Page 59 of Heated Takeover

“Your hips crashing against mine. Your hands wandering over my body, teasing every inch of me,” she goes on, and I mimic the words, thrusting my cock inside her, and then back out. In…and out.

“Keep going,” I tell her.

“I kiss your neck,” she tells me before burying her lips just below my ear. “And you moan at the feeling of my tongue against your skin.”

She’s right. I do.

“And you drive yourself inside of me, deeper and deeper. Harder and faster until we both come undone.”

And so I do just that. I pick up the pace, re-enacting her fantasies, living out my own. Our hips collide over and over as her legs wrap around me. All the while, our eyes stay deeply engaged, peering into each other’s souls as we go deeper and further. As we intertwine. As we become one person.

It’s something I’ve never known or felt in my life. I’ve never felt this kind of intimacy before. And the way Natalie is looking up at me now, reacting to me now, I know it’s the same for her.

Our rhythm picks up and the heat surges within both of us, rushing from me into her, her into me, until the release crashes over both of us. It’s a torrential downpour of pleasure and fulfilled need.

My thrusts slow to a lazy stop, and I roll over on the bed next to her. I face her, and she rolls to face me. I play with a lock of her long, liberated hair, and for a moment we stay like that. The lightning dances outside the window, the rain crashes against the glass, and it’s just me and her, and nothing else in the world matters or exists.

Chapter 23

Natalie

I am in la-la land.

Yes, I am at work, and I am working. I am sitting at my desk going over some of the initial booking details for a beachside party taking place outside of one of the Ashford Hotels next month. Bonfire, open bar, live music, Hawaiian barbecue complete with a whole pig, apple and all. I don’t write the requests; I just fulfill them.

I am a great multitasker. So while I hunt for barbecue restaurants in Miami that actually sell whole pigs…with apples, I am also thinking about the night of the storm. The night I spent alone in my condo with Ash. Alone in my bed with Ash. For the record, he did stay the night. And while he had to make a bit of an Irish exit, the next morning before Brittany brought Jamie home, he kissed me goodbye and told me he wished we could have breakfast in bed, adding the whispered promise…

“Next time…”

Next time? Next time. Is he implying there will be a next time? That makes things complicated, doesn’t it? Because as much as I want there to be a next time, I don’t know if there can be a next time because he is my boss. He is my boss and the father of my child, but he doesn’t know that, and neither does our child. Our child, who loves him and whom he seems fond of too.

Good Lord. What even is my life right now?

The elephant of a thought presses against my brain with its full weight. It’s not right to have him around Jamie if I’m not going to tell him that Jamie is his son.

But it also raises another thought. Has he done the math? Five minus four isn’t hard to figure out, and Ash is a smart man. A very smart man. Not only that, but has he looked at Jamie? Has he looked in a mirror? I know they look alike. I knew the moment the nurse handed Jamie to me in the hospital that my son looked more like his father than he does like me. It’s why I described my made-up lover, Matteo Valenti, as being dark-featured. Though I did give him longer hair, a lankier build, and made him a mouthier version of the truth. I didn’t want people to put two and two together. Though I’ll be honest, I’m not sure that my sister can actually put two and two together, so I’m not surprised that she hasn’t asked questions.

Nobody except me, Ash, and God knows what happened on that Ferris wheel that night. Well, and Dylan.

Ash should see the resemblance; it’s plain as day. I wonder if he has figured it out and isn’t interested in being a permanent part of our lives.

Although…

I’m not really sure how one has sex like that–makes love like that– if they don’t plan on pursuing it.

“Well, look at you…”

I nearly come out of my skin at the sound of my father’s voice when he enters my office without so much as a knock.

“Dad,” I say with a flustered blush. “What are you doing here?”

“You mean since I’m not the CEO of my own company anymore?” he asks bitterly, sitting down in the chair across from me. I grimace. “I’m here to see Margaret. We’re going to lunch.”

“Oh,” I nod, shaking all my previous thoughts from my head and switching hats as best I can. “That should be nice.”

“Nice,” my father guffaws. “What would be nice is if none of this ever happened. It should be me in the office down the hall, not that starchy suit and tie from Ashford. Talk about a piece of work.”

“Oh, he’s not so bad once you get to know him,” I say flippantly. Then I stop as my father deadpans me from across the desk. My father never deadpans me. Not to brag or anything, but it’s no secret that I’m kind of his favorite.