Chapter 11
Lucy
Sharing a suite with Dane hasn’t been as uncomfortable as I thought it might be.
The suite itself is massive—easily bigger than Aunt Ruby’s entire apartment—and has two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and two different seating areas.
It means that when we got in last night, I was able to go into my room and wallow in a mixture of shame and my own self-pity until I eventually fell asleep.
The next morning, I’d had to face him, but at least then I hadn’t obviously cried just before. I’d gotten up, showered and dried my hair, and pulled on one of the beautiful dresses I bought with his credit card.
Mercifully, it was like how it always is when we’re working together. Dane: quiet and focusing on his own thing. Me: scrambling to get things taken care of when one of the marketing girls texted me, saying she wasn’t feeling well.
Then we left for the convention hall, which was as grand and beautiful as the hotel it was connected to.
At first, I’d walked through the main concourse with him, but it was too much.
Looking at pleasure gels and lotions, vibrating contraptions and hyper-realistic dildos, all with his stormy, gray presence at my side.
Now, at least, I have the buzz of the convention and my own responsibilities to keep me from focusing too much on Dane Rourke.
While he’s been moving from conference room to conference room, even taking the stage to talk to a crowd of over a thousand different attendants, I’ve been firmly stationed at the marketing booth in the main hall.
The marketing girl wasn’t just not feeling well—apparently, she’d had a bad plate of sushi and was bent over the toilet.
Her roommate was struggling to manage everything herself at the booth.
It was a good thing for both of us—at least, I think—when Dane asked me to come down and help with the marketing outreach, rather than accompany him throughout the day as originally planned.
“Seven intuitive modes,” Akela says, her long, dark hair in a sleek ponytail as she holds one of our vibrators up proudly. “With more modes added as it learns the user.” She stops, presses her finger on the toy, and shows how it glows gently, before adjusting to the new pressure.
“Wow,” the woman watching says, her mouth opening as she glances at the older woman beside her. “That is spectacular. Who can we talk to about stocking these? We’ve got a pretty big pleasure store in Sydney and need some new product.”
Akela points them in my direction, and I talk them through the logistics. I’d much rather be doing this piece of it rather than holding up the toys, trying to talk through the terrible awkwardness I’d feel.
Later in the day, just an hour before the demos wrap up, when all the attendees have long since retired to the various hotel bars, the hall is echoing and empty. A few meandering people cluster in the center of the space, clutching their pamphlets and talking together.
Akela said she had to go to the bathroom half an hour ago, so either she ran into someone interesting or decided she was done for the day.
I sit at the booth, sketching on the back of one of our informational papers. At first, my hand had itched to draw myself, back arched in Dane’s lap, but I knew that was a really bad idea.
So, instead, I just draw Dane. Sitting in the leather seat, his white knuckles gripping the armrest, his dark eyes bottomless and staring out from the sketch, beckoning. It’s a snapshot of how I fantasize about him, saying, darkly, “Come for me.”
I really can’t even blame myself for the endless daydreaming. I’m literally surrounded by sex, day and night.
“That’s good.” It’s Dane’s deep voice over my shoulder.
Sucking in a sharp breath, I twist and try to cover the drawing, but only manage to knock it to the ground, where it glides for a second before sticking under Dane’s polished dress shoe.
He raises an eyebrow at me before bending down to retrieve it, depositing it on the table. I reach out, heart pounding, and flip it over hastily, so the company information is staring back at us.
“It’s not you,” I hasten to lie, cheeks flaming, even though that’s very stupid. Of course, it’s him. Him on the plane, with the same look on his face he wore when I lowered myself down onto his thick cock.
“Of course not,” he says, but his amusement shows in the quirk of his mouth. I realize I’m starting to learn to read his expression, that what once appeared flat and emotionless to me is now full of small hints, a language you can read if you know it.
I want to insist that it’s really not him, but there’s no point. My mortification balloons until I can barely swallow around it. Now, not only was I an awkward lay on his plane, but I’m a lovesick little girl.
There’s a reason he told me, pointedly, that he doesn’t date. And that’s because I’ve obviously never done something like this before.
But I want to.
God, I want to. I would take Dane any way he’d let me have him. And maybe that makes me desperate, or a slut, but I don’t have the energy to defend myself, even to the voice in my head. I haven’t been able to think about anything else but the other positions he might put me in.
What he could teach me, if given the chance.
Or, more precisely, if he wanted to.
Which he clearly does not. In another universe, my drawing would be the opening for some flirting, for him to whisper in my ear about it, about the position and the look in his eyes.
But now, he just clears his throat, shifting away from me, nothing but the slightly amused look on his face to give anything away.
“I’m going to meet some industry people in the bar,” he says, levelly. “You’re more than welcome to head up to the room early.”
I get his meaning loud and clear—he would like me out of the way before he gets there.
Oh, god, what if he’s planning on bringing a woman back to the room? If he still needs a release after what we did, if he wants to be with someone a little more mature, a little more experienced? Someone who can actually make him feel good, someone who doesn’t need instructions for sex?
The thought makes me sick, and makes my face flame, and all I can do is nod, because what am I going to do? Ask him if he’s coming back alone? If he would reconsider his earlier pronouncement, while he was still inside me, that it could never happen again?
“Have a good night,” I rasp, instead of everything I want to say.
Dane’s already looking at his phone, and once again only flicks his eyes up at me for a moment, saying, “You as well, Lucy.”