The Wrong Right Man(30)

He fucks me harder and harder until I’m once again stumbling over the edge of pleasure, only this time he falls with me, locking his hips against mine after one final thrust. We both tumble forward onto the bed, his body heavy on top of mine and our breathing erratic as we soak up the last pulse of pleasure.

When he rolls away, I miss his weight but then relish the feel of his skin against mine as he drapes me across his chest and once more tangles his fingers into my hair. I rest my forehead in the crook of his neck and wrap my hand around his side, feeling sated and sleepy.

“Are you okay?” His voice is gruff but warm, and I tip my head back to meet his gaze.

“Yeah, are you?”

“Better, now that I’ve had you again.” He smiles when I smack his chest. “What? I missed you.”

“You missed the vagina.”

His eyes lock with mine, looking deadly serious. “No, I missed you.”

I chew on my bottom lip then swallow. I want to tell him that I missed him too, that I missed connecting with him like we just did, even if we only shared that for one night, but I manage to keep my mouth shut.

He sighs then smooths a finger across my forehead to behind my ear. “I can wait.”

I somehow doubt that. Instead of pointing out his behavior, I rest my head back against his chest, and then my stomach growls when I smell something delicious. It reminds me that I didn’t eat anything but a package of mixed nuts at lunch today, because I was anxious to get back to work so I could try to impress Kathy with some new ideas for tomorrows show. “I’m starving.”

“You wouldn’t be so hungry if you’d just come here when you were supposed to.”

“I didn’t give you a time when I would be here,” I remind him, lifting my head off his chest to narrow my eyes on him. “And I went out, because I wanted to try to get to know the people I work with, since I do have to work with them and wouldn’t mind having some friends.”

“I’m your friend.”

If I’m not wrong, there is a little bit of jealousy in his tone, like I couldn’t possibly want to be friends with anyone else when I’ve got him.

“You’re also the CEO of IMG. I can’t talk crap about my job or your company to you.”

“Why not?” he asks, kissing me swiftly before rolling me off him and getting out of bed.

I blink at the sudden change of position, unsure if he’s serious, and when I see he is, I just shake my head, not even attempting to help him understand. I get up and start to search for my clothes but stop when he hands me a T-shirt. I put it on over my head, and it hits me midthigh, long enough that I don’t need to worry about pants.

“Let’s feed you,” he says, walking out of the bedroom, wearing nothing but his boxers, and I follow him, glaring at his back as I hop into my panties.

“Let’s talk about you sending Hanna down to talk to Kathy.”

“That was not me; that was all Chris. He saw your work,” he replies over his shoulder as he walks toward the kitchen.

“You showed Chris my work.”

He smiles. “I showed him your work, and he agreed with me and thought we should send Hanna down to try to convince you to meet with him.” He disappears as he bends at the waist, and then a moment later, he comes up with a pan covered with foil, placing it on the counter.

“You should know that didn’t convince me. All it did was make me mad.”

“I got that from your message.” He sighs, getting out two plates, and then he goes to the fridge, grabbing two bowls filled with salad.

“Do you want help?” I might be annoyed, but I don’t want to be rude.

“You can pick a bottle of wine,” he says then lifts his chin in the direction of the dining table. “I have a wine room. You’ll see it now that you know you’re looking for it.”

“A wine room?” I repeat in disbelief.

“A wine room.” He grins.

“You have too much money.” I step away from the kitchen, hearing him laugh as I head around the corner, seeing a large wood-framed door with tinted glass. I walk toward it and the light turns on, allowing the bottles of wine inside to be seen. I open the door and step into the room, overwhelmed while looking around at the shelves lining the walls. I don’t even know what kind of wine goes with what foods—not that it would help if I did, since I don’t know what we’re eating.

Grabbing one of the bottles, I take it with me out of the room toward the kitchen but stop when a large painting catches my attention. I tip my head one way then the other, trying to understand what I’m looking at. I’m not sure, but it kind of looks like a woman sitting naked on a toilet, but that would be weird.

“Sweetheart, don’t even bother trying to figure out what it is,” Braxton says, and I look over to find him leaning his shoulder against the wall, watching me.

“Is it a woman on the toilet?”

“It could be.” He shrugs, pushing off the wall to step toward me then takes the bottle of wine before grasping my hand. “Are you ready to eat?”

“Why do you have a painting of a woman on a toilet in your dining room?” I ask when he pulls out a stool in a silent demand for me to sit, so I do.

“My mom painted it. She took an art class a few years ago and convinced herself that she’s now an artist,” he says, leaving me on the opposite side of the counter as he walks back around into the kitchen, still speaking. “She gave me that painting as a housewarming gift, and then she hung it. I don’t have the heart to take it or the other pieces she’s hung down.”