Chapter 33 To the Bedroom
"Lawrence," I scold, laughing softly. "You didn't have to do all this."
He shrugs.
"You've had a rough couple of days. Figured ice cream couldn't hurt."
I lean against the island, watching him carry armfuls of pints to the fridge.
"Thank you," I say, genuinely touched. I grab three more containers and follow him, helping stack them neatly.
Once everything's tucked away, Lawrence reaches into one of the bags again and pulls out a small white box tied with a thin string.
"I also got you this," he says, handing it over.
Flattered, I take it and carefully untie the string. Inside lies a single long-stemmed white rose.
He rubs the back of his neck, shyly. "A little girl came up to me outside the store and asked me to buy it for someone special. I wanted to get a whole bouquet, the real thing, but I couldn't find white roses anywhere, so…"
"Lawrence," I cut in softly. "I love it. Thank you."
He looks at me, those green eyes shimmering with something warm, before he clears his throat and glances away.
"We should eat this before it melts," he says, nodding toward the pints of banana and strawberry ice cream on the counter.
"Yeah," I murmur.
We carry our bowls back to the living room and sink into the massive sectional couch. Stranger Things is still playing on the TV—Eleven facing off with Vecna in Season 4. I'd forgotten to turn it off before falling asleep.
"How was the meeting?" I ask quietly, scooping a bite of banana ice cream.
"It went well." He relaxes deeper into the cushions, his eyes moving to the screen.
Lawrence looks interested in the scene. His body has turned slightly toward the TV without him seeming to notice.
"So… um. What happens now?" I ask, taking another spoonful.
He keeps watching the episode for a moment before answering.
"Everyone will know the monster he was before his death. The FBI will release what they can. Eventually, the rest will leak."
His voice is distracted as he explains. "Black Forge will collapse. And his name will be nothing but poison."
I nod slowly, staring into my bowl.
Lawrence finally turns to me fully, his strawberry ice cream still untouched in his lap.
"How are you feeling?" he asks gently.
For a moment, the ice cream loses its taste in my mouth.
"I'm alright," I mutter. "I'm just…,'' I sigh, trying again. "I feel stupid for not seeing it, you know."
Lawrence watches me, silently, waiting for me to elaborate.
I set my ice cream bowl on the centre table.
"I should've seen it. I should've seen Kieran for who he was."
"You're not psychic," he says firmly. "Stop blaming yourself."
I pause, Kieran's words echoing in my ears.
"…so eager to believe someone actually wanted you for you…"
"I was so easy to play," I say again, my voice growing hoarse. "I mean, what was I thinking? All of a sudden, some hot, seemingly perfect billionaire is interested in me? Of course, it was too good to be true."
I release a guffaw.
Lawrence stares at me for a long moment.
Then he shifts closer on the couch until our legs touch.
"Kieran was wrong," he says in a low, firm tone. Reaching out, his fingertips trace the line of my cheek. "I like you for you."
His eyes are honest, his voice growing soft. "Can't you see you're perfect?" he whispers, his thumb brushing my jaw. "You have nothing to be insecure about."
I close my eyes briefly against the tenderness of his touch, my lips parting on a shaky breath.
When I open them again, he's still watching me with those eyes.
Eyes that feel like they're seeing through every single thought in my head.
Eyes that look at me like I'm special.
Everything around me ceases to exist—every sound except that of my own heartbeat and Lawrence's breathing, every sight except him.
I lean in first and press my lips to his without a second thought.
He kisses me back as my hands slide into his hair. But we're gentle with it.
In this kiss, we're not fighting with our mouths or in any other way a lustful kiss can be described.
It's tender. Loving.
Lawrence groans, grabbing my waist and pulling me onto his lap.
My knees straddle his hips, the shirt riding up my thighs.
His hands slide beneath it, gripping.
I can already feel the hard length of him pressing up through his slacks.
He pulls back suddenly, his eyes dark, and his voice rough with pleasure. "Scarlett… you're not thinking clearly. Last night was a lot. Maybe we should…"
"No." I shake my head, brushing away the hair from his glasses. "I know what I want, Lawrence," I say softly, taking them off and setting them beside him on the couch.
"I want you."
Lawrence's eyes, unbarriered by the glasses, go molten. He smashes his lips to mine, grabbing the back of my neck.
I moan into his mouth.
I moan because this is what desire should feel like, should taste like.
I moan because the longer we kiss, the deeper it gets, the hungrier it grows.
Reaching down, I fumble with his belt, then the zipper. He groans into my mouth but pulls away again.
"Are you sure?" He asks, "I can wait if you're not ready."
I appreciate him cross-checking, though, from the look in his eyes, he doesn't look like he can wait.
Instead of answering the question, I slide down his body, settling between his knees on the rug.
His hands go into my hair, holding as I get his pants and briefs down.
When the sight of his hard, throbbing cock comes into view, I nearly tear up.
For someone so comported, he's packing.'
He's packing a lot.
Too desperate to have him in my mouth, I skip teasing and stroking him, guiding him to my lips instead.
Lawrence curses when I take him straight into my mouth.
The taste of him makes me moan around his rigid length, causing him to groan in pleasure.
His grip in my hair tightens, pushing my head down further.
I nearly choke, tears stinging my eyes. But I don't mind.
Not one bit.
I have Lawrence Moore's cock in my mouth.
The man who was on the cover of Forbes last year as one of the most established billionaires at thirty-two.
The genius who built a trillion-dollar empire while most people still struggled with career choices.
The cold, terrifying CEO that's every staff's nightmare… that used to be MY
nightmare.
And now he's groaning my name as I suck him deeper.
The power rush is dizzying.
I cup his balls, playing them gently while his shaft is lodged in my throat.
Lawrence curses again, his fingers guiding my head in a fast, rough rhythm.
I'm so turned on, my core aches, throbbing with need.
Then suddenly he pulls out of my mouth, his hand holding my chin and tilting my face up.
I stare at him through watery eyes, still catching my breath.
He leans down to press a hard, possessive kiss to my mouth before standing.
I start to rise too, but before I can even finish, Lawrence bends and picks me up.
"Let's take this to the bedroom, shall we?"
He says with a smirk, carrying me through the penthouse, down the hallway.