For a moment, that thought terrifies me. This should be just sex. I know that’s all that we’re having. But somewhere along the way, it’s started to feel more than just physical. It’s started to feel like something else entirely.

I need to shake off those thoughts. We have a deal, and sex is part of that deal.

I stand, strip off my shirt and trousers, and get down to nothing, reminding myself that just because she’s easy to fall for, that doesn’t mean it would be wise to let go.

She props herself on her elbows and stares at my cock. “Well, I think you’ll be more fun to ride than the eagle.”

Laughing, I say, “I should hope so.”

“Hey, the eagle was a lot of fun.”

“Then get on me and let’s see how I compare.” I flop beside her. We already had the safety talk and decided we could go bare, so she straddles me and positions herself over my length. She rubs her thumb along the head, sliding over a bead of liquid that she brings to her mouth. She sucks it off, closing her eyes, as if she’s tasting the most delicious thing ever.

Holy fuck. I’ve seen nothing sexier in my whole life than my wife savoring me.

I blink away that word.

Elise.

Elise.

Elise.

But she’s also my wife for the next three months, and that turns me on in some base, filthy, and wonderful way. “I want to fuck my wife.”

“I want to fuck my husband,” she says, just as fiercely.

My breath hisses as she takes me in hand and rubs me against her. I groan at the extraordinary feel, then I grunt loudly as she lowers herself onto my shaft, sending sparks of electricity through my body.

Sliding down, she takes me all the way. Pleasure ripples through me as she rises up. My gaze drifts to where we meet, and my dick throbs harder as I watch us, the way she takes me in, then how I slide nearly all the way out.

My hands grip her hips tightly as she rocks, taking her time at first, then finding a faster rhythm. I run my hands up and down her body, over her belly, cupping her breasts, memorizing her everywhere.

I settle a hand between her legs, my fingers stroking, and in seconds, she’s shaking and shuddering on me. She falls forward, slamming her hands to my shoulders, her body trembling as she whispers savagely, “I’m coming.”

I didn’t need the heads-up. I could tell. But it’s so erotic, so incredibly sexy to hear her say it unbidden, like the sensation is so intense she had to voice it, that I fuck up into her harder, thrusting faster. As she comes down from her high, I flip us, so she’s on her back. I hike her legs over my shoulders and drive deep into her again.

She ropes her hands around my neck, urging me on. “Come with me.”

I’m nearly there, and the thought that she might come again is nearly too much. “Can you? Come again?”

She nods. “I think so. Just keep doing that. Keep doing everything.”

Her eyes don’t stray from mine, and the connection between us is so intense, so electric. I’m not sure at all why, or where it’s coming from, but it’s wholly new and completely fantastic to feel this sort of ecstasy racing through every cell in my body.

Her eyes flutter closed, and her lips fall open, and her face turns into a picture of exquisite bliss as she trembles and lets out the neediest, sexiest moan I’ve ever heard, chasing it with a wild yes, yes, yes.

Whatever teasing, whatever fun and games have existed between us, are gone, and a raw, honest desire is all that’s left. And it’s all I need to join her. Her pleasure flips the final switch in me. I thrust deep and hard, coming inside my wife, the pleasure blotting out the warning sign in my head that tells me not to develop any feelings for her.

Correction—any more feelings.

22ELISE

“And that’s how I envision Durand Media marketing the Luxe Hotel’s new European resort locations.”

The CEO, Nate Harper, leans back in his leather chair in the boardroom at his Place de la Madeleine offices, steepling his fingers. “Tell me, what do you see as the single biggest marketing challenge in entering the new marketplaces?”

I push up my glasses, and I answer with confidence. “The biggest challenge is also the biggest opportunity. It’s reaching millennials, who will then become loyalists. But we need to connect with them first, and I’m prepared to,” I say, detailing more of how my agency can reach that key market for his hotel.

He fires off more questions, and for each one I have an answer. The market insight is spot on, he says, and I have my . . . husband to thank for that. A whiz, sharp with insight and concise with analysis, he provided exactly what I needed to complement the creative vision I have for this campaign.

At the end of the meeting, Nate rises and clasps my hand in a long, hearty shake. “Very impressive. We hope to make a final decision soon. Thank you so much for coming in, and I’m glad Armand made it possible for us to meet.”

I beam. “I look forward to hearing from you.”

I’m giddy as I leave his offices. I practically punch the sky once I’m a block away and can properly let all my excitement bubble over.

I grab my phone and sit on the steps of L’église de la Madeleine, the massive church that’s the anchor of this section of the city. Briefly I contemplate texting Veronica or Joy, or maybe even my brother. But honestly, there’s only one person I want to share this news with first.

The person who made it possible for me to go in there today and kick ass. I haven’t seen Christian in ten days, not since the weekend we were married in Copenhagen. He left for London to meet with board members and a few key shareholders the day after our wedding. As the married one now, Christian’s fronting the firm, but Erik is running it as he’s always done. Once Jandy’s shares are bought back in a few months, Christian and Erik will run the company as the majority shareholders, though Erik will still be the front man.

I do love their closeness and the way they depend on each other and trust each other unconditionally. Sometimes I wish I was closer to my brother, Ian. He looks out for me, and I know he cares for me deeply, and I love the little necklace gifts he gives me. But we don’t have the sort of connection Christian and Erik have. Ian is busy with his life and his family over in New York, and I’m busy with my life here.

I click on my text messages, ready to type out a note, when I find Christian has already sent me one.

Christian: Tell me everything. Did you blow them away?

Elise: I think so. I feel like I nailed it.

I’m grinning crazily as the sun beats down, and passersby crisscross in front of me, parking themselves at tables and steps leading into the house of worship.

Christian: Excellent. I knew you would.

Elise: Your insight was amazing. I felt like a rock star, peppering off numbers and analysis. You are a god at that.

Elise: Oh, you’re also a god in bed, but I think you know that already.

Christian: Why, yes, please do compliment me more. It feeds my ego and makes other parts larger too.

I laugh as I stare at the message, as if I’m in my own private flirty bubble right now, even as God and tourists peek over my shoulder.

Elise: I like everything about those other parts. And I like that quick brain that made this possible.

Christian: I’m glad I can be useful. But seriously, it was all you. You can only nail something if you know what to do with the info you were given. Now we need to celebrate.

Celebrate. That’s one of my favorite words. Celebrations imply champagne, high heels, and nights out with friends. I’ve always loved a celebration because it means there is good news, and good news brings that most elusive of emotional states, one that’s so hard to truly attain and sustain—happiness. But I feel it now, and I’m aware of how quickly it can disappear. Best to embrace moments like this.

Elise: How do you want to celebrate?