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“Yeah. I’m a man who likes luxury. I couldn’t rent Rio’s spare room anymore. I moved out two days ago. He’s not the cleanest, and he was bringing different women back night after night, and then there were the parties. I like my space.” He swivels his head to look at me, surprise written all over my face. “What?”
“You are spending over twenty-two thousand dollars on accommodation for the next few weeks.”
“You’re quick at math.”
“It’s my strength.”
“It’s not as much as that. They gave me a deal, as my dad knows the guy who owns it. I’ve barely spent any money while traveling because I’ve worked a few jobs here and there and that paid for my hostels, motels, and stuff. My plane ticket is already paid for and the first clothes I have bought in months was yesterday when I bought what I am wearing. My car doesn’t count. That was an investment.” He winks. “Oh, and my haircut and shave.” He scratches his now-short scruff and goatee beard.
“I like it. It makes you look even more handsome.”
“Am I handsome?”
“You know you are.”
He shakes his head as if I told a lie. He may laugh and joke, but I sense he has his own insecurities too.
“I like you with no makeup.” He puts his fork and knife down, then takes a sip of his steaming hot coffee. “You really have no idea how pretty you are, do you?” He runs his tongue across his teeth.
“Is it self-love Saturday?” I quirk a brow.
“Come.” Lincoln pushes his stool backward, swivels my seat around, and I hop off the high chair in the most unladylike manner. My bare feet slap against the marble floor.
“Your place is really cool, by the way. I love your kitchen. That soft blue color is wicked. I might remodel my kitchen when I get back,” he says casually, pulling me by my hand through the house.
I wish I could take ownership for the decor but I can’t; it was all down to my father. Or should I say, all down to my father’s interior designer.
Lincoln pulls me up the first flight of stairs and stops when we get to the top. He maneuvers me around, my back to his chest, so we are now standing in front of the mirrored wall on the second floor.
“What are we doing?”
He unties my robe, letting it fall to the floor. It pools around my feet, exposing me in all my naked glory.
I suck my lips into my mouth and begin playing with my fingers. Oh, this feels uncomfortable.
“Look at yourself, Violet.” He purrs in my ear from behind me. “This right here…” He shapes his hand into the curve of my waist. “It's tiny and I love it. My hands fit perfectly.” He circles both his hands around it. “Your hips are so sexy.” He smooths his hands down my hips I’ve always considered too big. “You have a body most women would die for.” His fingertips brush my skin and butterflies dance in my lower belly. “Your skin is smooth and toned; I can tell you work out.” He moves his hand to my tummy and I flinch when lays his giant palm over it. “You have a belly. Most women have a belly, Violet, but you seem to think you are different. I saw you looking around last night, doubting yourself, second-guessing your outfit because people were looking at you last night. You got that right; they were staring at you.” He kisses my shoulder. “Do you know why?”
I shake my head, unable to speak.
“Because you were the hottest woman in the club last night. Look at yourself.”
His dark eyes hit mine in the mirror.
“Your hair is silky smooth; your eyes sparkle when you talk to people and get excited. I saw the joy in them yesterday when we threw ourselves off that pole. You were so proud of yourself. I was proud of you.”
“You threw me off.”
“Potayto, potahto.” He ignores me. “Your skin glows. You are immaculate from head to toe. Your smile sucks all the air out of my lungs, and this bit here.” He pushes my hair off my shoulder, leans in, and steals a kiss behind my ear, making me gasp. “I love this bit. And this bit.” He kisses my shoulder. Another kiss.
He moves around to face me and a small tear, of God knows what feeling, runs down my cheek. I think for the first time in my life I feel accepted.
I’m accepting myself for all that I am.
In the boardroom I can handle myself. I know my stuff. I can use my brain for greatness, make strategic decisions, balance budgets, coordinate people, and connect moving parts that no one else can do, but the negative self-talk has had an uncanny way of holding me back from truly loving myself. No matter how many conferences I’ve been to, it’s never been about me. It’s been more how I manage people, how to get them to perform better.
All this time, I needed one to work on me, not them.
“This bit.” He bends to kiss my clavicle and keeps moving south. He gently pulls my large breast into his mouth and kisses my nipple. “You have enviable boobs. Trust me, the women in the nightclub last night wanted these. They are firm, but I know you think they aren’t. Your nipples are the perfect shade of rosy pink and it makes me want to bite them like they are fucking gummy candies.” He nibbles it slightly. “I really wanna suck it hard.” He toys with it between his teeth.
