner Brent had frozen and flown in from some Italian place in New York. She takes a seat on the other side of the kitchen island and I do a double take. Julia has changed out of the jeans and sweater she wore for the trip and into a short, tight black dress—skintight.

‘Mouthwatering' is an understatement. The dress hugs the swell of her breasts and cups them so lovingly, they look otherworldly.

"Go ahead," she urges, sporting a shit eating grin. "You can compliment me."

"I was going to say you're the only woman in the history of the world to pack that for a twenty-four-hour trip to Montana in the dead of winter."

"I told you before, I'm from Boston. I can handle the cold," she answers, waving her hand dismissively.

I let out a scoff. "Yeah? I went to MIT. I've lived through your Boston winters. They're child's play."

"What's MIT?" she inquires, cocking her head to the side.

Immediately, I can tell she's fucking with me. She obviously knows what MIT is. The night I met her, I googled the shit out of her and I know she went to Yale, which is basically an artsy version of MIT. Clearly, she's trying to get under my skin.

Sighing, I raise my chin in her direction. "That's a nice dress, Julia."

"Why, thank you. I don't half-ass anything, August. If I'm going to give you a fifty-billion-dollar ride, it's going to look and feel like fifty billion dollars." Her expression remains smug and she dips her finger into the reheated pot of sauce that I've removed from the burner to cool. "Needs salt."

"It's from—" I check the handwritten instructions from the chef de cuisine, "—Al Coro. They have two Michelin Stars."

"Well, they don't use enough salt at Al Coro." Julia slides off her stool and walks around the island to stand next to me. "Here."

She takes a pinch of salt from the salt pig and sprinkles it into the sauce. Then she spoons a small amount and tastes it directly from the pot. "Hm," she murmurs before adding another pinch. Stir, spoon, taste. "Now try it," she instructs.

I do. And I'll be damned—she's right.

"Fair enough."

Triumphant, she puts the spoon back into the pot and faces me, now giving me an unobstructed view of her body in that dress—that fucking dress. I try to temper my reaction, but my gaze drifts to the flawless swerve of her breasts into her waist. When I finally get her naked tonight, I plan to drag my tongue along every curve on her body, and it still won't be enough to sate me, I assume.

"Don't act so proud of yourself." She glances down and then back up at me. "Don't think for one minute that you earned this." She gestures at herself with a graceful sweep of her hand. "I'm just here because it's legally binding."

"That's why you invited me to Milan. Legal reasons."

The pink flush in her cheeks is addicting. I'll never get my fill of provoking her, and Milan is now a weapon of mass destruction. I flew all the way out there just to humble her and give her a taste of rejection that she surely has never experienced before. It was worth the hassle and the jet fuel. I would do it again in a heartbeat.

"And that's why you came scampering over in a matter of hours." Acid seeps out of her words. "Legal reasons."

I pivot to face her and mirror the combativeness of her posture. "You're going to make this as difficult as possible."

She stares me right in the eyes and says, "One day, when a man blackmails your family in order to make you fuck him, you'll make it difficult for him too."

"And yet here you are—in my home," I counter. "Wasn't that difficult, if we're being honest."

That familiar look of indignation moves across her face. "Well, maybe it won't happen tonight."

I force a shrug that I don't mean. "Fine. Tell Davis you had a senseless notion that I would chase you when it was clearly signed in ink that you're mine for the night. Let me be clear, Julia: I have no interest in following you around. If I did, I wouldn't have made a deal for you."

"Please," she replies, rolling her eyes. "You love the chase. Every man like you does."

"Man like me?"

Her casual nod infuriates me. "Every man who's too rich for his own good. You all get bored so easily. That's when you start doing stupid shit like flying to space and hunting rhinos. You're bored. Trying to get me to sleep with you is the most interesting thing you've done in years."

"Delusional," I snap, taking a step closer to her so our bodies are mere inches apart.

Unflinchingly, Julia faces me. "Lie to me and tell me I'm wrong," she counters before her expression brightens. "I bet I can get you to prove how much you love a chase right now."

"Right now?"

"Right. Fucking. Now."

Ah, I love intrigue. At this moment, I hate how much I love it.

"Fine. I'll bite," I relent. "What could you possibly do to prove I love a chase?"

"Didn't you go to MIT?" she asks innocently, dangling the question as a taunt. "Chase me, asshole."

I have to process if I really heard her ask me to chase her. She's insane. "Excuse me?"

"Chase me," she repeats, taking a small step closer so the space between us is now almost negligible. "If you can catch me, you can have me. If not, I'm going home. It's that simple."

"I'm not going to chase you."

"Yes you are." She takes a step back and surveys me up and down. "Oh, but you're out of your prime, Daddy. I doubt you can catch me."

The way I heat when she says that. I'm torn between kicking her out and calling off the deal, and saying yes so I can finally carry her upstairs and make her scream my name. When she releases a soft chuckle, she makes the decision for me.

"Run," I grit out, unable to stop myself. "If I catch you, I'm fucking you. If you can make it to your car, I'll drive you back to the airport."

Both of her eyebrows rise. "You mean it?"

Her reaction is her first break—a sign she genuinely thought she would win this game. Against another man, sure. Against a more desperate man, sure. But me?

Hell no.

"I don't ever joke around, Julia."

Her surprise shifts to excitement. "Then come and get me, August," she taunts.

Without hesitation, Julia takes off and runs to the dining room. Not a bad choice on her part. The dining room leads out to the living room, the hallway, and a breakfast nook—a wealth of options.

I hedge my bets and assume she's not interested in cat and mouse. More than likely, she'll go straight for the front door. I cut around to the living room, giving myself a chance to intercept her if she takes the path I suspect she will. Sure enough, she rounds the corner from the other direction at the same moment I do. When she sees me, she immediately does an about face and reverses her path.

Her bare feet pound on the wooden floor, rhythmic and soft. I give her a five second head start before I trail her, which proves to be a brilliant move when I get an incomparable glimpse of her shapely legs as her short skirt rides up.

At the end of the hall, she looks both ways before she darts into the library. I follow her. Lunging, I catch the door, barely missing her. She moves through the dark library, swerving between a duo of armchairs before she makes it to the door on the other side.

We're back in the hallway, with Julia a few feet ahead of me. I know she regrets turning down the tour I offered her when she opens the door to a powder room and swears loudly before glancing in my direction. My proximity urges her into another burst of speed, and she finds the door leading back into the kitchen.

To my surprise, she heads straight for the living room and cuts across it to the front door. And yes, leaving was the point of the game, but I figured it was just a game and she wouldn't be so impulsive as to—

Julia reaches the front door and fumbles to undo the locks. Realization collides into me: She's willing to go outside in that nothing of a dress to prove a point. Immediately, my stomach lurches at the thought of her barefoot in the frigid cold. I swing forward and grab her backwards, pulling her off her feet.

She thrashes, trying to escape my grasp, so I let her. I release all but her wrist, leaving her facing me with her arm locked tightly in my fist. Eyes wild, she glances at our hands and then back at my face.

"You caught me," she manages to say amid heavy breaths, her expression teetering between shock and admiration that I can't figure out. This is what she wanted. This is what she asked for. So, why is she so surprised?

I'm about to release her arm when she flies forward, colliding with my body so hard I teeter backwards. Immediately, she kisses me, her hands tugging on my hair and holding it in firm fists until it hurts.

I kiss her back just as hard, savoring the taste of her plump lips that I've craved for days. I wanted all of this. All of her. The sensation of her body, soft along her curves and tight everywhere else. The warmth of her skin and her breath. Her flowery scent. The involuntary moan she releases when my hands grip her arms.

With a hop, she wraps her legs around my waist and nearly climbs me. Hands on my shoulders, she dangles off of me, small in my arms and yet still all-consuming.

And she thrusts. The unmistakable roll of her hips, previewing the motions of fucking, makes me nearly frantic. I charge up the stairs, holding her close, refusing to stop kissing her. My bedroom is the last door at the end of the hall, and right now it feels like it's a mile away.

When I burst in, the door creaks on the hinge and I know I'll have to repair it in the morning. The damage is worth it though when I drop Julia onto my bed. She bounces when she lands, her golden hair flowing around her and haloing her, making it seem like I'm about to fuck a goddess.

She stares up at me, outright licking her lips like she desperately needs any residual hit of my taste that lingers. It's so subtle and yet so sexy.

I strip my sweater off and throw it to the side, taking a moment to steady myself. "Safe word?" I ask her, forcing myself to wait.

Once I ask, she knows it's finally going to happen. "Paris," she responds, excitement alight in her big brown eyes.

The word may as well be a starter pistol. We both fumble to grab the hem of her dress. We grapple to see who can get it off her, and it ends up being me. I strip her bare, tossing the dress to the side and leaving her lying on the bedspread and looking up at me—naked. No bra, no panties. That's how she came downstairs for dinner: ready to be fucked.

I'm still clothed in jeans and my undershirt, and I'm tempted to stay that way. It gives me a dark rush to have her naked and exposed while I'm fully-dressed—a power imbalance. But I can see her tracing the muscles and lines of my arms, and I want to prove to her that I'm anything but past my prime.

My shirt goes first. I discard it somewhere across the room and take in the astounded expression on Julia's face. Her eyes rake over my bare chest and abdomen.

Enjoy, love.

I've always stayed in shape because fitness is an easy differentiator between me and other men. It's an intimidation factor—a sign of my drive and willingness to spend countless hours in the gym getting bigger and more powerful. It's yet another barrier between the rest of the world and me.

Plus, I look fucking great.

"Not bad," she murmurs, breaking the silence, her gaze consuming me.

I let out a scoff, but I don't challenge her. It's obvious she's negging me, as usual. More games. We're both aware I look like a goddamn stallion, even if she won't say it aloud. The way she eye-fucks me is testament enough.

Ready for her, I slide my jeans off my legs and then climb over her. We kiss. Her tongue probes mine, working through heavy breaths that preview her neediness. Tonight, her kiss is more exploratory than in London. Back in London, we were drunk and impatient. Anxious. Now, Julia kisses me like she's enjoying the dessert at the end of a long meal, indulging in every bite and moaning with satisfaction.

I break the kiss, inciting a brief whimper of disappointment before I swoop down to bring her nipples into my mouth. One and then the other, alternating a few times to get them good and wet. The pearled tips of her breasts fit so nicely between my lips, I could imagine myself worshipping them every night, bringing out the desperate gasps and groans she releases when I suck mercilessly on them. Whenever my mouth is on one nipple, she works the other, roughly massaging her own breast with her entire hand, showing me how I'm allowed to handle them—hard, apparently.

When I raise my head, Julia's plump breasts glisten under the bedroom lights, looking swollen and pink. Lovely. Sexy, yes, but also indescribably lovely. She drips with supple femininity, soft and so lush. Tenderly, I kiss the underside of one breast, dragging the tip of my tongue along the curve until she shivers.

"More," she pleads.

Palming her breasts with both hands, I slide down the length of her front—and I lick her skin the entire way until I'm able to layer kisses on her bare pussy lips.

"No," she objects hastily, stopping me right before I can taste her from the source.

"No?" I manage to make eye contact through the deep valley between her nice breasts.

She shakes her head vigorously. "I'm too sensitive, and I refuse to come without you inside of me." She wiggles out of my grasp to kneel at the end of the bed. "Sit."

I refuse to come without you inside of me.

I deserve a medal and a commemorative statue for keeping it together and not just plunging into her after hearing her say those impossibly perfect words. She really is worth billions. Tonight, I had every intention of fucking the attitude out of her. Now, I want to give her the best night of her life.

"Sit," she repeats with clear impatience, nodding her head towards the foot of the bed.

"Fuck off." It's my gentlemanly way of reminding her she's not in charge. But I do sit. Anything to give her what she needs.

She glows when she gets her way, and I can't help but admit she's adorable when she smiles. Her entire face brightens and her cheeks round out to make her look uncharacteristically soft.

Now that I'm seated at the end of the bed, she stands in front of me and palms my boxer briefs to grip my hard length. Shit, that feels incredible. Her hand travels from base to tip, covering every inch of me.

"Feel that?" My voice is husky and slow. "You did that. You fucking did that, Julia."

Her gaze rises and meets mine. There's unprecedented placidity on her face. Does she understand how much I appreciate her? How in awe I am?

"You did that with your perfect body and your needy kisses. Tonight, I own your body, but you own my cock." I reach out and run my hand dotingly through her hair—before I fist it ruthlessly and make her gasp. Her parted lips widen while she adjusts to the sudden show of force, and she bites her lower lip. She loved this in London, and she's just as into it tonight. "Show me what you do when a man gives you a nice gift, Julia."

She tilts her head like she's testing the grip I have on her hair. In response, I tug too, making it hurt. Another gasp escapes her lips before her expression brightens.

Interesting.

Still beaming, she peels back my underwear. Her reaction is priceless, if not endearing. Her eyes widen and I can see them travel the full length of my package—big enough to intimidate her.

"You've been dying to get this big, fat cock in you, haven't you?" I ask, unable to stop throwing more crude words at her because she melts every time I do. "You've spent months thinking about how my cock is going to stretch you out. Pump you full."

Surprised, she stops abruptly, and I briefly wonder if I've taken it too far.

My concern is quickly abated when she leans over my cock to put her lips on mine. "More," she requests, finally speaking for the first time in a while before she pulls me into a full kiss. "Tell me more." She mounts herself on top of me, kissing me and notching my cock at her entrance.

My bare cock.

We're not using a condom; I get to fuck her raw. It was part of the deal. It was something I made sure to get in writing: I get to fuck her raw.

We both got tested and Julia provided proof of an IUD, so the risks are minimal. Even so, her sole stipulation was that I'm not allowed to come in her. When her wet cunt slides over my cock, letting me into her tight channel, I hate that stipulation.

She's so slick and so welcoming. Comforting warmth surrounds me, milking me gently already.

"You feel amazing," she groans, taking the words right out of my mouth. "Big and wide, August. Why didn't you tell me it would be so big?"

"I knew you could take it," I answer while I bask in the incomparable feel of her. She's just a woman. I know she's just a woman. And yet I've never felt so at home inside of another person.

One of my hands roams her skin, grazing over everything I can reach. The other continues to fist her hair, holding her face right against mine so our lips touch and foreheads press together.

I want her so goddamn bad.

Julia begins to move her hips in earnest, slowly shifting forwards and backwards to adjust to my size. Forwards and backwards. Forwards and backwards. Again.

It's slow. So slow. So fucking slow.

It's methodical and almost too…reserved. It's how people act when they're testing the waters—trying to figure out their partner's limits and their own. There's nothing inherently wrong with doing it slow, but when it comes to Julia and me—after waiting months to seal the deal—we're past the point of figuring shit out. We can do better. Much better.

I release her hair and place my hand on her slender neck. I give it a firm squeeze. "Cut the shit."

"Fuck you, August," she retorts, glaring at me defiantly while she leans into my grip.

But she's going to love this, I know. "You wanted my cock, and now you have it. Are you going to fuck me, Ridgeway? Or do I need to take over?"

Her eyes narrow with indignation. "I'm adjusting—"

I tighten my grip on her neck, just enough for her to gasp and firm up her hold on my shoulders. "You'll take it. All of it. Don't come begging for a man to put a big cock in you if you can't handle it."

Carefully, with much more control than I allow her to see, I fully sheath myself inside of her, which incites a sharp inhale. To my surprise, she furrows her brow—and then breaks into a chuckle.

Her smile fades softly and she drags her nails down the front of my chest. I look up at her, wanting to understand the expression on her face.

"You good?"

Julia nods, still nursing a hint of a smile on her lips. "This is it. This is how I wanted to be fucked. Hard. Rough. Intense."

I don't understand her comment or why she needs to clarify what she wants. "How could a man fuck you any other way?" I question, shaking my head in disbelief. "How could a man touch you and not give you everything he has?"

She sighs. But instead of elaborating, she raises her body and lowers it on my length, riding a couple inches.

"You're big, August," she murmurs.

"Don't hate me for it," I urge before I ruffle her pretty hair—and then fist it again. "Enjoy it."

She does. She really does. After a minute of measured bounces, she begins to ride me—fast. She has the hip motion down to a science, and with each rise and fall of her body, remarkable things happen.

Her full breasts shake in a mesmerizing rhythm. Her wetness seeps out around my cock. Her breathing grows sharper and she mutters pleasure nonsense that I could listen to all damn day.

"Yes. More. Like that. Oh god, you feel wonderful. I hate how good you feel."

She's hot, tight ecstasy embodied, clenching around me, stoking my pleasure while she takes her own. I'm getting close, I know. Sweat is forming on my temple. I thrust into her, pleasuring her from below while she rides me.

More. Don't let it end already.

Frantically, I catch both of her hands and hold them up. Confused, she slows her motions and frowns.

"What?" she demands, continuing a soft roll over my cock—like she can't bear the thought of stopping.

"You keep your word, and I do too."

Her expression remains confused until I reach over, open the nightstand drawer, and remove her ruined thong from London—still in tatters, unwashed.

"Off," I order cocking my head to the side.

Julia scrambles off me and falls back onto the bed. Without me even asking, she thrusts both wrists out at me, stacking them. She's so ready.

I tie her hands together with her underwear while she watches with wonder and anticipation plainly on her face. Testing the bindings, she tries to pull her hands apart, but the knots are good.

Gamely, she raises her bound hands above her head, streamlining her body and making her already impeccable breasts look otherworldly. When I slide into her once again, she releases a heavenly moan, and I'm grateful I waited so long to fuck that sound out of her. It's the sound of a woman completely succumbing to pleasure—even when she hates the man on top of her, inside her, fucking her.

I rear back and shove hard, incidentally pushing her a few inches up the bed. When she nods and moans, I do it again. Again. Again, shoving her closer and closer to the headboard.

I can't get over how tight she is. Her pussy is a vice grip on my length, squeezing out indescribable sensations that bring me closer to climax.

"I knew you'd be like this," I grunt. "Knew you'd choke my cock with your pretty little pussy."

"Harder," she begs, arching her back beneath me. "Please, August, harder."

I pump like crazy, giving her everything. Beneath me, she's nearly sobbing with need. Viciously, I fuck down into her body, taking more of her with every stroke.

"I'm close," she warns. "So close. Wait—"

Surprising me, she slides my cock out of her and flips over onto her stomach. Knees on the bedspread, she raises her ass in the air, giving me a full view of it. All of it. Everything.

The soft, tan globes of her cheeks surround her teeny, perfect asshole and her slick pussy, still swollen and needy from my thrusts moments ago. Hers is easily the hottest ass I've ever seen, full stop. Grateful, I run a hand over her, exploring her backside's smooth skin.

"Kiss it," she pleas, looking back at me. "I want your mouth on it."

I get a rush when she asks me for something, like she'll die without it. Sure enough, she's wiggling her perfect ass in the air like she desperately needs me to attend to it. I do as she begged and kiss one of her cheeks before I shove right back into her—now taking her from behind.

My thighs slam against the backs of hers while I pump into her without caution. I know she can take it, and even if she couldn't at first, she would never back down from trying. She's so damn tight, and as she gets closer to her pleasure peak, her inner muscles constrict around my strokes.

I'm in heaven. I'm not even sure this moment is real or a sick dream because the feelings are beyond what I ever imagined. I've slept with a lot of women, but never in my life have I felt so completely overwhelmed by one. Seeing her, touching her…what the hell is happening here?

She begs for more and I give it to her, wishing she would tell me every damn thing she wants because all I want to do is give to her. Provide. I want to be the only man who can fulfill her.

Voice breaking, she cries out when she climaxes, clutching my bedspread with her bound hands and thanking me. Tears form in the corners of her eyes. Actual tears. She's groaning my name and repeating the word yes like it's the only word she knows.

I'm close too, fighting to let her ride out the waves of her own pleasure before I give in and take mine.

Like she can sense I'm close, she shoves me off before I can finish. It's so abrupt, I suddenly feel like I'm missing a part of myself.

Her abrupt departure is worth it when she slides down the bed. Half-dangling off it, she positions herself at the end with her feet on the floor, laid out below me. Her lips wrap around my dick and she sucks like her life depends on it. It only takes her a couple of sucks before my climax breaks through into hundreds of prickles of the most astounding pleasure I've ever felt. I come relentlessly, giving so much, leaving every drop of it in her mouth.

She swallows it gleefully, without hesitation—and yeah, with a single swallow, she ruins me.

Breathing out, I roll onto the bed. Julia, to my surprise, climbs up next to me. Her naked body curls around mine. Silently, she holds out her wrists to me. I undo them.

"Holy shit," I mutter softly, maybe soft enough that she doesn't hear.

"Fine then. Maybe you're not out of your prime," she murmurs, her words reluctant.

I look over at her and find her watching me carefully. I stare back, unsure what to say. I knew fucking Julia would be good. I knew it. The moment I saw her, I knew plunging into her flawless body would be downright miraculous.

But did I think she would be so game for it? Never. Not after she resisted this—resisted me—for so long.

I brush her hair off her cheek and tuck it behind her ear. Her lips are red and swollen from blowing me, and her eye makeup is smudged from sweat and tears. She looks spent and so fucking gorgeous.

"Do you need anything?"

She shakes her head, but she's still eyeing me suspiciously. I'm not one to push. If she wants to tell me something, she can.

Soundlessly, she lowers her hand to my bare length and runs her fingertips over it. I was at half-mast, but her touch immediately gets me ready for another round.

"Is that what you want?" I ask softly.

Julia drags a perfectly painted red fingernail over the slit in my cock. Her eyes meet mine. "Possibly."

The word comes out so reticent, I find myself clenching my jaw. She senses it too. She doesn't understand it either. She's just as surprised that two people who started out so badly could fuck the way we just did.

"A minute," I request before I move out of her grasp.

In the bathroom, I stand in front of the mirror and stare at myself. I feel unbelievable. My body hasn't felt so satisfied in years, and yet I'm hungry for more of her.

The question runs through my brain again. What is happening here?

I want her again. Need her. But for me to have her again, I need to make one thing clear: The deal is done. From this point forward, if we fuck it's because we want to. Because we need to.

I send a text to Davis Ridgeway. It's shitty to reach out immediately after fucking his little sister—while my cum is still in her throat—but I've never been one to wait.

We're all set. Deal's done. FundRight is yours.

There.

I exit the bathroom, ready to show her the text and make her come so many times we forget what it's like not to be naked and covered in sweat together. But when I return to my bed, Julia has fallen asleep. She's curled up with her cheek on the pillow, right in the center of the bed where I couldn't avoid her even if I wanted to.

When I see how tired she is, I feel like an asshole. She flew across the country this morning and spent most of the day hiding in her room. She traveled from a completely different time zone. I didn't even feed her—again. On the contrary, I chased her around, fucked her senseless, and barely did any aftercare. Of course she passed out.

I'll have to wait until morning. I'll apologize for being a sex obsessed caveman and show her the text I sent Davis so she knows everything we do from now on is for our pleasure, not for the acquisition.

I get in bed next to her and pull her close, tucking her right against my chest where she fits perfectly. The floral scent of her perfume reminds me that I know what she tastes like all over. Her skin. Her lips. Her pussy. The prospect of doing it all again tomorrow leaves me uncharacteristically excited.

"Of course I caught you," is the last thing I say before I drift off to sleep.