Page 17 of Bound Hearts

“Foster.”

Good God, I love when she rasps my name, sounding like she’s barely hanging on.

“Almost.”

My pulse is on fire, my mind temporarily lost, and my body chases our goal.

I slow a little to touch her clit with my finger, stroking her enough to bring her closer to the edge.

When her orgasm starts to form, I return to the pace I want.

It’s a wave that rolls through me when I begin to come, her thighs remaining encircled around me as we both recover from the physical vortex we just experienced. It’s a few moments where our eyes hold, and lazy smiles form.

She’s beautiful when she looks thoroughly destroyed. Pride runs through me that it’s all my doing.

We’re both spent as I collapse to my side of the seat. Our breathing is still labored.

“Are we out of our system?” I throw out the question, and we both know the answer but are about to lie. What did we do? That orgasm that temporarily blinded me. Yeah, only a fool would commit to that just once.

“Yeah, totally.” Her voice is disbelieving.

Good. We’re on the same page.

6

FOSTER

The last day in the office of the year, I’m tying up loose ends in my inbox. When Sutton knocks on my door, my body tightens from the restraint I need to hold in, but one look at her in a black dress with a side zipper and the air in my office shifts.

We haven’t crossed paths since I left her at her place after our wild backseat rendezvous. That memory has taken up permanent residence in my mind—and, if I’m honest, my body hasn’t let me forget her for a single day.

Most people would expect our next meeting to be awkward. But there’s an easy understanding between us—no tension, no uncertainty. We both know exactly what this is.

Out-of-office, obvious attraction, a void needing to be filled.

What sets Sutton apart is her unwavering confidence. She never gets flustered or awkward, and being around her feels like a breath of fresh air.

“Here I was thinking you were avoiding me and I would get a notification at any moment that our meeting is rescheduled,” I joke.

She raises her brows at me and quickly sets her laptop down on her side of my desk, her every move straining my sight along. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m going to quickly grab coffee down the hall if that’s okay. Want one?”

Clearly, we have brushed aside last week’s events. That’s the way it should be.

“Yeah, sorry. My assistant is away on vacation, so we need to fend for ourselves.”

“No problem. I’ll be right back.” She seems awfully chipper today.

As she exits, I notice a new email pops into my inbox and see it’s from my father.

Great seeing you on Christmas. Here are the minutes from the end-of-year Roth board meeting. There are some great buildings entering the portfolio. Definitely a longstanding win. Your absence was noted. Just remember that your mother only ever wanted you to be happy. Her ideas, her timelines. Anyway, let’s schedule a squash session at the club soon. We can grab a steak after.

Dad

I lean back, rubbing my forehead, the weight of the day and that email pressing down on me. Buildings, billions, expectations—my father never misses a chance to slip my mother into the conversation. He’s mastered the art of the emotional sandwich: start with affection, slip in the business, and finish with the dad I actually like.

I’m not going to be able to offer much professional insight right now. I’m too occupied in my head.

Sutton reappears, expertly balancing two coffees, her dark red lipstick looking freshly applied. “Pretty sure the office gave up on decent coffee for the year—this stuff smells like it’s given up, too.” With a flick of her stiletto, she kicks the door shut behind her.