by Ryan, Emma
“I… I want to consider it,” I said, my mouth suddenly dry. “Show me who these mystery inquirers are.”
The mystery inquirers ranged from middle class New Yorkers looking for some custom art, to people in the upper echelons of Walker’s world. People with so much wealth and power, I could barely comprehend them speaking to me, let alone wanting to work with me. I kept my cool though, giving out my Instagram account info—it was all I had, but it was a solid representation of my work, as I was getting more and more comfortable posting my pieces and even my in-progress paintings.
One of Walker’s buddies gave me the name of a top-notch web designer who could put together a proper website for me. I didn’t ask about the cost, figuring I’d deal with that later. If I sold just one or two paintings, I could afford to re-invest in my business.
I got the details of a few people who wanted custom pieces for their homes and arranged to meet with them in the coming weeks and months to secure a proper freelance contract.
And this was all happening because Walker had seen something in me, in the other artists at my studio, and had wanted to help.
When it became a little too overwhelming, I excused myself and asked Walker to come outside with me. Instead of walking out the front, however, I took him upstairs and led him to the rooftop. The air was cool and crisp. You couldn’t quite call it clear, not here in New York, but it was… familiar. It was the city air I had grown up with and the skyline I had looked out over as a child, dreaming her little dreams.
Ironic, given the situation, how close those dreams were to coming true for the night.
The bubble will burst soon. The carriage will turn back into a pumpkin.
That day loomed ahead of me, and even though I’d known it was coming all along, it twisted like a knife in my gut. Every minute I spent with Walker made it feel like I had more to lose.
I leaned over the railing that lined the roof and breathed in deep.
“You alright?” His deep baritone rumbled in his chest as he came up beside me.
“Better than alright,” I asserted, pushing away my melancholy and allowing myself to live in the dream for a few more moments. “I don’t think—Walker, you can’t understand, how much this means to me tonight. Everything. The event planning, the catering, the people. Holy shit, the people. I—I don’t want to seem like this is the only important thing to me with everything going on between us but—”
He held up his hand.
“You don’t have to explain yourself,” he said. “I offered this. To you, to your friends, because you deserve it. I don’t expect a thanks. I don’t want a thanks. I just want you to be happy.” He lowered his head, his cobalt blue eyes burning as he gazed at me with an expression so intense it made my stomach flip-flop. “Which I think, right now, you are?”
I nodded, the truth falling from my lips. “Very much.”
“Then your happiness is all the thanks I need from you.”
He wrapped his arms around me, and we leaned against the railing like that together. My back against his front, his body pressed to mine. The feel of him behind me, so warm and solid, hard in all the right places, made heat flare up inside me. Turning in the small space between his body and the railing, I wrapped my arms around him. The desire burning through me was wildly inappropriate for the setting, but there was no one around right now, and there was nothing that stopped me from molding my body to his, feeling him respond to my touch immediately.
He smelled like some elegant brand of foreign cologne that I probably wouldn’t be able to pronounce the name of, a touch of whiskey, a hint of aftershave. I buried my face against his chest and just… breathed him in. I felt his breath puff against the top of my head, taking in my own scent. He’d told me the other day, in a post-sex haze, how much he had missed the way I smelled. I loved fruity, girly things, and apparently, he’d come to associate that sweet aroma with me.
I liked that way more than I should. To know that his brain had tortured him with memories of me just like mine had done about him.
But we weren’t reliving old memories now. We were making new ones.
And come what may, I was going to make them good.
Still wrapped around him, I leaned up onto my tiptoes and buried my face in the crook of his neck. I nipped him there, impulsively. He shuddered, letting out a low growl.
“You’re starting something you can’t finish, Macks. Not here, at least.”
I smiled.
“Well, I guess that just means we have something to look forward to after this amazing evening ends, huh?”
His hands slid down my back, pressing me even closer, and he kissed me so thoroughly I started to seriously consider ditching out on the rest of the show so we could get to the end of the evening quicker.
When he pulled away, a wicked light gleamed in his eye, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. He adjusted himself discretely, fixed my lipstick with his thumb, and then slid his hand into mine. “Come on, lady of the hour. Much as I might want to, I can’t keep you from your adoring fans for too long.”
Back inside and slightly warmer—though whether that was due to leaving the chilly night air behind or Walker’s scalding kiss, I wasn’t going to speculate, confirm, nor deny—the crowd was beginning to thin. It was getting late; those who had come as families were getting ready to head out with their sleepy children, and those who’d arrived early had had a chance to peruse and enjoy all the pieces.
Walker, oddly, kept glancing at his watch.
I nudged him. “What’s up?”
“Oh, nothing.”
Nothing, it turned out, wasn’t nothing at all. It was a spectacularly fashionable late arrival in the form of Grant Calhoun. Less than ten minutes later, the front doors of the gallery opened, and Grant strode in, followed by young socialites of all genders and persuasions. Our friend made a beeline over to Walker, taking his hand in an enthusiastic shake.
“You’re late.” Walker arched an eyebrow.
“Not late at all! I’m on time whenever I arrive.”
All around, the entourage that Grant had brought with him began to mill about, oohing over the art around the gallery, snapping pictures, and talking animatedly about the pieces. I blinked, looking between the two men.
Grant grinned. “Surprised to see me? It’s a recent development, but I’ve decided I want to get into the art industry—”
“Actually,” Walker interjected. “I told him about the gallery showing and he suggested bringing some of the young art elites from the west coast to the east with him to show off the art and get most exposure coast to coast.”
“And we brought money,” Grant added with a devilish smile.
Walker nodded. “Lots of money.”
It was more than I could’ve ever expected out of the night. It had already been so much more successful than I’d thought it would be, but between the elites of New York and the influencer status of a man like Grant—who lived and breathed Hollywood, knew big name actors and directors, and set trends without even trying—this show had single-handedly put our little studio on the map.
I looked to Walker, about to speak, but his look said everything.
I didn’t need to thank him. Not for this. Not for anything.
The rest of the evening was a blur. Grant and his entourage were great, and I took time to talk to all of them about my pieces, gathering several more business cards in the process—but my gaze kept darting across the room to Walker, and every time it did, I found him watching me too.
But the time everything wound down and we finally left the studio, my whole body felt like it was vibrating, my thoughts focused on only one thing.
Walker.
He held my hand as I slid into the town car then climbed in after me. We sat in silence for several minutes, but in that silence, so many unspoken words hovered. I turned to look at him in the ambient glow of the streetlights outside, and before I could register that either of us had moved, our lips met. We met
somewhere in the middle of the seat, straining against our seatbelts as we kissed like two teenagers on prom night.
Heat sparked in my body, and fortunately, we arrived back at the house before I broke down and crawled onto his lap right there in the back seat.
He took my hand again, and the two of us practically ran up the steps to his house. He fumbled with the key, and I wrapped my arms around him, loving that he was as desperate and frenzied as I was.
Finally, the lock clicked, and the door swung open. He pulled me inside, and as soon as the heavy wood slammed shut behind us, my back was to it and Walker was on me. He muttered soft words against my skin as he kissed my neck and shoulders, sliding the straps of my dress off to give him better access. He was hard as steel, and his cock pressed into my belly as his lips devoured me.
He unzipped my dress, letting it pool at my feet, before shrugging off his suit jacket and shirt. When he pulled me into a kiss again, our skin met, and the feel was so glorious I moaned into his mouth. I needed more of that. So much more. I needed his skin against mine, all over—nothing between us.
Reaching behind me, I unsnapped my bra, tossing it haphazardly aside. Then I worked Walker’s pants off, gripping his thick length in my hand. He bit my earlobe, making sparks explode through my body, filtering straight down to my clit.
“Walker, I… I need…”
I was panting, desperate to feel him.
“I know what you need, baby. I got you. Goddamn, Macks. I—”
He broke off suddenly, and I didn’t let my mind even begin to question what he’d been about to say. I just held him closer, letting everything about this amazing night fuel our kiss.
Lifting me in his arms, he pressed my back against the door, rocking into me, teasing my clit with his cock.
Yes. That.
“Can we…?” I blinked, trying to organize enough brain cells to ask the question. “Walker, I’m clean. And I’m on the pill. Are you…?”
He pulled back, his blue eyes dark in the shadowy light of the foyer as he gazed at me intently. His hands on my ass tightened, and his chest rose and fell. “I’m clean too, Macks. I haven’t been with anyone for—”
I lunged forward to kiss him again. I knew it’d been a long time for me, and I hoped it had been for him too. But that wasn’t what mattered right now. This was about the two of us. About the burning need to be close to him, skin to skin, bare.
When I finally broke away, I stroked my fingers down the side of his face, loving the way he turned into my touch. “I want to feel you, Walker. All of you. Please.”
He shook his head dazedly, like he couldn’t believe he’d gotten so lucky as to end up here with me right now. Then he turned his head, drawing my thumb into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip before biting gently. He kept his gaze on me as he slipped it out of his mouth, a hungry, intense expression stealing over his features.
“I want you too, Macks. So fucking much.”
I reached between us, lining him up at my entrance, and this time, Walker didn’t tease either of us. He surged forward, sinking into my pussy in one deep stroke. I was so wet and ready for him already for him that there was no resistance, and I swore I could feel every ridge of his thick length as he paused inside me. I squeezed my walls around him, and both of us groaned in pleasure.
It was bliss.
Perfection.
“Jesus, Macks,” he breathed in a rough, ragged voice. “I’m not gonna last long this time. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
It didn’t matter. I was already balancing on the razor’s edge of pleasure myself, the intensity of the moment driving my desire to a higher and higher peak.
“Just fuck me, Walker. Please,” I gasped, wrapping my arms tight around him, digging my fingernails into his back.
That was all the urging it took. As if my words had unleashed something inside him, Walker withdrew and then surged forward, pounding into me hard and fast. He whispered incomprehensible words as he moved inside me, and with every thrust, the pressure against my clit made fire lick through my body.
“God, Macks!” His voice was a roar as he pistoned his hips harder, the movement falling out of rhythm until he ground his hips against mine, pulsing inside me.
“Walker!” My legs clenched around his waist, and I threw my head back, his orgasm sending me spiraling into my own. I whimpered and moaned as intense pleasure flooded my entire body, stealing my sanity.
We both gasped for breath, and he rested his forehead against mine, still holding me securely against the door. I could feel his heart pounding against mine, our breaths mingling in the space between us.
“That was—”
“—incredible,” I finished, a gasping laugh falling from my lips.
Walker pulled back, warmth and humor sparking in his eyes. “Yeah. That.”
He stepped away from the wall, keeping me wrapped in his strong arms. A quiet huff sounded from behind us, and we both turned to see that Bruno had wandered in from the living room, probably wondering what all the noises were. The dog cocked his head curiously, and Walker chuckled before cursing under his breath.
Then he glanced back to me, a broad smile curving his perfect lips. “What do you say we go upstairs and do that again? And maybe again?”
“Hmm… I think that’s a brilliant idea.”
I grinned at him, and he turned to carry me across the foyer, his slowly softening cock still buried inside me.
“I’m glad you agree.” He dropped a kiss to the tip of my nose before glancing back over his shoulder at Bruno. “And I’m locking the damn door!”
I laughed all the way up the stairs.
16
Walker
I woke up with the sunshine in my face, warmth at my side, and a dog at the foot of my bed.
When had this become my life?
The line between pretend and real was becoming more and more blurred the longer Mackenzie was around. We never spoke about the wedding arrangement. It never came up in our interactions; not since the first night we’d slept together, at least.
It was easy to forget this was a business arrangement, a sham marriage with a singular purpose—to meet the insane demands of my father’s will.
But our marriage wasn’t like my mother and my father’s. My mother had tended our home while my father ran our business; but ultimately, all decisions were made by him. My father wasn’t a tyrant to my mother, but he was certainly traditional. His word was the word, and my mother had almost always deferred to him. She’d loved him—I was sure she had. The dynamics of their relationship were just a reflection of the world they were raised in and how they’d come up.
Macks? She was nothing like my mother.
Mackenzie wasn’t a homemaker. She didn’t cook or clean for me, she didn’t defer to my wishes automatically, and she certainly wasn’t afraid to let me know when I was being an ass.
But the longer I had her in my life, the more I realized I could never be happy with a marriage like my parents had had. My dad had loved my mom, but he’d barely ever showed it. He’d been too busy working, always working, and it was only after her death that I’d seen the true depths of his feelings for her.
Macks would never let me get away with that kind of shit. And she made my life… fun.
She’d bonded completely with Bruno, her infectious excitement making him seem like a puppy again—although even as a puppy, he hadn’t been that rambunctious. She’d brought music and color and laughter to my home. She’d brought out a side of me I’d honestly thought was gone forever, a man I almost didn’t recognize. One who didn’t need everything to be immaculate, who didn’t have to control every aspect of his life.
She had brought me back.
I sighed, wrapping my arms tighter around her sleeping form, as if I was afraid fate would snatch her away from me if I let go for a second.
My happiness was a strange, double-edged sword.
It was only a predicament whe
n I remembered this wasn’t supposed to be permanent. That eventually, there would be no Mackenzie in my home. Eventually, once our grace period ended and my inheritance was secured, it wouldn’t be over. We’d be cut loose. Mackenzie would be off to pursue her dreams—and there was a hell of a foundation laid out bare for her to do that.
And I… I would have the family business.
Something about that felt more hollow than it should have. I couldn’t put my finger on it, so before going into the office that day, I called Grant.
“Dude, you know, you have the worst timing. I’m with—”
“I need to talk to you about Mackenzie.”
He was quiet for a moment, something that was far from par for the course when it came to Grant.
“Okay. What about? Lay it on me. Trouble in paradise?”
“More like I feel out of my depth and I’m not sure what to do about it.”
I laid it all out there for Grant. I let him know about the sex, about the conflicting feelings. About how right it felt for Mackenzie to be with me and how wrong it felt to think about the impending date of our divorce, the red X on the calendar after which our marriage would be no more.
Grant listened to all of it. Every ounce of baggage I unloaded, every groaned word about how utterly confused I was. When Grant was prompted, he could be quiet. He could listen. It was why I appreciated him as a friend; when I needed him most, he always put aside his attention-grabbing, self-centered persona and came through for me. He would drop everything to help me if I needed it, and truthfully, I’d do the same for him.
There was only one other person in the world I could say that about, and she was sleeping in the rumpled bed upstairs.
Fuck, Walker. This is exactly your problem. You have to get your head on straight.
When I was done spilling my damn guts to Grant, I sighed.
“That’s it,” I said. “What do you make of all of that?”
