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Matthew
I was fucked.
That was the first thing I thought when I watched Reagan dressed after she had cleaned herself up in the bathroom. She had asked me to tie her dress behind her neck as she reapplied her lipstick. Despite our activities, her dahlia scent lingered and I wanted nothing but to bury my head against her collarbone to take everything in.
We laid on the floor and finished the champagne before Reagan decided that she was starving. So I had offered her to take her somewhere she could eat before I drove her home.
There was something else in the air tonight, and I didn’t know if she felt it too, but I didn’t want to say anything for fear that I would push her away.
I wasn’t ready to see her play the piano like that. I had seen her naked and angry, but I had never seen her in this intimate light before. And it stirred something in me that I didn’t like.
Just staring at her right now, I wasn’t noticing her skin or supple lips, or the way she finger-combed her hair back in place. Instead, I wondered what she was thinking, which didn’t cross my mind often because if I did wonder what was running through her mind, what she was feeling, then everything we did would start to mean something.
“How about we go to McDonald’s,” she said out of nowhere as she blotted her lips on a tissue . I wanted to push her against the wall right there to have a taste once more. She was so irresistible, and she knew that she was doing something to me with that subtle act.
“I could take you to somewhere fancier than that,” I offered. I was sitting on the chair by the door, my ankle on my knee as I waited patiently for her to finish.
She spent a lot of time in the bathroom, and even more time fixing herself after she put on her dress. She was vain, and I wasn’t going to berate her because right now, we had nothing but time on our hands. That and I enjoyed every second of it.
I glanced at my wristwatch to see that it was almost ten p.m. All the good restaurants were closed, but if luck was on my side, we’d find something.
Reagan grabbed her bag from one of the chairs, a white Yves Saint Laurent leather envelope bag with gold chain straps. It was elegant and expensive. Perhaps something she brought from home.
“But I’d like a greasy burger,” she argued, fluffing her hair one last time in the mirror before finally turning to face me. It was like we didn’t just have wild sex over my desk and on the cold floor.
With the amount of sex we were having in my office, I should probably opt to get a couch in here. It wasn’t gentlemanly of me to allow her to lie on the floor. Then again, there was nothing gentlemanly about how she liked to be taken.
“All this sex is making me hungry,” she added.
“Didn’t peg you for a fast-food type of woman,” I jested, raising a playful eyebrow at her. She rolled her eyes.
“I’m not. But with the amount of cardio I’m getting from you, I’d say it wouldn’t matter how much I eat.”
God, her mouth was going to be my undoing. I didn’t take it personally the way she talked and joked around me when we were together like this—alone. But when we were working, she made sure she’d be respectful enough not to draw attention.
“Are you health conscious?” I asked as I opened the door of my office, letting her go out first. The party was over hours ago and all the staff on the ninth floor had signed off for the night, leaving a few of the night shift and some security.
Reagan was cautious when she stepped out, looking in both directions in fear that she might be seen.
“No one’s here,” I whispered gaily as I locked the door behind me, assuring her that there was no reason to tiptoe. I pocketed the keys , and I realized that Reagan hadn’t been carrying anything to cover her rather showy, yet sleek dress.
I noted also that she was only wearing white lace underwear and nothing else under her dress. There was no trace of her bra earlier or even the type that stuck on. Trust me, I’d know because my eyes had not left her a single second when she was getting dressed.
“Did you leave your coat inside?” I asked, halting in case I needed to go back and get it for her.
“What?” She gave me a confused smile as she opened her bag and produced a sleek and clear perfume bottle filled with something amber. In embossed detail, I could see the gold font of Givenchy below a text that said Dahlia Divin. “I didn’t bring a coat,” she added as she spritzed perfume on her neck and her wrist.
So that was the little culprit for the smell that was making me go insane.
“Why not?” I asked, ignoring the fact that her scent just hit my senses like a truck. And now, I felt like a fucking cartoon character floating in the air, tracing the imaginary gold trail of her aroma. “Didn’t I say that you should always carry a jacket with you?”
“But it’s hot. I don’t like being hot.”
She didn’t. She didn’t like to sweat because she felt like she needed to shower. She didn’t like the humidity or the heat. Which to me was a surprise because she decided to stay in Florida at this time of year when the heat could be relentless.
Still, I didn’t like the idea of her wearing solely her dress while her nipples puckered behind the material of her dress. But that was Reagan for you. She didn’t give a single fuck about what I thought, or what others might think of her. She was running the show and we were just blessed enough to be in her presence.
I didn’t do anything more, except shake my head at her.
