Page 76 of Tied Up in Riches

Brooke leans back, shifting my attention to her. “You’re good with kids.” My heart rate spikes at the potential directions of this conversation, not ready for a discussion we’re too early in a relationship to have, one that might scare her away before I’ve fully won her over.

“Yeah, I have a sister.”

“You do?” Her eyes light with recognition. “The girl in the picture on your bookshelf?”

Pressing my palms into my thighs, I nod. “Yeah. Her given name is Samira. But we call her Mira.”

“She’s adopted?”

I nod again, letting a smile crack through. I fucking love my little sister. She’s one of my favorite people. She’s sassy and smart, follows me around with file folders filled with drawings that she pretends are work. “From Haiti. My parents adopted her during my second year of college, when she was a baby. She’s five now.”

“Wow. That’s amazing. Isn’t it expensive to adopt?”

My palms press harder into my thighs, straightening my posture. When all was said and done it cost me almost fifty grand. My parents never would have been able to afford it on their own, and I didn’t see a point in them going into debt for their dream when I could easily afford it. Plus, it's the least I could do after all the support they’ve given me. Maybe now is the right time to tell Brooke. “Yeah, actually . . .” Dammit. I cannot use Mira’s existence in our life as leverage for Brooke shifting her mindset. Manipulation is the top reason I think most rich people are shit. “Yeah. It did cost a lot.”

“See. It’s not fair. People who do real good in the world are the ones who deserve money. Not all these people who throw it around for show, taking from donations to host events in the first place.”

Today is not the day. Not after last night. Not on our first day of being real, and certainly not while her mind is closed off the way it is right now, surrounded by people she despises. I want to tell her when the time is right, not just because her piece of shit ex is forcing my hand. “But she’s worth it. You’ll love her.”

“I can’t wait to meet her.”

“When we get home,” I decide and hope we don’t fall apart by then.

Brooke’s gaze catches on something in the distance. “Hey, do you want to get out of here for a while?”

I follow her gaze to where her mom is talking to a few high-society women but glances toward us like she’s headed our way next. I stand, reaching for Brooke’s hand. “Let’s go.”

We say a quick goodbye to Amara, and Brooke weaves me through the tables. I peek back and smirk, watching Mrs. Fields try to exit her conversation without success. I follow Brooke toward her abandoned laundry room, sliding the door to the shoot open with more ease than the first time when it stuck. She steps onto the pulley cart, keeping her eyes on the hallway. I climb in after her, ducking my head and scrunching to fit.

Brooke closes the chute door as I reach for the thick rope, working it through my hands to bring us to the floor below. The platform jolts, the only indication we’ve hit the cement beneath us, considering I can’t see a damn thing. I also don’t have my phone this time. Her screen comes to life, the photo of the waterfall from our hike barely illuminating the space around us. She flips on the flashlight and hops out of the chute. I follow her lead, ducking out from the cramped space and stretching into the room. It’s exactly how it was earlier this week–four cement walls, no windows, a switch by the exit door that presumably turns on the overhead single lightbulb and an outlet and dryer hookup on one wall.

Placing her phone face down inside the chute, the flashlight shines up the pulley shaft. Her next move brings her in front of me. Her fingers slide under the hem of my T-shirt, and she presses against my abs with her palms. I oblige her for now, letting her back me against the wall.

“Hi,” she whispers before pressing a kiss to my lips.

I weave my fingers into her bun, messing it up enough for her hair tie to snap free, and pull her closer. Fucking hell, she’s good. Her lips, her hair and how it smells of salty ocean air, and . . . I groan, Brooke’s hand cupping me over my jeans.

“My turn,” she breathes against my mouth as she undoes the button of my pants. The metal of my zipper unthreads in a slow, smooth motion like she plans to torture me. That’s the last thing that will be happening. Maybe I’ve only known her for a few weeks, but it feels like I’ve been waiting for her forever. Her hand slides under my briefs.

Goddamn, it feels good to have her touching me. Our shadows play on the walls next to us, but I keep my eyes on her. Her fist grips my base and she runs it the full length of me, hardening with her stroke. Gripping the hem of my shirt, I tug it over my head in one pull, then drop it to the cool cement floor.

It’s not that I expect what she’ll do next. But she’s going to have my cock in her mouth in the next thirty seconds, and the least I could do is provide her some comfort before I stretch her legs over my shoulders in a few minutes.

She barely adjusts my shirt under her knees before she drops them to the ground. Looping her fingers over the edge of my jeans and briefs, she gives a hard tug, my erection springing free in front of her. I kick my shoes off and step out of my jeans. Without wasting more time, her hands smooth around my thighs, and without warning she sucks my tip into her mouth and slides the length of me until I hit the back of her throat.

Fucking.

Hell.

A groan escapes me. I gather her fallen hair in my hand, pulling it over her shoulder to get a better view. My grip tightens in her waves, and I pull her back, her tongue dragging along the underside of my cock as I do. She sucks as I push her head forward, my balls tightening from watching me disappear inside her mouth. She lets me take the lead, obeying my unspoken commands and takes me deep with each thrust.

I pull her back, and she sucks hard on the tip, her tongue twirling around. I hold her in place, not sure if I can handle being deep in her throat again. She looks up at me through her shadowed lashes from the glow of her phone flashlight across the room and that alone forces me to tip-toe the dangerous line between wanting to come and needing to. I tug her away, encouraging her to stand.

Gripping her lower back, I step her across the room, my hard cock pressed against her. The back of her legs hit the wall behind us, her ass level with the edge of the laundry dumbwaiter platform. I lean to whisper in her ear as my fingers unbutton her shorts. “If I’m going to come, it’s going to be inside you, with you pulsing around me.”

Chills immediately shiver through her, the bumps covering her skin just as evident as I slide her shorts and thong down her legs. She grips my shoulders as she steps out of them, then I pin her against the hollow frame behind her, holding her upright with my hand tight to her back. My other palm runs flat over her, my fingers teasing her entrance only for a few small circles before driving inside. Her gasp unsteadies her, and her hands fall to the support beams on either side of the laundry chute opening. I finger fuck her hard, thrusting inside her until she’s wet enough to take me.

“Fuck, I don’t have a condom.” It’s meant to be a thought and a personal beratement, but the words come out as a growl.