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“Oh, that’s okay.” She looks at me from under a fringe of lashes. From anyone else the gesture might seem practiced, deliberate, fake. But from Jordan, it’s as charming and innocent as could be. That must be the quality Kelsey set out to exploit, if exploit her she did. I’ll have to see if Jordan or someone else takes over the site now that Kelsey is no longer able to maintain it.
Jordan takes a sip of champagne, and wrinkles her nose. “That tickles,” she says.
“Yes,” I laugh, “but isn’t that a good thing?”
“Oh, definitely, it couldn’t be better,” she giggles. I almost can’t control my reaction. She’s so cute. I want to pin her down against the seat and feel how wet she is.
“So where we going tonight?” she asks. “Is it someplace really fancy? It would have to be, with this dress.” She looks down at herself.
“Do you like it?” I ask. Suddenly it matters. “I mean, are you happy with it?”
“Are you kidding me? It’s incredible.” She hesitates for a moment. “I’m not really sure what to say about it. I mean, thank you seems so inadequate.”
The moment stands between us. It’s an invitation, a challenge. Time stops while I stare at her lips, parted slightly, ready. Are we both thinking of how she can thank me, or is it just me?
I finally break the silence. “I wanted you to have the courage to buy something. As long as you’re happy, that’s enough for me.”
Whenever I’ve said words like this, there’s always been something about them that wasn’t true. Either I was trying to get the person into bed, or there really was something else I wanted. But it’s strange; with Jordan, it’s true that I want her in bed, more than ever. But it’s also simply true. I want her happy. And I know that that’s a dangerous feeling.
“Nobody’s ever given me a gift like this before,” she says, softly. “Are you usually this extravagant?”
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Ah. The question is weighted with more than it seems on the surface. “You forget that you’re doing me a favor tonight,” I deflect, “accompanying me to this dreadful work function.”
“It’s hard to believe that an event where you have to dress like this could be boring,” she answers. If she’s disappointed in my vague reply, she doesn’t let on.
“What do you think of my outfit?” I ask her jokingly, trying to throw her off her train of thought—the one that goes straight to where we stand with one another. That I can’t answer until I know more about Jordan. I won’t. There’s just too much at stake.
“Honestly?”
“Yes, of course,” I say, grinning. “Lies are not acceptable.” This too carries more weight than it seems.
“You look incredible,” she says simply, her voice cracking a little. The tension between us is blinding. I look at her.
“Maybe we should be late,” I say.
Chapter 7
Jordan
R is pressing me up against the elevator door. He peels down my panties, one hand at my throat, kissing me slowly. I squirm and moan, my voice low in my ears. His fingers enter me, claim me, opening me, stretching and readying me for his cock. He’s almost violent in his insistence to penetrate me, but my body wetly responds to allow him in. It’s not tender. Something about our connection is not allowed to be tender. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
He undoes his belt and pulls it so quickly out of the loops that it nearly cracks. I pull at his pants and I reach for him, his heavy cock hot in my hands, but he doesn’t allow me to touch him. Instead, he pushes my hand to his ass as he spreads my legs, lifting me up against the door and lowering me onto his stiffness, filling me up to the point of nearly immediate orgasm. He gracefully sways into me as he spreads my ass cheeks, and I feel his muscles moving under his skin as I grasp his ass and push him into me again and again.
I need him, not just physically, but inside me, to be part of me, to fill me with his essence somehow, to make it part of me. If he fucks me I will be released from Kelsey’s hold on me, my dead best friend’s loving grip on my life, the thing that arrested my development.
I hear someone outside the metal door, and look at him questioningly. He almost imperceptibly he shakes his head as he continues fucking me, impaling me on his cock as he mashes the elevator buttons, now audibly knocking my hips against the door as the someone innocently wonders why the door isn’t opening on the other side. I can barely control myself, my orgasm coming hard and fast like my breath.
He yells something in French—I don’t understand it, and the discussion stops on the other side of the door. He revs up his tempo. He’s fucking me like a graceful machine, hard and fast, strong and smooth and violent, and I come, my mind exploding into a million tiny stars. I feel like the beginning of the universe, the big bang, as he shoots himself into me.
I look at us in the mirrors of the elevator. I wonder if there’s a camera in here, recording our blinding peak.
My ass slowly slides down the back of the door as he lowers me to the ground, his arms around me, his lips pressing tightly against my neck. Our breathing is labored, but slowing, evening out. Finally he lets go of me and does up his pants, filtering the belt through the loops. He doesn’t look at me now.
I adjust my dress and expensive lingerie, and check my makeup in the mirror.
“You ready to go to the party?” R asks, his hand poised on the button to send us back to the lobby, to the car.
