Savage Collision: A Hawke Family Novel (Hawke Family #1)(19)
It’s out of my hands now.
Jesus, this is going to be harder than I thought.
I stand in the middle of his living room, in total awe of the sleek, modern design of the condo, or should I say, penthouse—thirty stories up in one of the most sought-after buildings in the city. I wonder how he managed to snag this place.
I guess the pussy business is very lucrative.
It’s absolutely stunning, and it’s clear that either he, or his decorator, has exquisite taste. A long, low, sleek, black leather couch sits directly in front of me, with two matching chairs all facing a low, stained black wood coffee table. A large fireplace dominates the wall, with enormous slate tiles reaching all the way up to the cathedral ceilings. The built-in bookshelves on either side are filled with books, not the usual chachkies.
He’s a minimalist, and it is breathtakingly beautiful. I hate to admit I’m jealous but compared to my tiny, second-floor studio apartment, this place is a Taj Mahal. He probably has an enormous king-sized bed with silk sheets while I’m on my queen with Egyptian cotton every night. The floors alone in this place probably cost twenty thousand dollars.
No one gets into journalism for the money, but seeing this place really makes me question my choice in profession. Not seriously, I love what I do too much to do anything else, but there’s that tiny voice in the back of my head telling me I could have done a thousand other things that made better money. Right now, my entire paycheck goes to my designer shoe fetish and to the essentials, like a roof over my head and food.
When I picture my closet, the Sex in the City episode where Carrie adds up the cost of her shoe closet only to determine she had forty thousand dollars’ worth hits a little too close to home.
I look down at my feet. My Sergio Rossi pumps look freaking fantastic but guilt creeps up my bare legs thinking about the half-paycheck that went to buy them. If Savage has a shoe fetish, it will all be worth it. Wrapping my legs around his waist and digging these heels into his back while he fucks me would certainly justify the thousand dollar price tag.
Cool it. You can’t jump on his cock the second he appears. That would look desperate. Maintain some dignity.
Glancing around the room, I’m drawn to the large windows occupying the entire left wall. I wander over to them and find a large patio with chaise lounges and a magnificent view of the Mississippi. The smell in the penthouse is mouthwatering—garlicy and sweet. I hope the wine I brought goes with whatever he made. The bottle in my hand has me picturing sitting out there with Savage and enjoying the warm evening air after dinner and a few glasses, and then partaking in other activities in full public view.
Naked skin against the night air is such a fucking turn on. The way it cools the sweat-slicked body…
I shudder and press my free hand against the glass to stabilize myself on my suddenly wobbly legs.
Damn. This isn’t helping.
Not that anything would. This past week has been seven days of foreplay and one giant clit tease. Who would have thought phone sex could be so fucking hot? I’ve always needed the real thing—skin-scratching, sweaty, hot, raunchy sex. But watching Savage touch himself on video? Holy shit…there are just no words.
Big, strong hands wrapped around hard flesh. It’s hotter than anything I could have imagined or found in any porn. I haven’t come that many times solo since…well…never.
And I need to do something about this because I can’t go on at work with my mind somewhere else—mainly on Savage’s dick. Somehow, I’ve managed to get my articles done, but I’ve gotten nowhere on my investigation into Mayor Dunne and his sketchy dealings. Paul has cold feet and no matter what I say, I haven’t been able to convince him to get me what I need on Abello.
Anyone else would have given up on this story a year ago, but not me. Sometimes my stubbornness hurts more than it helps. I just hope this won’t be one of those times. My skin crawls just thinking about Abello. That man is depraved. There’s just no other word for it. The sheer number of bodies desiccating out in the bayous—bodies that can be attributed to him—is staggering. The only reason he isn’t in prison for the rest of his life is the loyalty of his subjects—a loyalty that is making this investigation damn near impossible.
But someone has to crack eventually. I just hope I found that person. If not, I’m back to square one and the notebooks full of rumors, innuendos, and theories I have at my apartment become nothing more than kindling for the fire I can’t have in my non-existent fireplace. Maybe Savage will let me borrow his?
A nice roaring fire in that thing would set quite the mood. I could watch my career go up in smoke as he fucks me on the floor, and the couch, and the coffee table, and the chairs. That familiar throb starts between my legs and my only consolation is that I’ll see Savage any minute and, hopefully, this night will end with our clothes off and our needs fulfilled.
I look down at my dress and wonder if I may have overdone it for a dinner at Savage’s place. The red sundress looked casual and flirty when I examined myself in the mirror before I left, but now, now it feels like I’m overdressed and begging for something. The plunging neckline and high hem are practically an open invitation to him.
Who am I kidding? He has an open invitation to anything and everything he wants.
A door down the hall opens and a strange, fast clicking noise races toward me. I turn and find the most adorable dog I’ve ever seen racing from around the corner.