Page 30 of Takeover

He looks down at me, his lips twitching into a smile. “If swiping left means you riding my dick five times in one night, sure, you’d swipe left.”

“It was only four times,” I remind him.

“Either you get your stuff now, or you can go naked. Those are your options.

“Fine, but after tomorrow, I don’t ever want to hear your name again.”

“Deal. Pack a bag. You can shower at my place.”

“I’m not leaving this house smelling like you. I hope no one sees us leaving together. I have to be able to show my face back in this neighborhood.”

“Being seen in public with me is the best you can hope to do.” He slaps my ass and points to my closet. “You can have more of that if you hurry up.” I quickly put on a pair of yoga pants and long sleeve tee before I run to the closet to get a duffel bag. Minutes later, my bag is packed, but I’m still rummaging through my closet for something to put on after I shower.

“Is this your coat?” He grabs a long trench coat from my closet and tosses it to me.

“I have to shower.”

“You’re probably one of those women who take hours to get ready. We don’t have time.”

“I only do that when I have someone to impress. I wouldn’t put in the effort for you.” He scowls, grabs my bag, and wraps an arm around my waist. He lifts me off the ground and carries me out of the room.

“Hey!”

“Put on some damn shoes or go barefoot. I don’t care, but we’re leaving in two minutes.”

“Can I brush my damn teeth first?” I ask.

I look ridiculous sitting in this man’s Range Rover with a baseball cap on my head and a pair of ballet flats on my feet on this insanely cold January day. Instead of kicking him out this morning like I planned, I barely had time to brush my teeth before he was practically carrying me out of my apartment.

We’re both quiet as he navigates through the light morning traffic, and I’m left asking myself what the hell I’m doing with this man, playing this dangerous game. He was supposed to be gone and out of my life by now, but we’re only complicating things. Especially now that we are involving his kid, but the truth is, I wasn’t ready to walk away after just one night. It’s been almost two months since I enjoyed the company of a man, and I’ve never had a more pleasurable night than I did last night. The orgasms were endless. And that’s something that’s never happened before. They were hit or miss with Michael. More miss than hit. And with some previous boyfriends, they didn’t happen at all, but with Ethan, I almost came with just the touch of his hand on my boob.

When he stops at a red light, he absentmindedly rubs my knee with one of his hands, and I have to bite my lip to keep my whimper from escaping. Forty minutes after his phone call we’re pulling into the underground garage of a very fancy building overlooking Central Park.

He swipes a card, and we get into what I think is his private elevator. Less than a minute later, we step into a very luxurious penthouse. He has cathedral ceilings, and the place is expensively decorated. There are dual spiral staircases that lead to a second floor.

“You can shower upstairs.” He points to the staircase.

“Which guestroom can I have?”

He rolls his eyes but then says, “Go up the stairs and walk all the way down the hall. You can put your things in the bedroom with the double doors. It has its own bathroom.” He takes my coat, hands me my bag, and slaps my ass when I start to walk away.

“Don’t manhandle me.”

“That’s the least of what I’m going to do to you. It’s about time you have a real man.”

I ignore him and run up the spiral staircase, eager to snoop around upstairs without his eyes on me. As soon as I’m out of his sight, I remove my shoes and enjoy the feel of the plush carpet between my toes. The walls upstairs are bland. Not white, but a boring beige, but along the walls are expensive pieces of art. I imagine a million different ways I could liven up the walls if I lived here, but then I quickly shake that ridiculous thought away.

All the doors upstairs are closed, but the first one I open must be Vincent’s room if the toys and the racecar bed are any indication. Right next to it, is another bedroom. It has a connecting door to Vincent’s room, so it most likely belongs to the nanny.

There are two bathrooms as well as two other guest rooms. When I arrive at the double doors at the end of the hall, I know immediately that this is the master bedroom, and I’m right. The room itself is almost the size of my apartment, and my apartment is not small by any means.

There’s a four-poster bed in the middle, and to the side, there’s a couch, coffee table, and a recliner. The furniture is dark mahogany and most likely custom made.

The room is pristine, and so is the bathroom, which is bigger than most New York City apartments. I shower quickly, and instead of using the soap I brought, I use his masculine body wash. The shower is decorated with gray tiles, several different shades. It’s massive and has six showerheads. There’s a jacuzzi tub at the end of the bathroom, too. And the heated tiles on the floor are warm beneath my feet.

I wrap myself in his terrycloth robe when I step out of the shower. The robe smells just like him, and I can’t help but skip out of the bathroom and back to his bedroom.

By the time I dress and make it back to the top of the stairs, I hear a woman’s voice. I stop my approach and listen.

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