Page 73 of Over the Limit

He rests his forehead to mine, a sigh on his lips that’s so contradictory to the sensations I’m feeling with his fingers slowly pleasuring me.

“There are a lot of consequences to us being together,” he says.

“I know.”

“But more than anything is how you’d be perceived. Because of our positions, because of my job, the public’s perception . . . you would be perceived negatively. The track bunny. Society is so fucked up the way women get blamed.”

I want to tell him that I don’t care if I’m to be blamed. I want to express my disregard for outside opinions . . . but I’ve worked so hard to get where I am, and I’d genuinely hate for all that to be negated because I’m with him.

“We’re in very sensitive times in our careers,” I say.

“My contract renewal. My teammate. Your reputation. Your career. Your want to keep Rossi as a friend. My—”

“Zola,” I say cattily, earning a chuckle and the added pressure of his palm to my clit.

“I assure you, I’m not thinking about Zola right now.” He adds a second finger to the mix that has my back arching. “Or ever.”

“Good to know,” I pant out. But rest assured I’ll bring her up again if this is what my punishment is.

“You’ve worked hard to make a name for yourself as a dedicated, honest, woman—God, you’re soaking me,” he groans, and I slide my thumb over the crest of his cock. He shifts his hips away. “No. You first. You second. Maybe even a third or fourth had. Always. Then me. Then I get mine. I can wait.”

Can he get any more incredible?

Death by orgasm. Not a bad way to go.

He laces open-mouthed kisses up the underside of my neck. Too many sensations. Too much stimulation. Not enough him. For some reason, I doubt there ever will be if this is how he makes me feel.

“So we . . .” It’s getting hard to concentrate.

“We stay discreet. For now.”

“A part of me likes that. The part that says I get to keep you all to myself.”

“Yeah well, I’m struggling with this. The last place you need to be is hidden on a shelf. Hmm,” he murmurs sexily as I buck my hips into his hand. “I told you once if you were mine, I’d show you off. This is preventing that, so I’m not exactly thrilled.”

“In time.”

“In time.” He nips my shoulder and increases his tempo. “So long as I get all of the above.”

“You’re making it hard to concentrate on talking. On thinking. On—”

“Good.” He tucks a third finger inside and fills me, my body burning with need. “Come for me, Tink. Drench me. Scream for me. And then we’ll do it all over again but with my cock next time.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Blair

It’s a beautiful morning. The sun is out and the sea is sparkling in the harbor beyond. And last night was . . . too spectacular to even put adjectives to.

But as I stand in the boulangerie, looking at the glass case of baked goods in front of me and a clerk standing there waiting and staring at me expectantly, I realize how unrealistic my optimism is that this will work out.

I know what Rossi’s order would be right now. What he takes in his coffee. And the fact that he even eats breakfast.

But I have no damn clue about any of those when it comes to Lachlan. Not his habits. Not his dislikes. Not his routine.

And as I stand here dreamily thinking of the warm bed I left not long ago to take a work call and then come grab us breakfast, the realness of this hits me.

Hard.