“I’m on the pill,” I tell him, even though he already knows since he did ask me about it just before thrusting inside of me.

Walsh rolls his eyes at me and growls, “Aren’t you worried about STDs?”

My eyebrows knit in confusion. “No, why should I?”

“Jorie,” Walsh says in exasperation. “Safe sex. STDs. How can you not be worried?”

Then it hits me. Walsh really doesn’t understand that even though we haven’t seen each other in years, it doesn’t mean I don’t know his core being.

“You’d never hurt me,” I tell him simply. “You would have never taken it upon yourself to expose me to something like that. I figure if you took me without protection, you did so because you were clean. So, no… I wasn’t worried then and I’m not worried now.”

I expect this reasoning to make Walsh happy, but his jaw tightens. I’m insightful enough to know that he doesn’t want me believing in him so much, because while he may never expose me to physical harm, I’m sure he’s worried about the emotional wreckage someone like him could leave behind.

With a curt nod to my plate, Walsh says, “Finish up. I’m going to get a shower, and then I can have my driver take you back to your car.”

I’m silent as Walsh puts his plate in the sink and turns to his bedroom. I have a million things I want do, none of which I can.

I want to crawl naked into the shower with him, take him back into my mouth, and make him see me as something other than a little sister.

I want to pull him back to the counter and make him talk to me. I want to know more about his marriage, and why he is so opposed to relationships now. I want to know if we could ever be anything to each other than just sex.

But I can tell he’s closed off for now, and I should back off. Walsh is a man who doesn’t like to be pushed too far, and I’m a woman smart enough to know how to play this cool.

Still, I can’t help but call out. “Walsh?”

He stops, turns slightly to look at me.

“Why weren’t you worried about having unprotected sex with me? You didn’t ask me if I was clean.”

“Same as you,” he says quietly. “I knew you’d never do something to hurt me. You were trying to push my bare cock into you, and you would have only done that if you were safe.”

My heart soars with his admission that we’re tight enough he trusted me on something that’s important in a sexual relationship. I’m satisfied enough to let him walk off without any further conversation.



Taking a deep breath, I step up to the rack, squat, and position the bar over the back of my shoulders. It’s loaded with three hundred and twenty-five pounds. Certainly not my personal best, but I’m not going for heavyweight, only repetitions.

I take another breath, push up against the weight to stand straight, then take two steps back from the rack. I exhale, inhale again, and squat. The breath pushes out of me hard as I stand back up.

I do this for a total of six reps and then manage to maneuver the barbell back onto the rack. I’m streaming sweat from every pore in my body, and my legs are shaking from that last set.

One of the perks of being incredibly wealthy is having all the toys. I’d outfitted my apartment with a world-class gym, and I take advantage of it every single day. If I’m not power-lifting, I’m running. I’m doing something every day because exercise is the second-best way for me to destress from my hectic life.

Sex obviously being the first one, but that situation’s all fucked up, so I worked out extra hard tonight after I left the office.

Grabbing a towel and my water, I first mop my face, then drink the entire contents of the bottle. I toss it in the waste bin that my housekeeper will ensure gets to recycling, and head to my master bath for a shower.

Just as I’m entering my bedroom, I hear my phone vibrating on the nightstand where I’d left it with the ringer turned off and charging. As I walk closer, I see Micah’s name on the screen.

I’d like to avoid him right now, but that will do nothing but feed my guilt, so I answer it reluctantly.

“What’s up, man?” I say casually as if the weight of his little sister weren’t resting on my shoulders.

“Not much,” he says. “Just checking in with you. Did Jorie get up with you?”

“What?” I ask, freaked his first question would be about his sister.

“She texted me yesterday morning for your phone number,” Micah says casually, apparently not picking up on my distress, thank fuck. “Said she was in Vegas and was going to try to get up with you for lunch.”

Tags: Sawyer Bennett The Wicked Horse Vegas Billionaire Romance
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