Noah Tate személy

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“What makes you think I would want more with you, anyway? You aren’t exactly my type.”

I expect him to just give me a knowing look, or maybe toss back some mild innuendo. What I absolutely did not expect was, “Because I have a nine-inch cock.”

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“Noah Tate doesn’t need pity fucks. When we finally do this . . .” His lips graze my neck, one last kiss, and I shiver. “I want it to be because you’re begging for it. For me.”

All the money in the world means nothing if I don’t have love in my life. My wife by my side.

“Mine,” I growl out.
“Always.” She sobs, already breathless from pleasure.
Always.

In my view, there were no options. There was just the right thing to do. We had to marry to save not only our own jobs, but our fathers’ legacies and the jobs of six thousand people in offices in Manhattan, Chicago, San Diego, and Brussels.
Olivia felt differently. She didn’t relish the idea of being tied to me, and insisted there had to be another way.
Even if we do manage to persuade her to tie the knot, there’s no way Olivia would be getting anywhere near my bed. Damn shame.

“You know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, right?”

She nods without hesitation.
That’s good. It means she’s beginning to trust me.
Maybe it’s a start.

“Why do you call me Snowflake?”

He steps closer and runs one finger along my cheek, making my skin tingle in its wake. “Because you’re just like a snowflake. Beautiful and unique, and with one touch you’ll be wet.”

“I need to seduce my wife. I need to show her how good we can be together.”

Is there a polite way to say, Ride my face until you come all over my tongue?