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“Please, Freckles.”

At my desperate plea, her lowered lashes flutter. She glides a little deeper. I groan, frantic with need. The next penetration—a tad lower, but not enough.

Relief and agony crash over me. My control shatters.

I brace my feet on the bed and push into her with all my strength. She cries out and increases the tempo. I slip a finger between our bodies and flick her throbbing clit. Her nails dig into my shoulders, deep enough to draw blood. I only impale her more deeply.

She lets out a sharp cry as she comes. I thrust even more ruthlessly, bumping into her G-spot, not giving her a chance to catch her breath. A few more pumps and she climaxes again, her scream earsplitting. Lust pounds in my veins, and I keep going, pushing her higher.

She shakes all over. “N-no, I can’t—”

“Just—one—more. Let me redeem myself,” I pant, desperate to make her feel good, needing to show her all the benefits of our relationship.

Her nails rake my chest, and even the pain feels like pleasure.

Tension coils tightly through her. Her eyebrows knit, and her inner muscles clench, making my vision blur. She arches her back as she hits her third peak. Her mouth is open, but no scream comes out.

Hot fluid splashes my belly. I impale her for the final time. I explode, letting out a guttural shout.

She drops on me, her head buried in the crook of my neck. I wrap my arms around her, holding her close. “What was what?” she says breathlessly.

“Unless I’m mistaken, female ejaculation?”

Gasping, she raises her head. “But I’ve never—”

“My Magic Dick. It can do anything.”

She laughs. “Was that capitalized?”

“And trademarked.” I grin up at her. “And it belongs to only one woman: you.”

Something complicated crosses her face. But before I can examine it, she kisses me, and suddenly the universe can wait.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Max

It’s abnormal to feel this amazing on a Monday, but I can’t help it. Wouldn’t surprise me if some kind of liquid, languid happiness has replaced the blood in my veins.

Must be the sex. Magic Dick™ is living up to its name. Rhys was insatiable—as though driven to prove something. But a hint of caution threaded his behavior outside of bed, as though he couldn’t bear to upset me. But I can’t figure out what he thought would upset me. Sex might’ve been to soothe me after my jealous outburst over Selena, but the rest…? The only thing I can think of is Auric’s rudeness, but he’s always obnoxious and oblivious.

Maybe I’ll talk to Rhys about it if he continues to be weird. I don’t want to waste this amazing mood stewing over something I might just be imagining. Even the monthly expense report doesn’t seem too horrible—my least favorite task to do because it’s tedious to match each receipt and expense to the correct portfolio and project. Accounting complains when anything isn’t done to their specifications. Or just to let you know they’re doing their job—so you’d better do yours, too.

All done!I hit send and lean back in my chair to take a moment to breathe, when my desk phone rings.

“Max Norman, RF Investment.”

“Hullo. This is Selena Chesterfield. We met outside Danica’s store, remember?” The snide vibe in her tone hints,You might be too dumb to recall.

“How could I ever forget?”

“Indeed. You introduced yourself as his girlfriend.”

“Because I am.”

“Of course.” She makes a skeptical noise, one that kindles a desire to throat-punch her. “Anyhow, I’m doing a feature on great modern ballerinas, and Sorcha is one of the subjects. To get a better picture, I want to interview her family and the people close to her.” She waits a beat as though expecting me to offer help. Except I know nothing about Sorcha.

I tap my finger on my desk as my mind wanders. Is Selena on the list of candidates Sorcha made for Rhys? Is that why she’s so confident about her place in Rhys’s life?