Chapter 16 – cat #2
Every word undoes my doubt about what we’re doing. I’m not in this alone. Maybe it’s wrong, but if I’m pleasing Nate by letting him touch me…that’s exactly what I want to do. I crave every word of his praise. I let go of my resistance and force my muscles to relax.
“That’s it. Just relax and let me take control.”
And that’s exactly what I do.
With his arms wrapped around me to keep me steady and his voice whispering filthy praise in my ear, everything else turns to static.
I let Nate take complete control of my body, and he doesn’t let me down.
He falls into a rhythm of fucking me with shallow thrusts of his finger, curling it to hit a spot inside me that makes my vision go blurry.
When he adds the press of his thumb to my clit, I buck against the glass.
He reaches up from holding me against the glass by the hip to bracket his fingers gently around my throat. His touch is warm and claiming, but not constricting.
“Still pink?”
I nod, moaning.
“Good, breathe with me, Kitten. In…”
I struggle to take a full breath with what he’s doing between my legs causing tremors to wrack my lungs, but I try.
“Hold,” he orders, and squeezes my throat gently, putting pressure along the sides of my neck in a way that makes my heart beat loud in my ears and the pulsing come harder between my thighs.
“And out,” he says huskily as he loosens his hold, setting his hand against my clavicle. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me, Kitten.”
He suckles at the spot just below my right ear, leading me up to the edge of what I can handle.
“I think you can take another finger, Kitten,” he murmurs.
I groan inarticulately, since apparently I’m incapable of speech. He presses a second finger into my tight pussy and moans. I can feel the vibrations from his chest against my back.
“Such a greedy little pussy.” His voice sounds strained, which sends a jolt of satisfaction through me. Nate’s just as affected by this as I am.
His hips move against me, grinding his hard cock against my ass to the same rhythm he’s using with his fingers. I lean against the glass, letting my body go flat against it.
“Color?” he whispers huskily.
“P-pink.”
And I don’t care who sees me anymore.
Let them think I belong to Nathaniel Walsh.
Would that be so bad?
“Hands on the pane, Kitten,” he orders, his breath fogging the surface beside my cheek. “Eyes up. Watch what you do to me.”
I catch his reflection behind me. His eyes hooded slits, his face slack with hungry desire as he grinds himself against me and increases the speed of his fingers, the pressure of his thumb on my clit, and oh…my…god…
My pleasure spirals higher and higher, the lights of the city below blurring into a glittering abstract as I soar up into the night.
“Oh god, Nate!” I shriek as my orgasm blindsides me. My inner walls milk his fingers as I shatter into a thousand shimmering pieces.
He holds me as I drift back down, holding me up with the fingers still inside me, still moving, wringing every drop of pleasure from my core. His free hand is on my stomach, holding me against him as I shake and shatter in his arms.
“Kitten, I need to—”
Whatever he’s about to say is interrupted by a knock. I blink—was that our door? Who could be—
“Fuck,” I mutter as I come abruptly back to reality. “I ordered room service.”
The hotel staff knocks again. Nate removes his fingers and steps away from me. When I turn to look back at him, he’s frowning. His eyes are icy cold, and he’s not even looking at me. I can feel the regret coming off him in waves.
I can’t bear to look at him.
Oh god. What just happened?
What did I just let happen?
Pulling my dress down, I hurry to the door to fetch our dinner. I tip the smiling attendant with cash from my purse—I’ll expense it back to UPS—I just need him to leave now. Right now.
Nate’s washing his hands in the kitchenette when I wheel the room service cart inside. He wipes his hands on a towel and shoots me a look I can’t read.
Obviously, he got away from himself. He didn’t want me to feel badly about the merger going south, but things went too far. My stomach feels like it’s full of ice.
Fix things. Fix them before he cuts you off for good.
“I’m so sorry, Nate. I’m not this person. I mean, I don’t do this sort of thing.”
He shakes his head. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
God, what am I doing? I should be nobody to a man like Nathaniel Walsh.
So then why do I feel so seen?
“I did.” Tears burn in my eyes, and I try to blink them away before he notices. “We have a professional relationship, and I crossed a line.”
Nate shifts like he’s going to walk toward me, but stops himself, rocking back into place. His broad shoulders are rigid. Some stupid, hopeful part of me thinks he might say something comforting.
What, like call you “beautiful” and “kitten” again?
He obviously doesn’t want me—not like that. Why would he? He could go out and find any woman he wants. What makes me special?
Holding onto my optimism becomes flat out impossible and whatever remained of it slips again in the mudslide of my shame.
I clench my fist, digging my fingernails into my palm.
I’ve already spiraled to the point where Nate had to talk me down twice today.
If I don’t get my emotions in check, he’s really going to decide I’m a liability as an assistant.
I force out a laugh. “I’m so embarrassed. I let things go too far, and I just really don’t want to jeopardize this job. So maybe we should just forget this ever happened.”
Please.
Before he can answer, there’s another knock on the door. This time, I really have no idea who it could be. Nate glances over at it, his expression only freezing further into place.
I wish I knew what he was thinking. I basically just told him he was home free, so he should be relieved, right?
“Don’t worry about your job.” His voice is glacially cold. “What happened tonight is my fault. We won’t talk about it again.”
He rubs his hands together like he’s dusting away the whole conversation. When he strolls to answer the door, he doesn’t so much as glance at me.
I don’t wait around to see who it is. Instead, I all but run to my room, slamming the door behind me. My dress strap is still loose on my shoulder. With a frustrated grunt, I tear the garment off and throw it on the floor. I’m never wearing that thing again—obviously, it’s bad luck.
It’s not until I’m in my pajamas, reading a trashy book on my Kindle, that I realize I never ate dinner. But there’s no way in hell I’m leaving this room, where I’m safe from grumpy millionaires with steely eyes and magic fingers.
Nope, I won’t be coming out again until the driver arrives tomorrow to take us to the airport.