I bit my bottom lip, groaning as he took his hand away from my mouth and began to rub circles on my clit.

“Yes,” I breathed out.

“Why?”

I swallowed, my mouth like a desert from the exertion. “She talked to me about you,” I started, my breasts bouncing back and forth with his thrusts. “She talks about you as if she knows more about you. She gets to touch you in public and call you ‘Tyler.’ ”

He came down, never once breaking pace as his face hovered over mine.

“She’s not getting any of this, baby,” he whispered. “She’s not the one I can’t stop watching or thinking about.”

I gave a weak smile, and his knuckles grazed my cheek.

My pussy began to tighten and clench, and he rose up, thrusting harder and faster.

“Oh, God,” I panted.

“Now are you going to be good?” he challenged, holding my hip in one hand and my breast in another.

I arched my neck back, taking everything he was giving me and closing my eyes. “Yes,” I whispered.

But as the orgasm exploded between my legs and floated up to my belly, I smiled, knowing I could never keep that promise. And he didn’t want me to, either.

EIGHTEEN

TYLER

Life never follows your plan.

The truth was you could spend countless hours planning and preparing, and the only thing you could count on once you’d got your plan set was that it would be the one way things won’t happen.

This year was supposed to be about Christian – creating a relationship with him – and my future in the Senate.

But all it takes is for one woman to look up at you, her eyes saying everything that she doesn’t want to admit out loud, and all of a sudden she’s all you’re thinking about.

Easton was jealous last weekend, not only of Tessa McAuliffe, but also of having to hide our relationship. She would never admit it, because she was too damn stubborn, but she wanted more.

The relief in her eyes and the weak little smile she gave me when I admitted how much I wanted her was tearing me up, because what I’d told her was the truth, and I didn’t know what the hell to do about it.

I was thirty-five and had never been married, so why shouldn’t I want something permanent? She was young, beautiful, smart, and well educated, and while her temper was a pain in the ass, she was also a force to be reckoned with. I liked the idea of having her at my side in life.

Patrick opened the door, and I stepped out of the car, buttoning my black pin-striped suit coat as I headed over the grass to the sidelines of the soccer field.

I’d missed the reminder for his soccer game on my calendar and had zoned out when the secretary had reminded me during a meeting, because I was trying to multitask too much at once, so now I was late.

As usual.

My father had always attended my games, on time, ready to cheer for me. He was also a busy man – and still was – but he’d managed to show up anyway.

He would tell me that I just didn’t know how to prioritize, and that came from selfishness. I wanted what I wanted, and I didn’t want to give up one thing in order to have another.

He never went easy on me and still regularly called me out as if I were twenty-two again and not a grown man who had built a worldwide corporation without any of his money giving me a head start.

I had big shoes to fill, and I wasn’t measuring up.

Never measuring up.

“Tyler!”

I heard a stern voice cut through the cheers and whistles, and I turned, immediately inhaling a ragged breath.

Speak of the devil…

Tipping up my chin, thankful that my undoubtedly annoyed expression was covered by my sunglasses, I walked down the sidelines to a group of parents who had set up a couple of tents with a small buffet spread out and cushioned lawn chairs. Aluminum trays were heated by candles underneath, and an array of salads and other sides adorned the tables. Balloons and tablecloths in the black and forest-green school colors blew in the light wind, and women toasted with their mimosas, trying not spill anything on their designer scarves.

I strode up and scanned the field for Christian, seeing him stop the ball with his chest and then begin to kick it in the opposite direction before passing it off. He wore black and green face paint like a mask over his eyes, and I smiled, seeing that he was the only one daring to be different.

I wondered what had made him do that.

“So how are you doing, old man?”

I laughed, shaking my head. Matthew Marek was thirty years my senior, and yet he’d called me “old man” since the first day I’d stepped into his classroom fourteen years ago.

As my professor, my father didn’t treat me with any gentler a hand at school than he had at home. He’d said I must be ancient to have such a cynical world view, and I’d absolutely hated having him as my teacher.

Until, of course, nearly the last week of the course, when his advice had changed my life forever.

I understood then that, despite the old money and Marek family expectations, my father had been right to follow his calling to academics. He knew a thing or two.

I pushed my sunglasses back up the bridge of my nose. “I’ll let you know once this day is over.”

I could hear the smile in his voice. “Yeah, they all start melting together eventually,” he agreed. “And judging by that gray” – he ruffled my hair – “I’d say time is moving faster than you.”

“Bite me,” I grumbled, smoothing my hair back down. “My hair is as black as yours was thirty years ago.”