Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
"H e kissed you?" Maya’s voice hits a pitch I didn't know was possible over speakerphone.
I'm on a group call with the Naughty Girls, sprawled across my bed like a teenager gossiping about her crush. Which, frankly, isn't far from the truth.
"Just on the cheek," I clarify, though that hardly captures the electricity of the moment, the promise in his eyes afterward.
"That's how it starts," Christine says sagely. "First the cheek, then suddenly you're bent over his desk calling him 'Daddy.'"
"Jesus, Christ," I laugh, but my face heats at the image.
"Hey, I'm just saying what we're all thinking. The man practically oozes Daddy Dom energy."
She's not wrong.
There's something about Jeremy… his confidence, his control, the way he takes charge in every room that triggers something primal in me. Something I've only ever explored through the pages of the novels we read in book club.
"So, when are you seeing him again?" Elizabeth asks.
"Tomorrow. We have a final walk-through at the property before signing all the paperwork." I hesitate, then admit, "and then dinner after."
The chorus of squeals makes me hold the phone away from my ear.
"It's just dinner," I protest.
"Honey, it hasn't been 'just dinner' since the first time," Elizabeth points out. "You like him. He clearly likes you. What's holding you back?"
Thirty years of guarding my heart. The fear of being vulnerable again. The niggling doubt that his explanation for leaving, while plausible, doesn't quite explain the completeness of his disappearance.
"I'm being cautious," I say instead. "We have history."
"Sometimes history is worth repeating," Karen says, uncharacteristically earnest. "Don't let fear keep you from something that could be amazing."
After we hang up, I lie awake thinking about her words. About Jeremy. About the wall I've built around myself that's starting to show dangerous cracks.
* * *
It’ll be much later this afternoon when I meet up with Jeremy to do the final walk through. This morning, as I show a potential buyer the Richardson estate, I can’t get him off my mind. I’m in auto mode, spouting out the facts about the house but my heart is elsewhere. It’s playing a what-if game. What if he’d never left? What if he leaves again? Finally, the longest day in existence is over and I’m headed to walk through the multi-hundred million dollar project I’ve been working on for over a month.
The walk-through goes perfectly. The property is everything we've worked for. Jeremy is in his element, pointing out details, explaining features. His passion for the project is infectious. He looks amazing in a pair of tight jeans, with a crisp white button down tucked in and the sleeves rolled up to right above his muscular forearms.
"We did it," he says as we stand on what will be the rooftop terrace. "You and me."
The pride in his voice makes me smile. "You’re going to make quite the profit. This view is beautiful."
"It is." But he's not looking at the property. He's looking at me.
I should look away. Instead, I hold his gaze, letting myself acknowledge the thing that's been building between us.
"Jeremy—" I begin, not sure what I'm going to say.
His phone rings, cutting me off. Again. The man gets more calls than the President.
"I have to take this," he says apologetically. "It's the investors. Two minutes."
He steps away, leaving me alone on the rooftop with my thoughts—and the realization that I'm tired of fighting whatever this is between us. Tired of pretending it's just business. Tired of being afraid.
When he returns, I've made a decision.
"Let's skip dinner," I say.
His face falls slightly. "Oh. Do you need to reschedule? I can–"
"No," I interrupt, gathering my courage. "I meant... let's go to your place instead."
The change in his expression is immediate. Surprise giving way to heat, to intent. "Are you sure?"
Am I?
No.
Yes.
Maybe. I'm sure that I want him. I'm sure that I'm tired of wondering. I'm sure that whatever happens next, I'm done pretending this is just a professional relationship.
"I'm sure," I say, and mean it.
* * *
We arrive back at Jeremy’s place in what seems like no time at all. "Wine?" he offers.
I nod, suddenly nervous. This was a terrible idea. What am I doing here? We haven't even signed the final contracts. We're still technically doing business together. This is unprofessional, reckless, potentially catastrophic for my career.
And yet… and yet, here I am. And, when he hands me the glass of wine, our fingers touch, and all those reservations fade beneath the electric current that jumps between us.
"You're overthinking," he says softly.
"How do you know what I'm thinking?"
His smile is gentle. "Because I know you, kitten. Always analyzing, always three steps ahead, always trying to protect yourself."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"No. It's what makes you successful." He sets down his own wine glass, moving closer. "But sometimes, it's okay to stop thinking. To just feel."
His hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing over my bottom lip. My breath catches.
"Tell me to stop," he murmurs. "Tell me this isn't what you want, and I'll back away. We'll have dinner, talk business, and I'll take you home. No harm done."
The out is there, offered freely. I could take it. Should take it.
Instead, I set down my untouched wine and step into him, my hand sliding up his chest to rest over his heart. "I don't want you to stop."
His kiss, when it finally comes, is gentle at first, but when I respond, pressing closer, his control slips. He groans against my mouth, his hands tightening on my waist, and suddenly there's nothing gentle about it.
Thirty years of wanting crashes through us. His hands are everywhere, relearning my body. Mine tug at his shirt, seeking skin. We stumble toward the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothing in our wake.
When he lays me down on his bed, he pauses, looking at me with a reverence that makes my breath catch.
"You're even more beautiful than I remembered," he whispers.
Then his mouth is on mine again, and I stop thinking. Stop analyzing. Stop worrying about tomorrow. For the first time in years, I just feel.
“I’m going to reclaim what is mine, kitten. I’m going to take you now and this time, I won’t be going anywhere. Do you understand? You’ve always been mine and I’m not going to let anything get between us again.”
I can’t think. I’m not sure I know what he’s saying. All I know is he’s stopped touching me and that won’t do. I reach for him.
“Tell me you understand.”
I’d tell him whatever he wanted to hear to quench this heat in me. “Yes, I understand.”
The sound that came from the back of his throat could only be described as a primal groan. His mouth crashes into mine again, the world beyond this moment fading into nothingness. The weight of him presses against me, heat radiating from his skin as I arch beneath him, desperate for more. Fingers entwine in my hair, pulling me closer, as if he's afraid I might slip away even now.
“Good,” he breathes against my lips, savoring the taste of my surrender like it is the sweetest nectar. “Now let Daddy show you what it means to be claimed.”
Daddy.
Am I imagining things? Did he just call himself Daddy? Before I have a chance to think about it, his hands are roughly, trailing down my sides to cup my hips, fingers digging in just enough to remind me of his strength. Every gasp escapes my mouth unbidden, fired by a hunger growing far beyond mere desire. With one hand, he captures my wrists and pins them above my head, his gaze dark with intent as he exhales a shaky breath, battling his own restraint.
“Stay still,” he commands softly, but the promise behind his words sends tremors through me. I can’t obey; all I can do is move beneath him, instinctively arching my back and begging for the friction of our bodies pressed together.
With a swift motion, he turns me over and slaps my ass, hard enough to make me cry out, before turning me back over. “I said, hold still,” he commands. As my pussy weeps with desire, he shifts his weight and captures both my wrists in one hand while the other travels downwards, tracing the curve of my body with deliberate slowness. Each touch ignites a fire that spreads through my veins; every brush of his fingertips amplifies the need coiling in my core.
“You’ll learn that if you obey me, you get rewarded. And if you don’t…” He stops touching me, and glares down with a stern look. “Well, let's just say, naughty girls don’t get to come. And you want to come, don’t you, kitten?”
“Yes. Please!”
“Yes, what, princess?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“What a good girl. Such a good girl,” he murmurs, almost reverent as he dips his head low, trailing kisses along my neck. “I’ve waited too long for this.” His words burrow deep within me and stir something primal, something that thrums with urgency. A need to reclaim not just what was lost but to unleash every lingering ember that had been smothered by time and distance.
“Jeremy,” I gasp, tugging against his hold as urgency claws at me. “Please…”
He looks up then, those heated eyes searching mine for something deeper. “Tell me you want this,” he growls.
“I want you.” The declaration escapes before I can pull it back.
"Then I’m going to give you everything I have," he vows with fierce intensity before entering me with a slow, long thrust. “I'm going to remind you just how good it feels to be mine. And make sure you never want to be anything but.” The room fills with the sounds of our desire, moans, gasps, the frantic rhythm of flesh meeting flesh, as I drown myself completely in him. He is relentless with his thrusts, making sure I feel every single inch of him inside of me.
As the pressure mounts inside me, spiraling outwards until I'm breathless and raw with the need for release, I know there’s no going back now.
“I want to hear you,” he insists, pulling away slightly so that I can see the fierce determination in his eyes. “I want you to remember what we are and who you belong to. Now orgasm for me. Come for me, kitten. Come now.” With the command, he reaches between us and rubs my clit. It pushes me over the top.
I can’t hold back the scream that rips from me as the orgasm tears through my body. He’s thrusting again, and I feel him still over me before he joins me in pure bliss.
Later, much later, as we lie tangled in his sheets, his hand tracing lazy patterns on my bare back, he asks, "Regrets?"
I consider the question seriously. Do I regret crossing this line? Do I regret giving in to what I've wanted since the moment he walked back into my life?
"No," I answer honestly. "No regrets." But, I had to be honest with myself. One night in bed was definitely not the cure to get Jeremy out of my head… or my heart.
His smile is slow and satisfied. "Good. Because I plan on doing that again. And again. And again."
The promise sends a shiver through me.
"The contracts," I murmur, reality intruding. "We still haven't signed everything."
"Tomorrow," he says, pulling me closer. "Business tomorrow. Tonight is just us."
Us.
The word holds so much promise, so much danger.
I should clarify what this means. Set boundaries. Protect myself.
Instead, I curl into his warmth and let myself hope.
* * *
The next morning, I wake to sunlight streaming through enormous windows and the smell of coffee. Jeremy is already up, moving around the kitchen in just a pair of gray sweatpants, his back to me as he prepares breakfast.
For a moment, I just watch him. The play of muscles beneath tanned skin, the confident efficiency of his movements, he’s gotten older, we both have, but he’s just as attractive as he was when we were in our early twenties. It feels surreal being here. Waking up in Jeremy Ford's bed after thirty years of telling myself I was over him.
My phone chimes and as I pick it up, I notice three missed calls from my assistant and a text that makes my blood run cold.
Gloria: 911. Break-in at the Richardson listing. Police on scene. Need you ASAP.
"Shit," I mutter, scrolling through more texts with a growing alarm. The Richardson property is a seven million dollar estate I've been trying to sell for months. According to my assistant, someone broke in overnight, vandalized the place, and stole artwork worth millions.
I scramble for my clothes, my heart racing. I'd shown the property yesterday morning but had I remembered to set the alarm when I’d left? Lock all the doors? I always do. It's second nature, but yesterday I'd been distracted, thinking about the walk-through with Jeremy, about what might happen after…
"Everything okay?" Jeremy asks, appearing in the doorway with coffee.
"No," I say, pulling on my wrinkled blouse. "There was a break-in at one of my listings. I need to get there now."
He sets down the coffee, immediately shifting into problem-solving mode. "I'll drive you. Give me two minutes to change."
"You don't have to?—"
"I’m going to drive you, kitten," he says in a stern, no nonsense voice, and disappears into his closet.
True to his word, he's dressed and ready in minutes, keys in hand. The drive to the Richardson estate is tense, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios. My reputation, my career, my professional standing could all be potentially damaged if I made a careless mistake.
When we arrive, the scene is worse than I imagined. Police cars, crime scene tape, my white-faced assistant pacing the driveway.
"Gina, thank god," Gloria says when I approach. "The police have been asking questions. They want to know who had access and when it was last checked..."
"I'll handle it," I assure her, though my stomach is in knots. "What happened, exactly?"
As she fills me in, the pit in my stomach grows. Someone used the code to disable the security system. The back door had been unlocked. Nothing was broken. No windows, no forceful entry. Whoever did this had access.
When the detective approaches, his questions confirm my worst fears.
"You were the last person in the property yesterday, correct?"
I nod, my mouth dry. "Around noon."
"And you're certain you set the alarm and locked all doors before leaving?"
Am I certain? I always do. It's routine. But yesterday... yesterday, I'd been distracted. A text from Jeremy about our walk-through. Plans for after. I remember rushing, thinking about him, about us…
"I..." I hesitate, and that's enough.
The detective's expression hardens slightly. "Ms. Long, in properties of this value, security protocols are essential. If negligence can be established?—"
"She wasn't negligent," Jeremy interrupts, stepping forward. He rests one hand on the small of my back, reassuring. I hadn't even realized he'd followed me from the car. "I was with Ms. Long after she left this property yesterday. She specifically mentioned setting the alarm. I remember because she made a comment about the artwork's value."
It's a lie. A smooth, confident lie delivered with such conviction that even I almost believe it. I’m concerned with how easy it falls from his lips. Appreciative, but concerned.
The detective looks between us, then makes a note in his pad. "I'll need formal statements from both of you. And Ms. Long, the owners will want to speak with you directly."
After he walks away, I turn to Jeremy. "You didn't have to do that."
"Yes, I did." His eyes are serious. "This wasn't your fault, Gina. Someone clearly gained access after you left."
But what if it was my fault? What if I did forget, distracted by thoughts of him? The implications are too awful to contemplate. Not only on my wallet, I don’t even want to think what the insurance deductible would be, but also for my reputation, my career.
"I need to stay here," I say. "Deal with this."
Jeremy nods, understanding. "Call me when you're done. I'll come get you."
As he turns to leave, he brushes a kiss against my temple. It’s a gesture of support, of solidarity. It should comfort me. Instead, it leaves me cold.
Because if I did make a mistake, it was because of him. Because he's distracting me, clouding my judgment, making me careless. There’s a reason I’ve been closed off all these years. A reason I don’t get involved. My career is what is important to me. Relationships are a distraction.
And that's something I can't afford to be.