The Fling (Playboy Pact 2) - Page 19


I cocked my head to the side. “Until now?”

“Yes, until now. Until you.”

How many women had he said those exact words to?

I couldn’t help myself. “And what type am I?”

“You, sweetheart, are the type of woman you take home to Mom.”

Oh, sweet Jesus! Should I just put his dick in my mouth now?

“How often do you do this?”

“What? Take a pretty girl home with me?”

I blushed, I couldn’t help it. “Yeah.”

“Do you really want to know the answer to that?”

“Huh, that many?”

“Sage, I’m not bringing you home to talk about other women.”

“You just know all the right things to say, don’t you? You have all these moves, and you look like you’re made for sex. Really, really, dirty sex. Like the kind where you’re sweating all over the place, and it’s hot and passionate and lasts five hours.”

“And you’re anxious about that why?”

“Because I don’t have five hours. I barely have five minutes to myself on a daily basis. Just trust me when I say, I’m not the girl you think I am. I’m not the girl you briefly met on my sixteenth birthday, so if you’re expecting her, then you’re going to be severely disappointed.”

He parked his car, and it was only then I realized we were in his driveaway.

His eyes landed on mine, looking profoundly into them. “You’re still the very same girl I met, Sage. You want to know how I know?”

I nodded.

“Because you took my hand outside that party in the same way you took it tonight. The girl who wanted to let her hair down then is the same one I’m looking at now. Girls like you don’t change, Sage, they just get better with age.”

Holy motherfucking swoon! What the hell do I say to that?

“The way you’re looking at me right now is the same way you looked at me eight years ago, and this time, I’m going to make sure I do something about it.”

I was frazzled. He rendered me speechless. Ashton didn’t dilly dally. He grabbed my hand and led me inside. The first thing I noticed was how much of a panty-dropper his home was. If there was a picture of the definition of a bachelor pad, then Ashton’s place would be that photo.

He let go of my hand and nodded toward his living room. I watched as he walked toward the bar in the corner of the room.

“Wow,” I breathed out in awe.

Of him.

Of this.

Of all of it.

“What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a real estate agent.” He made his way back toward me, handing me a drink. “To calm your nerves.”

I smiled. “Well, that makes sense. Your home is staged like one.”

“I can’t take credit for that. My mom and sisters”—he gestured around the open room—“they did all this.”

“That might be the cutest thing I’ve ever heard. Is that another line?”

He opened his mouth to respond but quickly shut it. He stared at me with an amusing expression on his handsome face as I drank my entire drink in one huge gulp. As soon as I finished, I grabbed his and drank it down too.

“Those are good. Another round?”

He grinned and nodded. Grabbing what looked like a remote off the counter, he turned on the music. Soft jazz played through the speakers, illuminating his stunning home with the most perfect tunes.

This playboy was too much.

“Is this how it goes down for you, Ashton? You bring a girl back to your lavish home and what? Serve her drinks? Tell her all the right things? Until what? She can’t take it anymore and jumps your bones?”

He grinned again, making me weak in the knees.

“Is that how you want it to happen? You want to jump my bones, Sage?”

“Maybe. I haven’t seen you naked yet.”

In what could only be described as the first slow-motion montage I had ever experienced in real life, Ashton didn’t have to be told. In one swift, hot as fuck movement, he began unbuttoning his shirt.

One by one.

Little by little.

My will to remain calm crumbled to the floor. With each step that brought him closer to me, his pecs and twelve-pack revealed themselves before me.

“Fuck me.”

“I plan to.”

And just like that, my resolve shattered like a broken mirror by those three words.

The booze.

The anxiety.

The years of thinking about him made me a bit too eager.

I pounced like a lion. Except, in my head, it occurred much differently. I jumped into his arms, catapulting myself off the ground as if I was a gazelle and he was my prey. I barely wrapped my arms around his neck when my knee, the same one that was bouncing like a drum in his car, collided with his balls.

He loudly groaned, instantly losing his footing and falling backward from the swift kick to his boys. The momentum didn’t stop me. If anything, I followed his lead, and when he fell to the ground, I tumbled on top of him.


Tags: M. Robinson Playboy Pact Romance
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