"That was so fucking good," he says, blinking his way out of his haze. Then he pins me with a devilish grin and says, "And now I want you to come on my tits, Anson."
14
Jarvis
We’re sprawled on the couch with the TV playing—Jo Jo, obviously—a few weeks later. Anson has really gotten into the show and is watching intently. My head rests on his lap, his strong, capable fingers absently tousling my hair.
I’m only half paying attention, and it's not just because I've watched this show heaps of times. My mind is processing things between us. Since voicing his reservations, we've talked a few more times. I didn't expect him to do a total one-eighty overnight, so it's important we keep the lines of communication open.
He's equally interested in how I'm doing, knowing that if/when we go public, people will have opinions. Anson might have been a recluse these past few years, but he's still one of the richest men in the country and a well-known figure on the Gold Coast. I remember Robbie copped a ton of shit when he and Dunlop started dating, so it's pretty much certain I'll receive a similar drilling from the press and keyboard know-it-alls who I'm sure lead very fulfilling personal lives.
But I don't care about any of that. Because what we have is real. And good. And fun. And damn, Anson makes me feel sexy like no one ever has.
Confession time: I used to hate the wordtits. I used to get made fun of so much for having them. They were big and droopy, and teenage boys can be heartbreakingly cruel. But seeing how much they turn Anson on flicked a switch inside me. Suddenly, the thing that used to bring me so much pain became something that brings him so much pleasure. I'm reclaiming the word because I love how much he loves them.
The episode ends, and I reach over and grab the remote from the coffee table to stop the next ep from automatically starting in ten seconds. Then I slide my palm up and down the inside of Anson's thigh. "Another episode…or fucking me?"
His cock answers, twitching in his gray sweatpants.
But then his mouth gives another answer. "There's something I want to talk to you about."
"Okay."
I sit up straight since I'm getting the vibe this might be a face-to-face convo. "What's up?"
Anson angles himself toward me, his expression serious but not life-threatening. "I've been thinking, and…is it too early for me to give you a key?"
"You mean to this place?"
"Yes. I figure since you're here almost every day, why not just let yourself in?"
I mull it over for about 0.001 of a second. "I'd love that." I beam, launching myself into him since face-to-face time is over, and I need his arms around me. "You're not worried we're moving too fast, though?"
"Honestly, no. Objectively, I can see things are moving pretty quickly. But in business, that can be a very good thing. Whenthe fundamentals are right, it's highly advantageous to use that momentum because if you hesitate, you might lose the deal."
"Are you likening me to a business deal?" I tease, smiling even though he can't see my face.
He kisses my hair. "You're the deal of a lifetime, baby."
Okay,thatdeserves a kiss. I pull myself out of his warm cocoon, latch onto his shoulders, and kiss the man I am falling harder for with each passing moment.
"There is one thing we haven't discussed properly yet," he says, and it's almost as if I know what he's talking about.
Or rather,who.
"Yes?"
"Telling our families."
"I had a feeling you'd say that." I shift away and plonk my ass back on the sofa. "Where are you with that?"
"Not sure," he answers. "I want to tell my kids of course, but I'm also enjoying having this time with you to let things between us develop naturally. As much as I love my sons, they've turned over-involvement into an art form."
I snicker. "How funny, because Robbie is the king of that."
Anson grins, his fingers drifting softly along my wrist and forearm. "You know, I have to say, you are nothing like I imagined you'd be. When Robbie described you as lacking confidence, I expected someone who…well, lacked confidence."
I scoff. I may be a mess, but I'm a confident mess, thank you very much. "Well, you're not what I expected, either. Robbie painted you as a borderline agoraphobic recluse who was out of shape."