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Simon lifts his brows and picks up the three I’ve selected. “Okay. Good choices.”
“That’s it?” I ask. I’m not sure what I thought would happen, but his response feels a bit anticlimactic for the pressure to select correctly I was feeling.
“Yes. I’ll send these and a few others to the photo department for retouching. Jacqueline will sign off on them, and then they’ll go back toVogue Italiafor publication.”
Rolling my eyes, I wave my hand dismissively. “Oh, is that all?”
Simon laughs at my sarcasm. “Just another day in the fashion industry. You should get used to it. It’s going to be your life as well.”
I can’t help but blush at the certainty in his voice. A compliment like that, the support it implies, is priceless to me. “Thank you,” I say quietly.
“You’re welcome, Autumn.”
Our eyes lock, and I think he’s going to kiss me. I even peek my tongue out to wet my lips as they part. His gaze drops, following the movement and reading the invitation there.
He stands suddenly, and for a second he sounds as shaky as I feel. “Champagne. To celebrate.”
When he disappears into the kitchen, I sit there in stunned silence.Did he just run away from me? What the hell happened to ‘let me worship you’?
A moment later, he returns with a bottle and two glasses. He makes quick and practiced work of opening and pouring the champagne. Handing me one, he sits down next to me again.
I lift my glass, declaring, “To popping my fashion director cherry!”
Simon clinks his glass against mine and we sip in unison. I watch closely as he sets his glass down and leans back, placing his arms along the back of the couch with his knees spread slightly. He looks utterly at ease. “I know what that means, you know.”
“You do?” I ask, surprised. I set my glass down on the coffee table too, making sure to avoid the folder of proofs.
Simon reaches up, loosening the knot of his tie and pulling it free. He lets it fall to his lap, then undoes the top two buttons of his shirt. I’m not sure whether I want him to stop or keep going. “It’s an American idiom for losing one’s virginity.”
I nearly choke on my own spit. “Uh, yeah. But it can mean other things too. Whatever you’re doing for the first time.” My fingers have found the soft silk of his tie, tracing the point.
“Would you like to do other things for the first time?” he asks me. His voice is rough, deeper than usual.
Do I? If we keep going, I know what’ll happen. We’ll kiss again... we’ll get out of our clothes... I’m going to want him to fuck me with the thick cock I know he has.
Can I deal with the consequences of that choice?
Or should I just tell him I’ve had a bit too much to drink, my thinking is clouded, and get a cab back to my apartment? But honestly, I’m stone cold sober. It’s been hours since my last sip of wine with dinner, and the one taste of champagne wasn’t nearly as bubbly as my own belly is. But those bubbles are from excitement.
And lust.
I look into his eyes, searching for any doubts, but find none. I search my own heart and find a desire for adventure, a hope for something I will take with me as a special memory.
“I would. What do you have in mind?” I ask coyly, still fidgeting with his tie.
“Alexa, play meditation playlist,” he intones, and music with a pulsing thrum starts. The music is low, intimate, pure bedroom music. But behind it is the distinct pulsing beat that alternates between my left and right ears of so-called binaural tones, and while they might just be pure hype, the warm pink glow that rises inside me isn’t.
“I like this.” I tilt my head, listening closely.
“Autumn,” Simon says, getting my attention. “Do you trust me?”
I don’t know. I mean, I only met him days ago and not under the best circumstances. And there’s the whole fashion competition. But that’s not truly what he’s asking. He wants to make sure that in this moment, I have faith that he has my best interests at heart, that he only wants to give me pleasure. That I do believe. “Yes, I do.”
His pupils get larger, nearly obliterating the warm brown of his irises. He picks up the tie from his lap and tells me, “Hold still.”
It takes me a split second to realize what he’s going to do, but as he covers my eyes with the silk fabric and ties it behind my head, I don’t feel any concern. I feel excited.
My other senses sharpen. I can hear my heart racing in time with the music. I can smell the champagne and Simon’s cologne. I feel the leather of the couch.
