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I cried out and slammed my hips back against his driving cock. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. A harder pinch, and the wave of pleasure within me finally crested and broke, drowning me with blessed release. My pussy pulsed around his cock as he rode me to his own completion, each of his violent thrusts prolonging my orgasm’s aftermath.
When he came to rest, my hands were still in fists. They opened now, resting flat on the table. I lay motionless, enjoying the lingering warmth in my pussy as he made a slow foray in and out, stretching me with his girth. No thoughts, just lust.
“Stay right there,” he said when he finally pulled away. “Don’t you move, girly. In fifteen minutes, we’re going again.”
Chapter 6
Chere
Three Months Later
* * *
I turned from my online meeting to look out the window of my new office space. Thunder rumbled down Park Avenue as people scurried below with umbrellas. Raindrops smacked against the glass and pooled into abstract rivulets that shimmied downward out of view. Starshine Originals, Inc. was still located in Price’s building, just higher up, in a larger unit with more room for the assistants and artists I’d recently hired. Even on a stormy day, the view was gorgeous…and distracting.
“I prefer the last three designs,” said Vinod, reclaiming my attention. “They are your designs, no?”
“The fifth one is Courtney’s,” I told him. “She’s new. Really good.”
Engagement ring season was just around the corner. We had an entire range of spare, elegant designs ready to go out to jewelry shops, private clients, and foreign markets. Vinod was my Asian contact, a helper, boss, and mentor in one. We planned now for the following year’s season, and the season after that.
“What about necklaces?” Vinod asked, looking away to leaf through some sketches. “The trend here is multiple gems.”
“Multicolored?”
He made a face. “Sometimes. I don’t like multicolor though. I love to see a cluster of rubies or emeralds, perhaps interspersed with diamonds.”
“We can design some of both. We’ll find a way to make it classy and interesting.”
“You always do.”
I didn’t tell Vinod about the new pendants I was working on, slim, metal cylinders that doubled as discreet vibrators. Now they were classy and interesting.
My old friend spoke in Hindi to an assistant who stopped by his desk, then turned back to me. “Happy Valentine’s Day, by the way. How will you and Mr. Eriksen celebrate?”
I tried not to blush. Our Valentine’s celebrations weren’t the type to be publicly shared. “We’re meeting for lunch in a little bit,” I said. “See my pretty dress?” I stood in front of my webcam to show off the deep red floral frock I’d worn to work that morning.
“Lunch!” He pretended outrage. “That’s not romantic.”
“It can be. We’re saving the big, fancy dinner for the weekend.”
“Ah, I see. Well, I hope you enjoy yourselves.”
I turned to my assistant and whispered, “Vinod wants us to go to Los Angeles next month to meet with some Japanese buyers.” She nodded, adding it to the meeting’s notes. I turned back to his smiling visage. “Do you celebrate Valentine’s in India?”
He spread his wizened hands. “Some do. Some don’t. Some feel it is not, culturally, an Indian holiday, and say we ought to hug cows instead.”
“Aww. Hugging cows sounds fun.”
“Chocolate and flowers sound fun, too. Perhaps I’ll hug a cow and give them flowers. Chocolate is not appropriate for cows, you know.”
“Dogs, either,” I said, nodding. “Hey, hug a whole herd of cows for me, would you, Vinod? We don’t have enough of them here in the city.”
He pulled a face. “You don’t have any cows. I know. I spend too much time in that wretched place you live. Ok. We talk again soon, yes?”
“Yes! Phir milenge, friend.”
He gave a delighted cluck at my awkward Hindi and disappeared from my screen. I checked the time and pushed back from my worktable.
