Page 117 of Damaged Mogul
I blink up at him.
The promise in that statement causes my pussy to flutter.
“I wouldn’t want you not to have the stamina to sustain the half dozen orgasms I have planned for you when we get back to the Pompadour.”
…And I’m wet.
That chocolatey voice and those dirty words could make a girl lose her head.
“It’s your first time discovering LA,” he says. “I was picky in my food selection because I wanted to make sure this day was memorable. I didn’t want anything to taint the experience. You’re used to the best––aka the exquisite cuisine at the Pompadour Hotel. I didn’t want to shock your taste buds with a menu that didn’t measure up.”
Is this guy for real?
Dear God, Mr. Grumpy Pants—this big, beautiful man—has a heart of gold.
Another wave of attraction sweeps through me so strong, I want to press the back of my hand against my forehead to check if I don’t have a fever. But I catch myself in time and shake it off.
Reality check, Lily.
No matter how smoking hot the man is, no matter the palpable energy between us, no matter how much he turns me on, and no matter how many orgasms he gives me, our time together is measured in days. Not weeks. Not months. When the clock runs out, I’m going back to the Big Apple.
I do my best to keep a neutral expression, so he doesn’t know how much this affects me. “That’s so thoughtful of you.”
“Anything less would be a crime.”
I’m in serious danger of swooning like a silly teenager. I would never have protested stopping at a random eatery in the city for a quick bite, but the fact he put so much thought into it, warms my heart.
Keep your feet firmly on the ground, Lily.
I beckon him with a crooked finger.
He obliges.
He’s so tall, he has to dip his chin to meetmy gaze. Mesmerizing wintergreen eyes stare at me with such intensity, my body flushes with heat.
I have to shake my head to break from the spell.
“Between you and me”––I wave a finger between us––“I must admit that after only a few days, I’m addicted. So much so, I’m considering chaining myself to the pipes in the kitchen so I never have to leave the Pompadour.”
“If we’re sharing secrets…”––his eyes shift left to right before settling on me––“I’ve tried––and failed––to hire Phoenix’s chefs from underneath him. Numerous times.”
“I would’ve done the same.” I play along, matching his faux-seriousness.
He winks. “Let’s go find a spot so we can feed you.” He pulls the bags and picnic baskets from the trunk. “Don’t forget the ice cream.”
“That’s unlikely to happen.” I grab the bag from the back seat. “I can’t wait to deep-dive, headfirst.”
He chuckles.
We aren’t the only ones out today. The picnic tables are occupied with a heap of people enjoying a perfect Saturday under the California sun.
“Do you mind sitting on the ground, Lily?”
“Someone came prepared with blankets. So, no, I don’t mind.”
“You woke up on the sassy side of the bed.”
“I remember waking up with something poking at my back.”
