63. JAKE

I have her in my arms.

I don't think I can ever let go.

The sheer fucking relief I felt when she touched me had me almost down to my knees. Fuck, I haven't lost her. I haven't lost everything. She's in my life. I get to call her mine.

Reema hoists a leg over my hip. I press harder against her but keep my hands easy around her face. I'm tracing the length of her neck and pulling back to press reverent kisses against her jumping pulse. All these long, detailed thoughts about what she means to me, and how I'll never fucking hurt her, and the lengths I'll go to spoil her with happiness rise inside me.

Reema, ever the poet, speaks first. "You need to fuck me."

A leash snaps inside me. Or maybe it never got put back together the first time I sunk into her. I lift her in the air, and then put her on her back on the air mattress. She laughs out my name in surprise.

"I don't think you know what you do to me, Reema."

"You should have never offered to be my fake boyfriend." She reaches out and tugs on my hair. I reach around and grip hers harder, watching the warm flush rise up her throat.

"Why is that?"

"Because now I can't imagine myself without you."

My grin is slow and so relieved. "I don't care. You left me for a week and I fucking missed you."

"I missed you, too. You—" She sucks in a breath. "—have power over me. Please be careful with it?—"

My hand reaches for hers. I put our combined fingers over my heart. "I won't break your trust. You can count on me. For anything. I wasn't kidding. Tell me what you need, and it's my fucking honor to give it to you."

She sighs, dropping her head to my chest. "What if I ask you to burn your spreadsheets for me?"

"I'd light the flame."

"Because…"

"I love you. Though I don't know what spreadsheets have done to you. If anything, they?—"

Her finger closes over my lips. "Don't ruin the moment."

I lick her skin, making her gasp and laugh. This moment could never be ruined. She loves me. Reema Patel loves me.

Her arms lope around my neck. "Actually, I'd never ask you to burn your spreadsheets, because I never want to hurt you. That's the thing with love, I guess. We're in it together. I want to give happiness back to you as much as you want it for me."

More flowery words thicken in my throat, but once again this temptress—my love—short-circuits my brain by feeling up my fabric-covered cock. When I pull her on top of me, there's a raging hard-on pressed against her stomach. She looks down at it and wets her mouth.

There's no more talking.