Final Call (Call #2)(68)
Author: Emma Hart

“We are?”

“Yes. You’re wearing my shirt again, and I believe it was some six hours ago I was promising to f**k you on my desk, so I suggest you get your ass into my office and hop up onto that desk pronto.”

“You’re getting more demanding by the day, Mr. Stone.” I add some extra wiggle to my hips as I walk, and I’m rewarded by a low growl of pleasure behind me. And punished with a sharp smack on my ass.

“I never said anything about a demand. I’m requiring you get on my damn desk. Now move.”

***

“Thank you.” Aaron takes a large envelope from someone and closes the door behind him.

I watch from my slouched position on the sofa as he pulls a letter opener from the kitchen drawer and slices the letter open.

Because who doesn’t keep one of those in their kitchen?

I resist the urge to roll my eyes as he pulls out a large piece of paper and…

“What the hell is that?”

“This?” He holds up the piece of paper. “Oh, it’s the final lease for a house I just bought.”

“You bought a house?” I sit up straight. “What? Where? Why?”

He laughs throatily and hands me the paper. He leans on the back of the sofa, and I catch his eyes for a second before I look at it.

My mouth goes dry. Am I reading this right?

“You bought a house in Paris?”

His grin widens. “Correct.”

“Why would you do that? I mean. What? I’m so confused.”

Another laugh. “It’s not that confusing, sweetheart. I found a house I liked, I bought it, end of discussion.”

“But everything always goes wrong in Paris.”

“Perhaps before, yes. But not this time. When we leave Paris next weekend, we’ll be very much together.”

“Next weekend? Oh!” I slap the paper against the cushion in front of me. “That’s why Dottie cleared your schedule for next week!”

He leans in, sweeping his lips over mine. “I told you that when all that shit was done with I was stealing you away for a little while. The only person aside from us who is aware of the Paris house is Alexander, and that’s the way it’s going to stay. Everyone else will assume we’re heading to the Bahamas for a week at an exclusive resort.”

“You picked Paris over the Bahamas? Are you crazy?”

“Perhaps, but after everything, I think we need to remember where it all began. Don’t you agree?”

I sigh, unable to argue that point. He’s right. We need to go back to the place it started, this time with no secrets, no skeletons, no force. We need to go because we want to, because it’s part of who we are. That’s all there really is to it.

“I can’t believe you bought a house.”

“We can stay in a hotel if you prefer.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Not that I don’t like Parisian hotels, but if there’s a house, I’ll take the house. Besides, isn’t the first rule of buying a house with your significant other that you have to make love on every surface in every room?”

His eyes darken. “Is it?”

“I believe so.” I get up and spin around him, my hands clasped behind my back as I walk backward. “It’s practically a requirement.”

“Far be it from me to deny you a requirement, Dayton. I suggest you go and pack a suitcase while I call and get the plane ready. It looks like we’re flying out early.”

“How early?”

“Tonight early. I want to make sure I leave myself enough time to enjoy you everywhere possible, per house-purchasing requirements.”

The depth in his voice, the husky undertone, leaves me no doubt that he intends to do just that.

I open the closet door, my eyes skimming over my half.

Perhaps I should pack just underwear instead.

“Here.”

Red floods my vision, and I step back into Aaron’s hard body. When my eyes focus again, I look at the red corset he got me in London.

“Pack this,” he orders. “There’s a bay window seat in the master bedroom that looks onto the Eiffel Tower.”

“What relevance does that have to the red corset?”

He lowers his mouth to my ear, whispering, “It’ll add to the view when I bend you over the seat and f**k you.”

I clench my thighs together. Jesus, he was only inside me an hour ago and I’m already aching for him. Damn him and his word-fucking.

“Keep talking like that and you’ll be rearranging the plane again.”

“You’re insatiable, woman.”

“Coming from the man who just informed me he’s going to bend me over a window seat and f**k me right after doing something very similar.”

“I appreciate the view of your ass while I f**k you. Are you complaining?”

The ache intensifies a little as I remember my most recent orgasm. “Nope. No complaints.”

“Then be quiet and pack.” He throws a suitcase onto the bed. “Don’t pack too many clothes. You won’t be needing them.”

I smirk, unzipping the top of the suitcase. I drop the corset in, much to his delight, and put my hands on my hips. I watch him maneuver his way around the closet easily, so certain of what he’s taking and what he isn’t.

My eyebrows go up when he drops a pile of clothes on the bed. I count them—six pairs of pants. Oh no. If I’m on clothing rations, then he is too.

I cough, motioning to the pile, and he smirks himself, grabbing two pairs and depositing them back on his shelf in the closet.

No.

I grab another two pairs and skip past him, laughing, shoving them on top of some shorts before he grabs me and spins me round. His fingers dig into my sides, and I laugh louder, squirming and wriggling.

“Two pairs for a week? What do you think I am, woman? A tramp?”

“No,” I breathe, holding my side through the tight pain there. Damn him. “But you said”—I take a deep breath—“not too many clothes. Applies for you, too.”

He laughs, pulling me against him. “You can take as many clothes as you want, but they won’t be worn for long.” He trails his hand down my back and inside the waistband of my shorts to cup my ass.

“Making a point, Mr. Stone?” I gasp when he grazes his teeth down my neck.

Oh crap.

“Point for what?”

“How long my clothes will be worn for?”

He squeezes my behind and brings his wrist up, glancing at his watch. “We have time.”