As if reading my mind, Arya chose that moment to try and take most of me in. She grabbed the part she couldn’t get to, closer to the root, in her hand and began pumping. I was willing to sign over the remainder of my life to her and everything I valued, including Arsène and Riggs, if it meant making her never stop.
“Arya.” I thrust my hand into her hair, caressing her, unable to stop myself from looking at her. “This feels so good.”
She didn’t answer, not even with a small moan, and now I craved her words even more than I did my dick inside her mouth. Also, I was pretty sure I was going to come like a fourteen-year-old if she continued for twenty more seconds, and I wanted to spare myself from that particular form of humiliation. With that in mind, I used the collar of her dress to tug her back up to her feet, filling her mouth with my tongue in a messy, hot kiss.
“We’re such a train wreck.” Her breath tickled my chin, my tongue, as she roamed my body with her hands. Clutching my ass. Rolling her fingers over my back, my shoulders, my collarbone. “This is going to end badly.”
I grabbed her by the waist, turned her around, and flipped up her dress. Again, while Arya was all Sex and the City, her underwear was definitely Jane the Virgin.
“Maternity undies again?” I tugged them aside, not even bothering with sliding them down. Life was too short and so forth.
“I’ll have you know it’s one hundred percent cotton and very good for my pH balance.”
The laugh this elicited in me made my bones rattle. “Arya, you are fantastic.”
“And you’re not wearing a condom. Make it happen.”
I dutifully put one on as she waited for me in a perfect r position, drumming her fingernails on the table.
With that, I pressed home, the side of her undies’ elastics pressing against my cock.
This is how I want to die.
Watching Arya’s back as she took me from behind was enough to kill me. Yet I pulled out, then in again, thrusting inside her. It was good and deep, but I managed to last longer than last time. Because I didn’t have Arya’s face right in front of me, reminding me who I was doing this with. I circled my arm around her waist and played with her clit, licking the shell of her ear. She let out little pants of pleasure that made me forget my names. Previous and current.
“I’m going to come.” She sucked in a breath. I had no time to shower her with words of encouragement. She broke into shivers, tightening around me as she let out a hiss, every muscle in her body clenching against me. I pumped faster, harder, seeking my own release. I found it seconds later and stayed deep inside her, relishing every moment before it was gone.
“Well, that was certainly what the doctor ordered.” Arya straightened, rearranging her panties and pushing her dress down. “Now, Christian, it’s time to give me my book.” She reapplied her lipstick in front of a small mirror, all business again. I threw away the condom and tucked my dick back in my pants, still sporting a semi. Maybe that was how it was always going to play out with Arya and me, until the trial was over.
“Absolutely. How about you come pick it up tomorrow night? I can’t promise you waffles—I still need to get into my suits—but I can make my famous chicken breast and quinoa. Maybe even throw in a glass of wine, if you’ll be nice.”
I was expecting violence from her, no less. After all, I was still holding her book hostage. But instead of calling me all the things I deserved to be called—a scammer, a liar, and a fuckboy—she simply smiled.
“Know what? You can keep it for as long as we entertain each other. What’s a few more weeks in the grand scheme of things? As long as we have certain rules.”
“Lay ’em out for me.” I smoothed my jacket, leaning against the opposite desk from her. She dropped the little mirror and lipstick back into her bag.
“Number one—no going anywhere in public together. Too risky. Number two—no meeting each other’s families, friends, and colleagues, keeping everything completely separate.”
“Agreed. Number three—no L words. Either of them,” I added.
“There are two of them?”
“Like is a word too.”
She nodded, her expression matter of fact. “And number four—if one of us meets someone else, the other will step aside without any guilt trips or trying to convince the other to change their mind. This is supposed to be temporary, after all.”
I felt like I wanted to punch something, preferably the faceless asshole who was going to steal my precious moments with her. Nevertheless, I conceded. “Fair. Anything else?”
“Yes, in fact.” Arya cleared her throat. “On the day the trial ends, so will our relationship. We will not have an official breakup conversation. Those are messy and entirely unnecessary. I will simply expect to see my precious hard copy of Atonement back in my mailbox, carefully wrapped, whole and safe.”
She offered me her hand. We shook on it. That gave me at least two more weeks of Arya.
And that was all I needed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
ARYA
Present
I met my mother three days later, at a bookshop, while purchasing a new copy of Atonement. She breezed in, carrying the scent of expensive hair spray from the blow-dry she’d just gotten.
Beatrice Roth air-kissed me twice on each cheek, like we were bridge-club acquaintances, and sniffed around the small bookshop like someone had forgotten an unattended bag of garbage here.
“How quaint. I didn’t even know a place like this existed in this part of town. The rent must be astronomical.”
“You know, you can donate toward their rent online. I’ll send you the link. I have a direct deposit for that.”
“Oh, honey. Your trust fund guilt is adorable.” She dared ruffling my hair, like we were close or something.