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I couldn’t put a name to the sound I made if I tried, but my orgasm was so intense, so all-consuming, that my mind blanked for a full minute before reality slowly returned.
I touched my forehead to hers, my chest heaving, and stayed inside her until every twitch and throb of my cock finally stilled.
It was only with the utmost reluctance that I withdrew and disposed of my condom before I settled beside Sloane again. I curled an arm around her waist and brought her close, taking comfort in the steady rhythm of her breathing.
“My neighbors are going to hate me,” she murmured.
I laughed, pushing her hair back so I could admire every inch of her flushed, content face. “Only because they’re jealous.”
“Even ninety-year-old Irma?” She sounded skeptical. “Especiallyninety-year-old Irma.” I paused. “But if you ever want a third…”
“Xavier.” Sloane shoved at my chest, her laugh mingling with mine. “You’re terrible.”
“That’s what you love about me.”
“It is.” She sighed. “I have questionable taste.”
“I would take offense to that if I weren’t so confident in my good looks and dashing personality.” I pressed my lips to hers. “And if I didn’t love you so much.”
Sloane’s face softened.
We sounded like one of those cheesy couples she loved to lambast in movies, but I didn’t care, and judging by the way she pressed closer to me, neither did she.
We didn’t speak again before she drifted off. My eyes were getting heavy too, but I forced myself to stay awake a while later so I could soak in the moment—my arms around Sloane, her head against my shoulder, the rhythm of our breaths rising and falling in unison.
And as my gaze traced the delicate fan of her lashes and the content curve of her lips, there was only one word running through my head.
Mine.
CHAPTER45
Xavier
Sloane and I spent the rest of the holidays in orgasmic bliss, interrupted only by the occasional food delivery and twenty-three minutes of a so-bad-it-was-almost-good movie involving feuding families, leprechauns, and a one-eyed dog named Tobey. By the twenty-fourth minute, we’d abandoned the movie for more interesting activities.
After the new year though, we hit the ground running. She got caught up in the whirlwind of Ayana’s engagement announcement, and I threw myself into getting the vault repaired as quickly as possible without cutting corners.
My birthday was no longer the end all, be all date, but I would try my damn hardest to open the club by then anyway. It was my challenge to myself.
If I accomplished it, fantastic. If not…well, my father had built his empire from pennies. I could too.
I consulted with half a dozen contractors, and the general consensus was that the damage wasn’t as dire as I’d feared. Sloane had been right—the vault possessed a lot of fire-proof elements, and though it needed major work, the right team for the right price could get the job done in two months.
I happily paid that price out of my own pocket.
The new timeline meant I had to change my original design plans, but Farrah was the city’s best hospitality interior designer for a reason. After several brainstorming sessions, we came up with a new concept that would take less time to implement but still fit my vision for the club. It threwhersourcing completely off schedule, but the hefty bonus I paid her made up for the trouble.
However, there was one more loose end I needed to tie up before I immersed myself completely in my new plans.
The second Tuesday of the year, after the city had recovered from its holiday lull and resumed its usual breakneck pace, I entered Vuk’s Upper East Side mansion.
From the outside, the sprawling building resembled a fortress more than it did a home. There were enough security measures to make Fort Knox look like child’s play, but the inside was the epitome of old-school luxury. Spiral staircases, arched windows, and gothic influences abounded. Every room was bigger than the last, and marble busts glared at me from their dedicated display tables as I followed the butler into Vuk’s office.
The butler announced me and disappeared in a discreet flash of silver hair and starched white cotton.
Vuk’s office was as dark and gloomy as the rest of the house. Black paneling, black desk, black leather furniture. The only specs of color were the emerald glass lamp on his desk and his wintry blue eyes as they tracked my approach.
It was my first time seeing him since the fire. His remote expression was a far cry from the terror I’d glimpsed before I dragged him out of the vault, but I’d never forget that look in his eyes.
