It’s the first night I’ve slept in my own bed in days, and I hate it. I hate being away from her. Not having her next to me, even if I couldn’t reach for her, I felt her warmth, the weight of her and knew she was there. With her beside me, I can fool myself into believing we still have a chance to get it right.

Staring at the goddamned crack in the ceiling above my bed, all I can do is think about her. I want to hold her against me. Run my fingers through her hair. Tell her everything’s going to be okay, even though it might be a lie.

I’m worried about her. I know I’m worried about the wrong thing. I should be worried about the mess with Lisa. The fact that prison is a distinct possibility. That my uncle gave me the family fortune, and I could be responsible for losing it. That the charity I built from the ground up is in jeopardy. That being my business partner could ruin Declan. The fact that whatever Conner is doing to fix this mess could undoubtedly land him in prison.

That’s what I should be worried about right now.

My family. My future.

Instead, I’m laying here, staring at the ceiling, wondering what happened with Chase. How he took the news. If he blames her. I’m worried about how this whole mess is going to affect her job. If Chase will refuse to show her paintings because he doesn’t want to deal with the potential fallout. If Miranda will fire her for causing a scandal with one of her artists.

“Patrick?”

I raise myself on my elbows to find her standing at the foot of my bed, her caramel-colored hair glowing like a halo in the light of the hallway. “Are you okay?” I say, jerking the covers back so I can throw my legs over the side of the bed. “Did James—”

“No...” she sighs, the end of the sound lilting upward like a laugh. “I haven’t heard from him since...” she shrugs.

Relaxing a little I feel my shoulders slump, even though my adrenaline-soaked heart is thumping hard in my chest. I rest my elbows on my knees, running my hands through my hair. “Do you need something?” I say, trying to figure out why she’s here, standing at the foot of my bed at four o’clock in the morning.

She doesn’t answer me. She just stands there, her fingers twisting in the belt of the robe I gave her, shifting her weight from one leg to the other.

“Come here,” I say softly, watching her as she rounds the foot of the bed to stand in front of me. Reaching for her, I wrap my arms around the back of her thighs to pull her close, her knees trapped between mine. “How did things go with Chase?”

“Good—better than I thought.” She lets go of her belt and lifts her hands to my shoulders. “He’s a good guy.”

He’s a good guy.

Hearing her say it is like a punch in the gut. Reminds me that I’ve been anything but these past few days. “I’m sorry,” I tell her, the top of my head pressed against her belly. “I should’ve told you about the money. I just—I don’t want it. I don’t know what to do with it. It’s too much. I keep hoping my uncle will change his mind.” I squeeze my eyes shut, concentrating on the fact that she’s here. She’s listening. Giving me what I was too much of a selfish asshole to give her.

A chance to explain.

“It’s okay,” she says, her hands weave themselves through my hair. “I heard pretty much your entire conversation with Conner...” She makes a soft sound that sounds like a laugh. “Which is probably why Conner pushed you into having it in the first place.”

“Yeah,” I say, a soft shiver running down my spine at the way she was touching me. “He loves to meddle. Mostly because he’s smarter than all of us put together—so, he naturally assumes he always knows what’s best.” I look up at her, chin pressed to her bellybutton. “He knows you’re not a gold-digger.”

“Maybe, but I’ve done a lot to be sorry for these last six months.” She traces the shell of my ear with her fingertip. I can hear humor in her voice, but there’s longing and arousal there too and the sound of it goes straight to my cock, and it begins to stir in response to her. “I’m sorry about the bet. It was stupid and wrong, and I’m sorry I hurt you. That was the last thing I wanted.”

“I hurt you too.” I drop my head again and her hands skate across the nape of my neck. “Forgive me?” I say, my voice thick. Hands fisted in the back of her robe. I’m doing everything I can to keep myself from tearing it off her. She’s had a hard day, both physically and emotionally. No matter with I think I hear or what I’m sensing in her, the last thing she needs is me putting my hands on her.

“Yes.” She moves, shifting one of her legs from between mine so that my knee is caught between her thighs. Her hands slide down the back of my head, her slim, cool fingers anchoring themselves behind my neck as she slowly lowers herself to sit on my leg. I have to suck in a groan when her skin makes contact with mine because she’s not wearing panties underneath her robe—my robe—and the feel of her bare pussy on my leg is nearly enough to unravel me. Suddenly her face is inches away, her mouth hovering in front of mine. “Do you forgive me?”

“Always.” Despite my affirmative response, I shake my head, my hands fit around her waist. Either to lift her up and send her back to her room or lift her up and slam her down on my rock-hard cock. I’m not sure. “You’ve had a really bad day,” I say, still trying to behave rationally. “Maybe we should just—” The rest of my argument ends in a groan as she grinds her soft, wet slit against my thigh while most of my good intentions get tossed out the window. “Cari.” It comes out half plea, half warning and the sound of my distress kicks up the curve of her mouth. My heart is racing, the pulse of it hammering through my veins, straight down to my cock.

“So, we forgive each other?” she says, her fingers tightening around the back of my neck, her breath catching in her throat as her hips make another rotation, rubbing herself against me. “We’re friends again?”

“Of course, we’re friends, Cari.” I drop my head to her shoulder, eyes squeezed shut because the feel of her against me is hard enough to resist but if I have to watch her get off on grinding on my leg, I’m going to forget what the right thing is. “What are you doing to me?” It’s something I’ve wondered a thousand times over the past week. The seconds I let myself touch her, the door to my self-control was kicked right off its hinges. I can’t close it between us again, no matter how much I want to. I can’t seem to do the right thing by her, no matter how hard I try.

Her hands slide down my shoulders, my arms, until her hands are on top of mine, pulling them loose. “I’m trying to fuck you, Patrick,” she says in my ear, her hips grinding forward, a small moan slipping from her mouth as she puts my hands on the still-knotted belt of her robe. “Let me fuck you.”

“Jesus Christ...” I turn my face into the crook of her neck, pressing my lips to the thrumming pulse in her throat. “Why can’t I do the right thing by you, Cari,” I say, my hands shaking because I want to touch her so bad I feel like I’m breaking apart inside. “Why can’t I just do the right fucking thing, for once?”

“This is the right thing,” she says, her voice soft and urgent in my ear, her hand slipping lower to wrap around the hard bulge of my cock. “This is what I want. What I need—give me what I need.”

“Fuck—” I jerk the belt of her robe open, slipping my hands inside, my dick giving a hard twitch in her grip when my hands make unfettered contact with her naked flesh. She smells like gardenias. Feels like sin. Her skin is soft and warm, and like that first night in my car, I’m drowning. Instead of fighting my way to the surface, I let myself sink into her. Push myself deeper.

Pushing her robe off her shoulders, I let my mouth roam. Her jaw. Her throat. Her collarbone. The top of her breast, my tongue following the curve of it. My teeth scraping across her nipple until she’s gasping and writhing against me, her hand working my cock through the thin fabric of my boxer briefs. I have no doubt we can both come like this, like a couple of eager, horny teenagers but when she pushes me back on the bed, I almost cry with relief because all I want is to be inside her.

“Since the night I met you,” I whisper, watching her as she stands over me, shedding the robe completely, her breasts tight and swollen with desire, nipples pink and glistening from my mouth. “I’ve wanted you since the night I met you—do you remember?” I want to grab her, throw her on the bed, jerk my boxer briefs down so I can free my cock and pound myself into her wet, willing pussy until she screams. I want to, but I don’t because this isn’t about me. It’s about her. What she needs. Wants. For reasons I can’t understand, that’s me. It’s me she needs. Me she wants. Knowing that is enough to help me keep myself in check. “When you kissed me in the front seat of my car—touched me—I felt like I was drowning. Like I was dying.”

Something flashes in her eyes. Doubt. Disbelief. Like she didn’t know. Doesn’t believe me. How long I’ve been dying without her. “Show me,” she murmurs, watching me, challenging me, her gaze hooded and heavy on my cock. “Touch yourself. Tell me.”

She’s commanding me, ordering me around the way I did her—trying to gain some traction on the slippery slope the two of us are tumbling down

Touch yourself. Tell me.

I can do that for her. Give her control. Make her feel powerful. I can do that.

For her.

I pull my boxers briefs down around my hips and my dick all but jumps into my hand so I can give it a slow stroke. “I wanted to get you naked and drag you into the backseat...” I groan, my hand stroking upward to gather some of the pre-cum welling up from the head of my shaft. “I wanted to fuck you.” I slide my grip down the length of my engorged shaft, from tip to base, my chest tightening, shouldering digging into the bed, fighting off the urge to come all over myself, right then and there. “I wanted you to ride me until you came all over my cock, right there in your driveway.”

I wonder if that’s what she wants. To make me come alone while she watches me unravel. If it is, it’s okay. I deserve it. I’ve done it to her enough over the past week. Made her come while I watch. Made her lose control without giving her the chance to make me do the same. I deserve it—I know I do. But I can’t help the streaks of bitterness that coat the back of my throat. I don’t want to play games anymore. I just want to be with her.

“It’s okay...” I murmur, my fist pumping up and down the length of my cock, watching her watch me. “It’s okay, Cari. Whatever you want. It’s okay...”

Like I gave her permission, she finally moves, her nipples grazing the tops of my thighs as she reaches out to pull my boxer briefs all the way down. And then she’s crawling up the length of me, her knees pushing into the mattress, straddling my hips. Hands planted on my chest, she teases me, shifting her hips so she can run the seam of her pussy along the head of my shaft. Back and forth, back and forth until I’m fighting the urge to grab her by her waist and slam her down on my cock. Instead, I give her what she needs. Total control.

She reaches between us, her fingers wrapping around the girth of my rigid dick, thumb, brushing across its head before she lets them slide down the length of it. Gripping it at its base, she stands my cock up, the tip of it pushes between her wet, plump pussy lips. She gasps my name, her eyes locked on mine while my hands coast up the outside of her thighs to grip her firm, round ass cheeks, opening her slit from behind. “Whatever you want, Cari... do whatever you want to me.” The heat of her core is like a blast furnace against my cock, searing the head of it as it slips a little further inside her.

Her eyelids flutter closed as she sinks down on my shaft and I lift my head so I can look between us and watch the length of it disappear as it slides into her wet, eager pussy.

Thank. Fuck.

I let out a soft groan and fall back as she leans forward, her fragrant hair falling around us like a curtain, her mouth hovering above mine. “Patrick...” she sighs my name, the taste of it on my lips as she lifts herself along the length of me, to the very tip before lowering herself, again and again, riding me slowly.

My hands are still gripped around her ass, and it takes everything I have not to take over, to use my hold on her to fuck her the way I want. “Take what you want.” I say it again, encouraging her to take control, purposely softening the weight of my hands on her hips. “Whatever you want, Cari.”

My words seem to break something inside her, and she rears up, her pussy sliding down the length of my cock until she’s fully seated, my balls flush against the crease of her ass. “That’s it,” I tell her, my eyes rolling back in my head when she begins to lift and lower herself, her hips grinding against mine with increasing speed. “Fuck me. Take my cock, as hard and deep as you want.”

My words send a shudder through her, and she falls back, bracing herself on her arms while her hips crash and bang against mine. “Patrick, I...” she whimpers, the sound of her, needy and breathless, goes straight to my balls. I lift my head again so I can watch her ride me, her beautiful pussy working up and down my shaft, her perfect tits bouncing with each hard fuck she’s giving me. She’s perfect. Every inch of her and I have to fight off the orgasm tightening in the small of my back.

“Tell me,” I tell her through gritted teeth, wrapping my hands around her hips, careful to keep them loose, helping her take what she wants. Anything she wants. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want to come,” she moans breathlessly, panting softly as her fingers tightening around my knees, her hips pumping against me. “Make me come, Patrick.”

Fuck. Yes.

Sitting up, I wrap an arm around her hips, supporting her while her arms come up to wind themselves around my neck. She keeps fucking me, riding my cock while she lifts one of her breasts to my lips, teasing my mouth with its tip. “Suck me,” she says, demanding and begging all at once. Hungry for the taste of her, I do what she says, taking her nipple into my mouth, nipping and sucking until it’s throbbing and swollen against my tongue. “More,” she whimpers, her fingers in my hair, gripping and pulling, the rhythm of her hips turning erratic, desperate for release. “Touch me. Rub my clit...”

Using my hold on her, I angle her hips so I can slip my hand along the crease of where her thigh meets her hip. “You feel so fucking good,” I say, flicking her wet, hard nipple with my tongue. I slip my thumb between her pussy lips, pressing against the throbbing bundle of nerves at the top of her slit. “I want you to come all over me.”

“Fuck, yes,” she groans, her hips pumping against my thumb and cock, her fingers so tight in my hair I can feel it coming loose at the roots. “I’m so close. Make me come, Patrick. Make me come...”

I catch her neglected nipple and suck it into my mouth, roll it over my tongue even as I let my free hand run its fingers between her ass cheeks. I feel a growl rip up my throat, my balls so tight and constricted that I’m close to passing out. I need to come so fucking bad, I need to come in her tight, hot pussy but not yet. Cari is going to come first.

“Oh, my god,” she moans, her whole body starting to shudder when she feels the tip of my middle finger brush against her asshole. “Yes.”

I push the tip of my finger into her tight, pink hole, just as I catch her nipple between my teeth and bite down hard enough to make her gasp. “Oh—” Her pussy ripples around me and she goes stiff in my arms, her husky scream bouncing off my bare walls and cracked ceiling while she comes, wave after wave of orgasm, crashing all over my throbbing cock. “Come in me,” she moans, her entire body, quivering and releasing around me, her breath harsh and warm in my ear. “Come in my pussy, Patrick.”

Letting go, I bury my face in her neck, wrapping my arms around her. Holding her against my chest, I pound myself into her, hard and deep, once, twice, three times before I come with a gruff shout, my balls contracting and releasing in tandem with the grip and pull of her core around my cock.

We ride the wave together, fused together by the heat of our shared release, panting and shaking in each other’s arms. Finally, her hands go soft in my hair. My arms loosening around her so we can both take a breath. But we keep holding each other. I lift my head from the crook of her neck, and she smiles at me, the shadow of the bruises James left on her face enough to shame me. Make me feel bad for what I just did to her.

She must see it on my face because she settles in, shifting her legs so she can wrap them around me, holding me inside her. “Best. Roommate. Ever,” she says, brushing my sweat dampened hair off my forehead, grinning down at me. “All my last roommate did was steal my yogurt and borrow my shit without asking.”

I can’t help but laugh, even though there’s a lump in my throat and a weight on my chest. I want to tell her that I want to be more than her roommate. More than her friend or her fuck buddy or whatever the hell kind of weird territory we seem to have moved into all of a sudden. I want to tell her that I love her, but I don’t. Now isn’t the time. Not with the shit with James and Lisa hanging over our heads. I’ll tell her, but not right now.

I have time.