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For a fleeting moment, shock roots me to the spot, my lips parting in surprise, still tender from Adam's kisses. Adam assists me down from the kitchen island, and we engage in a frenzied effort to clean up—smoothing out our clothes and refastening buttons that had accidentally come undone in our embrace. I run my fingers through my hair to tame it, then return to the pretense of organizing the kitchen, my mind racing for the right words.
Fortunately, Adam steps forward, taking charge of the situation with a grace that eases the tension. “Gisela! I'm Adam. It's wonderful to meet you,” he announces, offering his hand in a friendly gesture that also strategically blocks her full view into the kitchen for a moment. This brief exchange grants me precious seconds to address my disheveled appearance, hastily correcting smudged makeup and unruly hair.
As Gisela enters the kitchen, her gaze sweeps the room until her eyes meet mine, widening in surprise at the scene before her. Despite my attempts to recover, the warmth lingering on my cheeks betrays me. Gisela's smile stretches wide as she advances to envelop me in a hug, her enthusiasm undiminished by my awkward attempt to evade her embrace. Her hug is tight, filled with warmth and mischief.
“You're incorrigible,” she whispers, her laughter tickling my ear. “I’ll leave you two alone, but you owe me every detail tomorrow. It sounds like you’ll finally have hot tea to share.” Turning to Adam, she gives him a playful glance before inspecting the chicken on the stove. "I'm thrilled you're here this week, Adam. You'll be a great stand-in for me at Fiona's taping, giving me the perfect opportunity to visit my family in Charleston.”
For a moment, apprehension tightens its grip around my heart. “We haven't even talked about Adam taking your place. How long will you be away?” My voice carries a hint of unease, wary of entangling our personal connection with professional commitments so soon. Our competitive natures could ruin things before we even launch.
Gisela dismisses my apprehensions with a wave of her hand. “It's settled! He's here, and you need a stand-in. My mom's been on my case to visit for weeks, and I can't ignore this chance.” Decision seemingly made in the span of a heartbeat, she snatches her purse from the counter and dashes toward the staircase. “I’ll call you before I take off tomorrow,” she calls out, disappearing down the steps and out the door in a flurry, leaving no room for further discussion.
Adam watches the scene unfold and turns to me with amusement and understanding. “I don’t need to fill in for her. I’m sure you can find someone else,” he assures me, though his next words confirm his willingness to support me. “But I’ll do whatever I can to help.” He closes the distance between us, his arms enveloping me in a comforting embrace. “I’m at your service, little one.”
“Will you be staying on through next week?” I ask, my hands exploring the contours of his muscular chest, my senses heightened by his proximity and the lingering scent of his cologne.
His response is immediate and unwavering. “I’m not going anywhere.”
CHAPTER 11
"Ethan Johnson had the world at his feet. Inherited wealth and privilege paved his way and granted him access to the best education and an enviable position within the elite circles of Park Avenue, priming him to inherit the mantle of his father's empire at Johnson and McTavish, one of the most prestigious brokerages in Manhattan. Yet, Ethan's destiny veered off this gilded path early on. Beginning in prep school, his life took a sinister turn through the dark, winding streets of crime that ultimately landed him in the belly of a maximum-security prison. But the question that hangs in the air is whether justice was served. Did Ethan truly commit the crime he was accused of, or was he a victim of a grave miscarriage of justice? Stay with us and find out after the break." I articulate each sentence with precision, weaving in the necessary emotions and nuances according to Fiona’s written prompts. Her tendency to oversee every detail can be overwhelming, but this week's recording sessions might be the best I’ve ever done.
"And cut!" Fiona exclaims, hitting the pause button before bursting into applause, her excitement palpable as she cheers, "Absolutely perfect! I couldn't have asked for more or done it better myself." Such high praise indeed, especially considering our meticulous process, which has us taking no fewer than six takes for each segment. Although Fiona was satisfied by my fourth attempt, her own contributions were so impeccable that anything less than perfection on my part seemed unworthy. It's funny how having someone depend on you can make your standards skyrocket. Or I'm just seeking an excuse to prolong my time here.
"I suppose it was decent." My attempt at humility barely conceals the pride blooming within me. With just one more day left to record, the thought of this experience ending fills me with a sense of reluctance. Being here with Fiona, delving deeper into her world, and our collaborative efforts, has brought me a happiness I haven't known in years.
"There's no need to downplay your talent, Mr. Kelly," Fiona counters smoothly, her voice tinged with a playful tease as she finds her place in my lap and her thighs straddle mine. My hands, almost of their own volition, find their way to the supple flesh of her perfect ass.
"I fear you've yet to witness the full scope of my talents and abilities," I playfully quip, a cheeky grin betraying my intention to coax her into a more intimate position where she’ll allow me to tear off her clothing and get my first taste of pussy. Lately, it’s all I can think of, and the image alone makes my mouth water with hunger.
We've spent six days together, and this precious time has been nothing short of a whirlwind. Although it might seem brief, the depth of our experiences and the bond we've formed could rival that of countless dates compressed into a single, intense week. Last night marked a significant step. I transitioned into her guest room—a move prompted by my decision to economize during my indefinite stay in Magnolia Point. Honestly, part of me harbors the desire to never leave, yet such confessions seem premature, especially when faced with Fiona's reluctance toward defining what we might be.
Patience is a virtue. If Fiona needs time, I’ll give her time. In any other circumstance, the rapid progression of our relationship might alarm me, but Fiona has redefined my perspective. I never considered myself a hopeless romantic or believed myself capable of maintaining a long-term relationship, yet now, it's all I can envision. My transformation startles me, but I’d like to think this happens when you meet the right person. And Fiona, undeniably, is that person for me.
“It’s getting late, and we haven’t eaten since breakfast. How do you feel about ordering something?" Fiona gently extricates herself, sliding off my lap, though her buoyant mood dims slightly as she misreads the look of disappointment on my face as a lack of appetite. "Are you not hungry?"
I give my stomach a pat, then awkwardly position my forearm across my lap in a futile attempt to conceal the steel rod threatening to rip through my jeans. It can’t be helped. Crazed lust has overtaken my senses and whittled away my resolve. Six nights of abusing my body, beating off like a lunatic fueled by erotic fantasies featuring my girl in the most compromising positions. Whether Fiona is exceptionally perceptive or my makeshift barrier is simply inadequate, her demeanor changes almost instantly. She becomes visibly tense, her eyes darting around as if seeking an escape from the sudden awkwardness between us.
"No, no, sweetheart, it's not that—I'm actually quite hungry," I rush to clarify, my words tumbling out in a bid to deflect our mutual discomfort. "I'm up for anything you'd like," I add, the flush of embarrassment evident in my voice. “Do you want me to grab the menus from the kitchen?”
"No, let me take care of that. Please head up to the top floor, and I'll join you in a minute. There's something special I want to share with you." Fiona’s words are quick and tinged with a hint of nervous excitement as she hurries off, leaving a trail of anticipation in her wake.
"Upstairs? To the top floor?" I find myself questioning, a note of surprise in my voice, fully aware that the top floor is exclusively her bedroom. The invitation carries an intimacy that quickens my pulse at the thought of what she might have in store to show me. Please, let it be sex—or something close to that.
Filled with hope and curiosity, I begin my ascent to the top floor of the lighthouse, Fiona’s sanctuary and bedroom, a place I've scarcely glimpsed beyond the doorway during a brief tour she provided a few days back. I press against the aged plank-wood door, easing it open to reveal the interior of what could arguably be the nicest bedroom I've ever seen. The space isn't dominated by overtly feminine décor. Instead, it is painted in soothing, neutral tones, reminding me of an eclectic farmhouse meticulously transformed into a boutique suite. It reflects her perfectly— a blend of comfort with an understated elegance.
As I take in the surroundings, my gaze drifts across the room, momentarily lingering on her bed with unspoken desire, then moving to the photographs displayed on her bureau. In the middle of my exploration, Fiona enters, her presence like a breath of fresh air, carrying two glasses of chilled wine. Her timing is impeccable.
"Follow me. I've got a surprise," Fiona beckons, offering me a glass of wine before guiding me toward a hidden spiral staircase.
This staircase leads to a space I had only imagined: the beacon room, once the heart of the lighthouse. Fiona’s turned it into a breathtaking haven complete with panoramic views that stretch over the harbor and into the vastness of the Atlantic Ocean. It's clear she went to great lengths to transform this area into a cozy nest, complete with blankets and pillows, creating an inviting escape just for us. The thoughtfulness behind her gesture leaves me profoundly moved and excited, a warmth flooding through me so potent that it takes a conscious effort to resist the urge to bring her into my arms and shred every inch of her dress.
“The moon is about to rise, and watching it appear over the water is absolutely magical.” She takes my hand and leads us onto a blanket near the window, facing the water.
“You’re magical, little one. The moon has nothing on you.”
CHAPTER 12
Adam's strong, sinewy hands envelop and overwhelm me. He surrounds me completely. His kiss, fervent and urgent, steals my breath and weakens my knees, causing us both to collapse into the love nest I painstakingly arranged. His bold response thrills me. It's as if he finally understands the silent invitations I've been scattering throughout the week. Until now, his hesitance made me question his interest, but in this moment, all reservations seem to melt away.
