Cecilia: Someone's feeling better.
Victor: Someone better still be in that robe when I get home.
Cecilia: Can't make any promises… so you'd better come home soon.
He doesn't respond to that, probably heading into a meeting with investors with me on his mind. It makes me feel powerful. Wanted.
Funny, how the one area where we have absolutely no problem communicating in is the physical one. The desire I feel from him obliterates all the usual hiccups I've faced with men in the past. There's no room to think about my insecurities with him, and it's intoxicating.
Despite my text, I change out of my robe pretty quickly. Bonnie always arrives midday and I have no intention of walking around half-naked with someone else in the house.
No, I do what I always do, which is work. My desk in my bedroom with the incredible view has become my home.
I run with Summer in Central Park around lunchtime and then eat a quick meal at the kitchen island. I don't shower afterwards, my head filled with new ideas, and return to my computer. His words made sense.
I need to be more conservative with my numbers, and now I know how to swing it. I'm deep into my calculations when I hear footsteps coming up the stairs.
They're not Bonnie's careful strides.
I push back from the desk. That's all I have time to do before my door is pushed open. I shriek as Victor crosses the distance between us, eyes focused, hair messy.
"You're not in your robe," he says, hands closing around my waist. "But you'll do."
He lifts me up and moves us to the bed. My laugh turns into a gasp. "What a compliment."
"I can do compliments." His hand smooths over my thigh. "Your legs and ass look fucking unreal in these tights. I've never seen a woman wear things like this before."
"Yoga pants?"
"Yes." He kisses me, hungry and wanton, and I spread my legs to accept his weight on top of me. Against my thigh, I can feel how hard he is.
He's still in the gray suit.
"How was your meeting?"
"Torture. All I could think about were these." His hands find the hem of my T-shirt and slide it up. He grabs the elastic of my sports bra and tugs it, baring me for his gaze.
He bends to a nipple and I sigh, putting my hand in his hair. "Well," I murmur. "You seem to be much better than last night."
He gives a thrust against me, as if disputing that. I chuckle and reach down to palm him through his pants. "In some ways, I mean."
"I am much better," he says, his five-o'clock shadow scratching my skin as he kisses down my stomach. He hooks his fingers into my yoga pants and panties and tugs them down. "Lift your hips."
I do, and then I'm once again naked before him, but this time it's full daylight. Any qualms that rise to the surface are gone at the hunger in his eyes, the appreciation as they sweep over me.
It makes me bold, ignites my body in ways that make it burn.
This time, I ride him.
His eyes flash at first and then turn molten, gaze settling between my legs. Watching as I take him inside.
Like he's done before, he focuses on me. There's no artifice to it and no pressure. Not once has he told me to come. He just circles my clit with his finger, eyes hooded.
"You look unbelievable," he says, eyes shifting to my breasts. And I believe him.
I come first, beneath the steady movement of his thumb and the deep movement of him inside of me. Hands bracing on his chest, I speed up through my orgasm, body shuddering.
I open my eyes to his pleasure-pained expression. He'd held off, but judging by the sheen on his forehead, it cost him. I kiss him. He lifts his hips and then I'm the one holding on, face buried against his neck, as he fucks me with piston-strength. Thrusts turn erratic and he growls into my ear as he explodes, emptying himself inside me.
I've never heard a hotter sound than Victor St. Clair losing control.
His chest rises beneath mine, strong arms wrapped around my back. I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of him, soap and shampoo and the briefest hint of aftershave.
"Who are you?" he mutters into my hair. "Accompanying me to dinner without your panties. Sending me nudes at work."
I chuckle. His eyes are molten and sated, the furrow gone from between his brow.
"I'm not sure," I say. "But it seems to be working on you."
"That's an understatement."
I kiss him again, my lips soft now, and settle beside him on the bed. His arm is beneath my head and his wide chest rises with his labored breathing. He stares up at the ceiling.
"Good thing you didn't put no physical relations into our contract," I say. "Or we would both be in breach."
"This," he says, "was not something I anticipated."
"Neither did I."
He runs his free hand through his hair. I doubt he's the kind of man who cuddles. I shouldn't press, and yet… I can't let this opportunity go. I turn on my side and put my head on his shoulder.
Victor doesn't react either way, just looks up at the ceiling. His Adam's apple moves beneath his stubble as he swallows.
"Thank you for carrying me upstairs last night," I say.
It takes him a while to reply. "Steven uses the gym some mornings," he says. "Couldn't let him see my wife like that."
The words 'my wife' feel like they rattle around in my head, in my chest, taking root.
"I have to leave for a conference next weekend," he says. "It's Exciteur's big-"
"Conference. I remember. In Boston."
"Right. You know about it."
"I organized Mr. Conway's flights there last time, and I did yours as well."
"Come with me," Victor says. He raises his left hand and strokes it over my back. "I'll have a suite. You can work during the days. We can have dinner at night. Do this."