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She side-eyes me, and her gaze moves from the phone to me rapidly.
A loud exhale comes out of her mouth.
Fuck, did she not breathe this whole time?
Running a hand through her blonde waves, she stands up and squares her shoulders.
“Fine, so they like it. No, they love the idea. But now, we have to come up with something extraordinary, so we can show them that we’re not all talk, and that this is fucking worth it.”
She starts to pace the length of the room.
I move my elbows to my knees and strike my best thinker pose, hoping this will get her to loosen up a bit.
“Really?” She looks at me and snorts.
Damn, she really likes to laugh at me. It worked though—I got her to smile.
“What?” I ask, pleading innocence.
“The thinker? Do you really think that can help in this situation?”
“So far, I think so. You’re already feeling better.”
I wink at her.
She laughs, mockingly, and I sit back on the couch, mimicking her.
Playing with her is so fucking fun.
I bring us back to the issue at hand, trying to ease her worry as much as I can.
“I can get my design team on it ASAP. We can postpone a few other deadlines, move around our release dates, and solely focus on this for the next three months. I see no issue with that.”
“You can’t just disrupt creative flow. Haven’t I always told you that?” She stalks toward me, standing above me, and putting her hands on her waist.
Memories of us working together flood me, and I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut.
This almost feels like last time.
“Well, if we have to, I’d be more than willing to sit in my living room and hand stitch the samples with you, like we used to. I do love getting my hands dirty.”
Reacting solely on instinct and primal need, I decide to remind her how useful my hands can be. I glide them up her thighs, and toy the hem of her dress, making my way to the back.
I grab her ass, kneading them between my fingers.
She moans softly, and, to my surprise, there’s no objection.
I stand in front of her, and my hands follow, tracing her silhouette.
“Do you like that idea?” I whisper in her ear, teasing her diamond earring with my tongue.
“I think we can make that work,” she responds through heavy breaths, and tilts her head toward me.
I catch the zipper between my fingers, and slide it down, exposing her bare skin.
She trembles, and her skin heats up under my touch. She leans back into my arms, and clutches my shoulders for support. I can feel her breath against my neck softening. Now, it feels exactly like last time.
I tug the tight dress off her shoulders, and guide it down her, the fabric rippling as it falls to the floor.
