Page 71 of No Strings Attached
For the past six months, Amira has been planning our wedding.
After we got engaged at Christmas, we barely made it five minutes before calling my mom and dad to share the news. They already knew I was going to propose, but they didn’t know when. Neither did I, to be honest. It just felt right in that moment, surrounded by her family, with her hand in mine and our hearts wide open.
Since then, Amira’s been in full-blown planner mode, working non-stop, balancing two major events this month alone. Her calendar is booked for months, and I don’t know how she hasn’t collapsed from exhaustion yet.
I keep reminding her to slow down, to breathe, but she’s stubborn as hell. Still, I’ve never been more proud of her. Watching her chase this dream, build it from the ground up… it’s the kind of ambition that makes me want to be better just so I can keep up.
We officially moved in together three months ago—my penthouse in downtown Seattle became ours. But once we get married and start the rest of our lives, we’ll both wantsomething a little quieter. Maybe something with a backyard and space for a dog or more.
Right now, Amira’s at the dining table, surrounded by organized chaos: wedding magazines, linen samples, centerpiece mockups, and color swatches covering every inch of the wood. Her laptop’s open to a guest list spreadsheet. A discarded plate with half-eaten dinner sits off to the side.
I come up behind her and gently press my thumbs into her shoulders.
She lets out a moan, sinking into my touch.
“You need a break, baby.”
“I can’t.” Her voice is tight with focus. “I still need to finalize the signature cocktails, confirm the menu changes, and I haven’t evenlookedat the table numbers.”
“Amira.” A warning.
She pauses, fingers hovering over her keyboard, back straightening like she knows what that tone means.
I step away to sit on the couch, my gaze locked on her. “Come here, Temptress.”
Her eyes widen just a little. She shakes her head once, lips pressing into a defiant line.
That little spark of rebellion shoots straight to my cock.
I shift on the couch, adjusting myself as heat pulses low in my groin, tightening everything inside me. She doesn’t realize what she’s doing to me—how her stubbornness only turns me on more.
I spread my legs a little wider, my voice dropping. “Get on your knees, Amira.” I point right between my open thighs. “Then crawl to me.”
A teasing glint flashes in her eyes.
“And what if I don’t?”
My jaw tightens as I stare her down.
“That’s for you to find out,” I murmur, the promise in my voice undeniable. “Either way, your attitude won’t gounpunished. You decide how much. Come.” I gesture to the floor. “Here.”
Amira doesn’t move at first.
Her gaze searches mine, testing the weight of my words, like she’s fighting something inside herself. I can see the resistance, the heat, the temptation warring behind her eyes.
She shifts slightly, as if she might say no.
But then her gaze drops and, slowly, she sinks to her knees.
The moment her palms press to the floor, something primal stirs in my chest.
Amira lingers there for a second longer, as if making sure I see this is her choice.
Then—finally—she begins to crawl toward me, never breaking eye contact.
And fuck if it isn’t the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
My breathing deepens. My hands flex on the back of the couch, knuckles going white as I fight the urge to just pull her into me and take everything.
