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He sat forward suddenly. His pale eyes locked on her, like he’d only now realised she was there. “None of it is as good as the real you.”
She gasped. Searched his face for tactics and found only truth. She crawled forward, hands to his bare feet, then his ankles. She climbed them up his legs, scooting inside his thighs, and picked up where she’d left off.
And she annihilated him.
Made him an unholy mess of groans and twitches, uncontrolled thrusts and fluttering eyelids. He gripped the chair arms till the scars on his knuckles went white. He let out a string of curse words and he fought release, his heel balanced off his toe striking the floor repeatedly.
“Enough.”
His voice was strangled and when he hauled her up to his lap she was a mess as well, so needy for him she was trembling. He took her hands and had her thread her legs over his hips through the back of the chair. He was a genius. She could touch the edge of the desk with her feet, she could rock the chair. She moved against him in a way that connected them profoundly and pushed them both to the brink.
“You fucking rule my world.” His mouth was on her throat. He’d been largely silent, locked in the fantasy or out of protest, out of pig-headedness, but now he let go with hoarse grunts and moans, his orgasm triggering hers.
“Only you. Can’t be without you.”
He pressed her down suddenly, “Don’t know how to love you enough,” and flexed up, lifting from the chair seat, sending it spinning sideways. She lost her footing on the desk and slumped into his torso, shuddering through her release and folding inside the frame of the chair and the shelter of his body.
After her breathing settled and they’d kissed each other near silly again, Mace wrapped his arms around her and shifted forward, then stood and sent the chair flying backwards. She curled her arms and legs around him. He shuffled them through to the bedroom, placed her on the bed, got rid of his jeans and stood looking down on her. “You done?”
Almost. She was sated. Hostile takeover complete. Now there were only the terms of the merger to be negotiated. “Come here.”
He quirked the eyebrow. “I was doing something.”
“And now you’re coming to bed.”
He shook his head and stalked towards the bathroom. That should’ve been fine, she’d done what she set out to do and he wasn’t making up deadlines and issues to deal with to keep him away from her, they were genuine concerns.
“Mace.”
“What?” His voice echoed off the tiles.
“If you sleep it might come to you easier.” She heard water running. He’d hit the shower. It was after midnight.
He came back in rubbing a towel over his wet hair. “What do you want?”
Mergers were always tricky and they often failed to produce the synergy of one plus one, ending up with a minus score. Night after night without him beside her in bed she felt like the minus. “Sleep with me. Hold me, close your eyes and rest properly. I’m worried about you.”
“Shit, Cinta.” He flung the towel over a chair but he got in the bed. She should wash too, but she wasn’t risking him getting bored waiting for her. She lay on her side and he curled around her, his hand on her hip, his breath in her hair. He wouldn’t be able to help but sleep, but he moved before she’d drifted off, realised too late she was still awake.
He kissed her cheek. “If I had a choice.”
She rolled towards him and studied his face. He did have a choice and he’d once have chosen her. It was wrong to feel slighted, wrong to want to be his first choice, but she understood it, better than he did. She let him go back to his program and the loft was horribly empty again when she woke.
36: Loyalty
Mace waved a hand in front of his face. “Don’t start that, seriously, man.”
Dillon breathed another stream of smoke at him. “Anderson told us they want to hire a CEO to replace us and that’s what you’ve got to say.”
They were standing in the car park of the office. Dillon had excused himself and walked when Anderson delivered the news. Mace’d followed him. He felt dumbstruck but worse than usual. He could be happy as founder and chief engineer, but all of Dillon’s functions would be replaced by a new CEO, reducing him to founder and a role in sales and marketing. In Anderson’s world view, Mace was a key man. Dillon was surplus.
He didn’t know what he was supposed to say. “Fuck.”
“That about covers it.” Dillon took another long drag. When had he started smoking again? They’d smoked as kids, stupid crazy for Dillon with his asthma, but neither of them kept with it.
“We tell them no.”
“Which means we’re driving out of this car park for the last time.”
