64. Chapter 64 Margot
Chapter sixty-four
“Aren’t you just a princess in pink?” Marco teases, immediately clocking that I’ve walked into the New York office wearing my signature color for the first time ever.
“Yes, yes, get all your little digs in.” I laugh, twirling around in my voluminous skirt and showing off the bow holding back half of my voluminous curls.
I haven’t felt this much like myself in years, and I know exactly who makes me feel safe enough to shed my outer boss bitch veneer that I grew in Paris.
Marco makes a show of slowly circling me before stopping in front of me and pulling me into a crushing hug. “You look amazing, cara. You’re glowing. I hope he’s treating you right.”
Sighing, I try to keep the hearts out of my eyes as I bring Marco up to speed on what exactly I’ve been up to since I’ve been spending less time in the office.
Although I’ve been designing from home or Jack’s apartment, I haven’t really had the discipline to come in and take any in-person meetings.
My little love bubble hasn’t popped, and it’s tempting to stay within it forever.
Our dates, lazy days at home, plans for a quick trip to check on the Paris store next week…
by the time I’m done, Marco has hearts in his eyes, too.
“I do need to get back to Pilates class, though. If I start losing flexibility at this point, I’m likely to injure myself…” I trail off as one of the new PAs comes blustering in, dropping a file folder and flinging paperwork everywhere.
“Sorry, ma’am, Mr. Franco is on the line regarding the Milan meeting later. He asked if you would be able to move it up an hour,” she wheezes, and I try to make my face as neutral as possible so I don’t scare her any further.
“Yes, that’s fine. Move it up.” I wave a hand to dismiss her as Marco eyes me critically. “What? I don’t care. If we start an hour earlier, maybe I can be home sooner.”
He gathers his coffee and briefcase before coming to kiss both my cheeks.
“You know I love you, Margot, and I will always give it to you straight. It’s okay if you don’t want to be here as much.
We can run this office just as well as London and Paris, and as long as you keep the collections fresh and keep innovating, you can work from home as much as you want. Just something to think about.”
Then he’s gone and I’m left thinking about what the reality of opening Milan would entail, both excited but dreading the call this evening. He’s right, I’m happier at home these days, no longer running from the man of my dreams but instead running into his arms at the end of every day.
I’m exhausted but feeling strong when I leave Pilates a few hours later, ready to go home, shower, and collapse into bed.
Jack has a late-night meeting at the club, so we agreed I wouldn’t wait up, but I’d come to his apartment.
With my lavender shower mist, rainfall showerhead, and spa soundtrack, I’m zoned completely out when I see a shadow across the glass a split second before a giant body is wrapped around me, one bulky arm around my waist and a hand over my mouth.
“You should pay more attention to your surroundings, Princess,” the intruder growls, and I roll my eyes.
Biting his hand hard to get him to remove it, I scoff, “I knew it was you, you jerk! I was so Zen and now you’ve ruined it.”
Laughing, he swats my ass. “So bitey. I thought your class would’ve worn you out enough not to be so mean. Maybe a massage will—”
“Ugh yesss.” I interrupt as his strong hands go to work on my shoulders, drawing a low chuckle from him.
“I assume that’s a yes to the massage, then?”
“Yes, pleeeease, just like that,” I whine, and I feel the effect of my words as his cock, half hard since he stepped behind me in the shower, rises to full attention against my ass.
He ignores it, though, using my body wash to methodically massage down my back, then both arms, down my legs.
Only when he’s coming back up my front does he allow himself to paw at my breasts and tease my nipples.
Moving back behind me again, he sits on the built-in bench and pulls me backward, the height now perfect to slide himself between my thighs until his piercing rubs my clit just right.
“Oh fuck, Jack,” I breathe out as he starts giving shallow thrusts, fucking my thighs and hitting my clit on every single pass. “I’m too sore from this morning to go again, but I can finish you off if you want.” He freezes behind me, and I turn my head to look at him over my shoulder.
“Does this hurt, Princess?”
“No, it doesn’t. I just assumed you were gonna, you know, slip it in, and I think that would hurt, so…”
His little thrusts resume, and fuck, it’s erotic to feel him behind me using my body like this, slick and soapy and overheated from the shower.
“I can lick this pretty pussy if you’d prefer, but you have to come tonight, Margot, or you’re not going to sleep well.
You and I both know it. So do you want me to drop to my knees and eat you out while you sit on the bench, or do you want me to fuck your thighs and get you off rubbing that sweet little clit? ”
He’s already got my answer, my body subconsciously chasing release, rubbing my clit up and down his hard length between my thighs.
It looks obscene from this angle, sticking out way too far to believe it ever fits inside me, but it does, so perfectly, and I’m almost ready to beg him to fuck me regardless of me being sore when I hear him.
“Fucking perfect girl, letting me use you like this. Shit day at work, and I come home to an absolute goddess. God baby, I don’t deserve you.
That’s it, you feel what you do to me? You feel amazing, all mine.
I’m never letting you go, Margot. I’ll chase you to the ends of the earth.
Fuck. I feel you shaking, baby. You can let go for me.
I’ll catch you. I love you. I love you I love you I love you… ”
He keeps whispering like a prayer as I do what he says and shatter, the pounding of his piercing against my clit finally setting me off.
My pussy clenches around nothing, and I miss him being inside me for this evening, though I know it would hurt.
I ride him until I feel my orgasm finally recede, and he picks up the pace to finish himself off.
It feels oddly nice just to have him between my thighs, keeping him slick and warm.
I wonder briefly where he’ll want to come before he reminds me that he’s such a caveman at heart.
Pulling back just a bit, he nudges my legs apart with his feet and notches just his head at my entrance, teasing me with just the tip.
Barely a second later, he comes with a low groan of my name, tiny thrusts trying to get as much of his cum into me as possible from this position.
We stay like this, his forehead pressed into my mid-back and a hand on my lower belly, until he grows soft and slips out of me.
After we’ve rinsed again and gotten into bed, he pulls me into him like he can’t get me close enough tonight.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, pulling back to look at his weary face.
He sighs and kisses my forehead. “It really was a shit day at work. Some asshole bypassed our background checks using a fake passport and tried to assault a server. The panic button did its job, but we’ve started a complete review of current membership and a task force to come up with an entirely new screening protocol.
We think facial recognition software is the way to go, but it’ll be a tense time before it’s up and running, and we feel safe again. ”
“That’s awful. I’m so sorry, Jack,” I whisper, wishing I could help.
“You help just by being here and being you, Princess,” he begins. “And no, you didn’t say that out loud, but I told you that I know all your tells, woman. You’re an open book for me now. I know all your tricks.”
I yawn before I can reply, and he pulls me back against him into our favorite sleeping position.
“I love you more than anything, Margot,” he whispers as I melt into him and drift off to sleep. “My Princess.”
Stretching, I feel for Jack, but he must have gotten up earlier and gone to the gym before work.
I moved everything I could to remote work for the rest of the week, so I have no plans for the day except being lazy and maybe making a few packing lists for Paris.
Maybe spend time at the piano, one of my favorite pastimes lately with all the nights we’ve been spending here at Jack’s apartment.
Digging through the drawers I’ve taken over, I realize they need a complete reorganization.
I’ve just been shoving things here and there as I’ve brought them over to stay the night, and I have a mix of loungewear, workwear, and evening wear all in the same cluttered space.
Pulling out a tiny clutch that I can’t even remember using lately, I tip it open, and my stomach drops as my diamond collar spills out.
Shit. I just texted this man “bye, see ya never” as if I didn’t have his multimillion-dollar necklace in my dresser drawer.
I’m surprised he hasn’t reported it as a theft, waiting for it to pop up in some luxury pawn shop.
Okay, stay calm, Margot. There’s an easy fix for this.
For whatever reason, I still have the burner phone buried too.
I just haven’t gotten around to deleting all the info and donating it yet.
Seeing it’s still charged, the battery on these old flip phones lasts forever, I sit on the edge of the bed and send the awkward text.
“Hi. Sorry to bother you again. I just remembered I still have this necklace, and I’m pretty sure it’s real. Do you want it back? I can’t imagine keeping it, it’s far too valuable. I could leave it with the club desk for you to pick up or whatever works. Please let me know! Hope you’re doing well.”
I exhale and press send, glad the task is over even though I’m not sure why it gave me so much anxiety to send one text.
A buzz from Jack’s nightstand pierces the silence of the room, and my heart lurches into my throat.
His phone in his nightstand…but he’s gone for the day. Okay, maybe he just forgot it, Margot, and he’s going to be back at any moment for it and apologize for leaving it.
You’re stupid, Margot, but not that stupid, surely…
Tears fill my eyes as I start to shake, realizing that I am, in fact, that stupid.
I send a “Hello?” message to Sir’s number again, letting out a harsh sob when I hear another buzz from the nightstand.
This can’t be real. My breathing is too fast. The room is too quiet.
I can feel my blood pumping through my veins as time slows.
Fuck, I’m either hallucinating or hyperventilating.
Hopefully the former but almost certainly the latter.
I lean forward to open Jack’s nightstand, and there, under his little trinkets and tchotchkes, is the twin to the phone in my hand.
I don’t even try to stifle my sobs, sounding more like a wounded animal than anything else, as I open it, seeing the other side of all of my messages with my Sir. Jack.
Maybe it wasn’t him? Maybe he just found this phone. My masked man didn’t have any piercings, so perhaps he was trying to find my masked man to kill him. Picking up a velvet pouch in the nightstand, any hope I have leaves my soul as my matching leash slides out into my hand.
Why? Why would he do this? To trick me? To make a fool out of me one more time? I can’t… Jesus, I can’t breathe. Okay. Okay, Margot. No hyperventilating over a man. Any man. Fuck this. Get out. Get out, before he comes back. Get out, get out, get out…
If I can keep it together for ten minutes, I can be free. Gasping for air, I swallow the bile that’s risen in the back of my throat and try to stand. Come on, Margot. Just make it ten minutes.
All I really need is my purse and my phone. Calling Marco, I give him the emergency word we came up with ages ago to signal that we needed to do whatever the other says with no explanation. “Toast,” I said, and he repeated it, called the jet, and headed my way in a car.
Moving through the apartment, I ignore my piano, my shoes near the door, the flowers Jack got me two days ago, the box of my chocolates on the sofa table…I ignore it all, moving like a zombie, or a robot, or whatever bipedal being has the least of a heart.
He needs to know. He needs to know what he’s done so he can be in a fraction of the pain I’m in right now. I leave both phones on the kitchen island, open, so he knows I saw the texts.
I unhook my diamond cow keychain he sent me for Valentine's Day in Paris, when I was still mad at him but couldn’t resist how perfect this stupid thing was. It’s been on every set of keys I’ve carried since. I set it down next to the phones.
Barely holding on to my robot spirit, I take down the bow from my hair and add it to the island.
Pink silk with a tiny crystal J hidden in the clasp.
He bought it for me last week from a street vendor who was customizing them on the spot.
Jack tried to tell the man to add an M, but I told him I’d prefer a J.
I remember thinking his smile could have powered a whole block for a day, it was so bright.
Finally, hands shaking, I clip my leash onto my collar and add it to my tragic little pile on the island.
My offering. Or sacrifice, I guess. If I thought burning these things would cleanse me in some way, I’d incinerate them now and not blink.
But there’s no saving me from this pain, no ritual that can undo this damage.
Marco texts that he’s downstairs and the plane will be ready by the time we get to the airport, so I leave my little collection of offerings to Jack on the kitchen island. He’s joked before that it was an altar at which to worship me.
Well.
It can be an altar at which he mourns me, now. I pray he feels an ounce of my pain. I hope he sees everything, and knows immediately, and feels the enormity of his mistake. I hope he feels it for the rest of his days.
Amen.