Sugar on the Edge (Last Call #3)(65)

“I’d want to go back… to visit his grave.”

My hands come up and clasp Gavin’s, holding him tight against me. I squeeze his fingers gently. “Of course, baby. You can go back whenever you want.”

“I want you to come with me,” he says, still with his eyes focused on where our hands are now mutually joined across my chest.

“Yes, I’ll go with you. Whenever you want.”

“And you’ll live here with me?” he says as his thumbs starts to move again across my nipples, and I can feel him start to grow hard underneath me again.

“Yes, I’ll live here with you, Filthy.”

“Will you continue to be my assistant… help me… travel with me?” His eyes never lift to mine, instead they still gaze vaguely at where his hands work my breasts.

“Yes, all of that,” I tell him firmly.

Finally… his eyes lift, and they seem to sparkle in the reflective light of the TV. They are wide, open, and vulnerable when he asks, “Will you also start falling in love with me?”

My breath catches in my throat, and my heart expands to about ten times its normal size. I reach one hand out and lay it along Gavin’s cheek. His eyes close briefly from the touch, but he opens them up just as quickly to await my answer.

“Yes,” I whisper to him. “I’ll start falling in love with you. I promise.”

“Good,” he whispers back. “Because I’ve already started that process with you.”

Pressing my palms to the pillows beside his head, I lean down and kiss him gently. When I pull back, I give him the tenderest of smiles. “Falling in love with me, huh?”

“Falling deep,” he confirms.

“Me too.”

“That’s fortuitous for me,” he says with a grin.

“Is this too fast?” I ask, worried that maybe we’re seeing something that we want to see but that shouldn’t be quite visible yet.

“Not fast enough, in my opinion,” he says, and then moves his hands down to play between my legs.

My head falls back at his first touch, and I reach behind me with one hand to stroke him. He’s already rock hard, still slightly moist from our last round of lovemaking.

“I thought you said you were done?” I ask on a gasp when he slips a finger in to me.

“I’ll never be done with you, Sweet. Never.”





“Savannah!” I yell from my office chair as I stare at the manuscript on my laptop.

“What?” she yells back from somewhere on the first floor.

“Come here,” I call out, leaning back in my chair and gazing at the computer with a smile.

“No,” she yells back with a whiny voice. “That’s three flights of stairs, and I’m still sick.”

“Bollocks. You’ve had no problem letting me f*ck you the last three days, silly wench, so three flights of stairs shouldn’t be a problem. Now get your sweet ass up here.”

I can actually imagine the grin on her face, and I listen as her feet race up the stairs toward me. When I hear her at the top, I swivel the chair around and face the door. She comes barreling through and launches herself onto my lap, her arms wrapping around my neck. The chair moans and groans under the added weight and movement.

“What’s up, pup? Want a little afternoon quickie?”

Why yes, yes I do, but I don’t voice that out loud.

Instead, I turn the chair back around toward my desk, swiveling both our bodies, and point at the laptop. She leans forward, peers at the screen, and reads the two words at the bottom.

The End.

“Filthy,” she squeals as she squeezes me in a bone-crushing hug, nearly strangling me. “You finished.”

“I finished,” I tell her, both happy and sad all at once. It’s a definite cause for celebration when an author finishes a story, having poured blood, sweat, and tears into the words. But you’re also sad and empty at the same time, because you’re leaving behind the same blood, sweat, and tears. There’s also a nervousness… a fear that maybe what you wrote wasn’t worth the blood, sweat, and tears that leached out of you onto paper. Particularly following up a huge hit. Is this book just as good? Will the fans love it or will I have let them down?

Savannah scrambles off my lap and tugs at my hand, so I stand up. I bend down to hug her again, perhaps catch that sweet mouth in a kiss so we can begin the celebration, but she pushes me to the side, steps past me, and sits in the chair. It squeaks loudly as she pulls it up to the desk. Her hand reaches out to my laptop as she says, “I can’t wait to read this bad boy.”

Quick as lightning, I slap lightly at her hand in admonishment, and she gives a yelp as she draws it back, narrowing her eyes at me. “What did you do that for?”

“No reading just yet. We’re taking a trip.”

“A trip?” she asks dubiously.

“Yes, a trip. We need a vacation.”

“A vacation?”

“To a beach.”

“A beach?”

“Are your brains addled, love?” I ask her as I pull her up out of the chair, wrapping my arms around her waist and leaning down to kiss her neck.

“But we live on a beach,” she says breathlessly as I kiss behind her ear.