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Chapter Twenty-Seven
Nate
This isn’t why I brought her up here, but I’m not complaining.
Vivian stands in front of the windows in naught but a buttercup yellow bra-and-panty set. There are little bows at the side of each hip and one in the center of her cleavage.
“If you’re trying to get the job, you already have it.” I love this side of her. She seems free. A hell of a lot freer than she did even a few days ago. “Not that I’m arguing with your tactic.”
“Don’t waste time arguing.” She reaches behind her and unclasps her bra, dropping it to the floor. Her nipples are round and full and perched in the center of her round and full breasts. A little trickle of sweat slides between those breasts as she wiggles out of her panties.
It’s fast approaching boiling point in this room but I’m not going anywhere. I tug off my shirt and make quick work of my pants. Then I lift her and deposit her onto the table meant to discuss quarterly reports, occupancy, and other stale topics.
She peeks over my shoulder. “No one seems to be gaping up at the window, do they?”
I pretend to check. “Nope.”
“You must be right about the glass.”
“Maybe they’re being polite.” I kiss a trail along her salty skin. She tips her head back to give me better access.
“Let them watch. It’s been a while since I had a scandal in my life.”
I pull my head up and blink, dazed.
She giggles. “Sorry. I’m no good at this seduction stuff.”
“Disagree.” I lower my head and suckle a nipple into my mouth. She gasps, drawing her knees up, her sandals stuttering along the table’s surface. I continue licking and suckling until I reach the apex of her thighs. Then I have a seat and pull her ass to the edge of the table and lower my face to taste her.
Her hips arch and she thrusts her pussy into my face. I continue my attentive assault, enjoying her taste and the scent of her vanilla perfume and lotion—she has both, I know that now. She calls it “scent layering.” I call it her driving me out of my mind with need.
A few more delicate licks and nipple plucks later, she’s moaning and coming. I waste no time standing and spreading her thighs. I grip my cock and stroke, admiring her damp folds, the glistening tips of her breasts, and the sated, satisfied look in her eyes. I can’t get enough of her.
“Condom,” she whispers. I blink to reset my brain. Right. Condom. That would be important. “Tell me you were a good Boy Scout and brought one with you?”
“I was never a Boy Scout,” I mutter, pretending to be insulted. I bend down and fish a condom from the wallet in my pants pocket. Rolling it on, I send her a smile. “Street smarts.”
I scoop her into my arms. I consider pressing her ass against the glass and finishing us both off, but I’m not sure if the one-way glass works with body parts smashed and gyrating against it. Better not risk it, for her sake. She’s had enough publicity for a lifetime.
Instead, I wheel her around to an empty wall and settle her against it. Her hair slides up the wall as I bring her body over mine. I enter her in inch by precious inch and watch as her face melts in ecstasy. She mutters “so good, so good,” over and over.
I put my biceps to work lifting and dropping her onto me, and fit in a calf workout by holding her suspended. Soon we’re both panting, grunting, and God help me, she’s begging. A high, breathy “please, Nate, please” and I can’t resist those words from this woman. I weld my back teeth together to keep from blowing too soon as I work her into a generous lather.
She goes over again and it’s not a moment too soon. I follow, half-growling, half dying given the cramp in my thigh. By the time I finish with a colorful swear word, we slide down the wall in a sweaty heap, her on my lap, my hand gripping my hamstring.
“Fuck me!” I grumble, stuck between immense sexual satisfaction and the most intense yet stupid muscle pain known to man.
And what does my girl do? She laughs at me and follows it with a smart-assed comment.
“I thought I just did.”
After checkingin with my foreman in Chicago, and determining the site is well on its way to completion, I can rest a little easier. I’m looking at a live-work near Cincinnati next, a ritzy older neighborhood needing a boost. I’m toying with the idea of keeping the original buildings and zoning for retail and residential in the same area.
Of course that means a re-zoning fight, like the one I’m embroiled in with Daniel for another Clear Ridge property. And, those older buildings will need updated wiring, plumbing, structural repairs. A smile curves my mouth at the prospect. I do love a challenge.
After Viv and I left Grand Marin, she let me know she was staying at her place for a few days to do a deep clean. She’s been meaning to since Walt moved to Chicago to work on my nearly completed site. I probably could have used him elsewhere, but I wanted to pitch him an underhanded softball. Most of the problems have been ironed out at the site. All we have to do is hustle it to completion. If he can show up and do grunt work, he’s in good shape.
I’m planning a party for the completion of the job. At a pub downtown named O’Leary’s. Like Lainey says, we have to celebrate our accomplishments, and this site reflects a year’s worth of hard work. There is always the chance of something going sideways at the end, but I have smart women and men working on that site. And I’m never more than a private plane ride away if I need to step in and help.
