Fake Empire(64)

I snoop around the suite. Drink some water. Answer some work emails. Sophie texted me this morning, asking about getting together. Aside from one short brunch weeks ago, I haven’t seen her or Nadia since my wedding. I reply, suggesting they come over to my place for a girls’ night next week. My mother responded to the photo I sent of me and Crew in Paris with an invitation we come over for dinner soon. I don’t know whether to be resentful or appreciative of the effort. Anything regarding my parents usually comes with strings attached. Before Crew and I got married, requests to see me were usually predicated on events where they thought my absence would be offensive.

Finally, Crew returns. Alone, Antonio has disappeared.

“Sorry. It took longer than I thought it would.”

I stand and walk over to him. “It’s fine. Means your investment is doing well, right?”

His smirk has nuclear side effects. “Right.”

My plans for a quick exit rapidly rearrange. I have no idea why I notice the details I do. Crew has a single freckle beneath his left eye. A dark brown circle that is slightly thinner at the top than the bottom. Not perfectly round.

“Are you ready to go?”

My response surprises us both. “No.” This outing was all him. To plan, to control, to end. Suddenly, I don’t want it to.

To Crew’s credit, he reacts fast. “You discovered a deep love of European football?”

“Not exactly.” I press up against him, forcing him back. He doesn’t have to acquiesce, but he does. I guide him back to one of the couches and down.

Crew’s eyes are molten pools of blue as he realizes where this is heading. It’s good—fantastic—for my ego.

I straddle him and discover he’s already growing hard. I feel heady with power as I rub against him. He hisses and grabs my hips. “Favorite position?”

“Have we been here before?” I tease.

“Scarlett.”

I’ve always liked my first name, the way the syllables sound. Every time Crew says it like this—as if saying it is a precious gift—I fall in love with it more. And maybe not just with the eight letters.

“I didn’t lock the door,” he murmurs.

“I don’t think this will take long.” I stand. Kick off my sandals and pull down my thong.

Crew leans back on the leather couch, his Adam’s apple bobbing and his eyes half-lidded with lust as I return to my spot on his lap and unzip his shorts. He makes a low grunt as I grip him, his throat working as he fights the urge to thrust in my hand.

His hands creep up my thighs.

“No touching,” I whisper. “Unless you beg.”

One of his famous mouth curls makes an appearance as his hands fall away. There was a time when I didn’t think Crew Kensington was capable of backing down about anything. His reputation is a ruthless one. People like him, but they also respect him. He’s a worthy opponent and a powerful ally. But for me, he bends.

He clenches his jaw as he grows harder. I keep stroking him, teasing him with slight drops of my hips that almost allow him to slide inside. His breathing grows faster and quicker. We’re both fully clothed, the skirt of my pink dress spread across his lap, covering everything we’re doing. Somehow, that makes it that much hotter. Crew looks pained as he studies my boobs, just inches from his face.

“No touching,” I repeat, before I let him slip inside me. Only the tip, and then I raise my hips out of reach.

He groans and I grin.

“You told me to fuck you bare last night. Why?”

Crew asking about sex right before we have sex feels strangely intimate. I’ve never discussed the act with other guys I’ve slept with. It just happened. “It was our first time.”

He doesn’t reply with a duh. But his “I know” isn’t much better.

Crew isn’t touching me. I’m still setting the pace. But all of a sudden, I no longer feel like I’m in control. “I figured you didn’t…usually. And I’m clean and on birth control.” He’s young, hot, and heir to a multi-billion-dollar empire. If he’s not wrapping it up, he’s an idiot. And I don’t think he is.

Talking in circles isn’t my usual mode of communication, but I think Crew knows what I’m saying. I wanted our first time to be something special, something different. Just the fact it was him wasn’t supposed to be enough, even though it felt like it was.

I won’t so much as allude to this, but I also want him to trust me. Stupid, considering I’ve given him several reasons not to. Considering I’ve lied. I’m worried fessing up now might destroy any shaky trust we have built.

Crew holds my gaze as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his leather wallet. Silly disappointment fills me, but I keep a neutral expression plastered in place.

“We should be careful.” He says the words as he rolls the condom on. I focus on what he’s doing, so I don’t have to look him in the eye.

“We should,” I agree. Instead of telling him I haven’t slept with anyone else in months. Instead of asking him whether he is sleeping with anyone else.

I tease him with a few more rolls of my hips, and then I drop my pelvis again. I’m dripping, and he slides in with no resistance. Even deeper than last time.

Crew is swearing, his hands clenched into fists as he visibly restrains himself. “Please, Scarlett. Fuck, I—fuck. Move, Red. Please.”