Page 51 of Filthy Rich Daddies
She pauses, places her own hand atop mine. Her eyes search for rejection. She will find none. I need her too.
The temperature climbs with the loss of every article of clothing. My heartbeat hammers in my throat. Her nails rake my shoulder blades, anchoring in. She knows what I like.
I scoop beneath her hips, pulling her to me until we touch. Her pussy glistens in the low light as I thrust home. We connect in a slow rhythm, mindful of her bruises and the possibility inside her. Each slide feels like sealing cracks between us.
I want that. I need that.
Whatever connection we have, it’s more than chemical. There’s something about this girl that I can’t get enough of. Something that feels like fate.
Her pussy squeezes me as her body goes rigid. I dig my cock into that rough patch a few inches inside of her, and she shatters on me. Nails digging, body so wet I want to take a swim. I follow, holding the sound behind my teeth, my forehead against hers. For thirty seconds we breathe the same air.
The silence is broken only by HVAC hum. I stroke her hair, damp at the nape. She traces my short beard as if reacquainting herself. Emotion barrels through me, and I brace but let it hit.
I whisper, “You left an enormous hole, you know.”
Her eyes shine, watering. “I was drowning. Needed air.”
“I understand.”
She touches my lips, then braces her palms. “Dean, if I keep the pregnancy, I’ll need a lot of help. If I don’t, I’ll still need help, just a different kind. Will you still…” She can’t finish.
I place my finger gently on her mouth. Pain skewers, but my smile overrides. “Yes. Even if you don’t keep it, I’m here.Weare here. Your choice remains yours.”
Tears slip, then a broken laugh. “You Copelands are ridiculous.”
“We’ve been called worse.” I kiss her tears dry.
We redress—awkward zippers, stolen kisses. Thankfully, we keep tissues in the conference rooms, so cleanup isn’t too bad. I gather the strewn papers—ironically, Marcus’s budget freeze spreadsheets. She helps, stacking, smoothing.
Before unlocking the door, I tell her, “I want your number. Tic has it, that’s how we’ve texted you, but I didn’t feel right taking it from him. I’d rather you gave it to me.”
She nods, types hers into my phone, and adds a koala emoji after her name. My pulse accelerates stupidly.
Marcus’s sabotage, board meltdowns—it all pales next to the promise behind this woman’s eyes. For the first time since she vanished, hope sparks to life.
“What made you come here, anyway?”
She smirks. “Well, you did, just a couple minutes ago.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. “You know what I mean.”
“I do.” She pauses, finger-combing her hair. “I wanted to see you. Talk, maybe. I don’t know. I just felt like I needed to see you. But now, I have to get to a doctor appointment.”
“Are you?—”
“I’m okay. Everything is okay. Just a follow-up.”
“Alright.” I lean in for a kiss, and she surrenders completely to it. “Talk later.”
She nods and leaves.
Returning to my office, I almost forget the morning mutiny. But Marcus’s freeze nonsense still looms, and board members ping my inbox with alarm.
I lean back, unable to care right now. Not when Thalassa is still on my lips, and fatherhood looms.
But all of that must wait. Step one is to protect the financial nest egg for whichever outcome Thalassa chooses. The world regained brightness the moment she entered that hallway.
I close the screen, whisper to the empty office, “Thalassa.” Then start drafting a contingency plan for maternal health coverage regardless of part-time or full-time employment status. Work never felt more relevant.
