17. High Above Seattle
17
HIGH ABOVE SEATTLE
CONNOR
Night has fully settled over Seattle by the time my helicopter touches down on Clearwater Tech's private helipad. The spring air is crisp, carrying the scent of cherry blossoms and possibility, and I can't stop looking at the woman beside me.
Ariana's dark hair is windblown from the flight, her cocoa-brown eyes bright with adventure, and every vein in my body seems to heat every time she glances my way.
"So," she says as we exit the helicopter, "which way to your normal-person office?"
I hesitate. "Actually..."
She raises an eyebrow. "Actually?"
"Maybe I could show you something else first?"
"More helicopters?"
"Better." I offer my hand. "Trust me?"
She takes it without hesitation, and that simple gesture undoes me more than any kiss.
"Fair warning," I say as I lead her to a private elevator, "this might change your opinion of me."
"Because you have a secret lair? "
"Because I have a very obvious lair." I press my thumb to the biometric scanner. "Complete with all the billionaire clichés."
The elevator opens directly into my private floor, and I watch Ariana's expression shift from teasing to astonished.
"Holy shit."
Floor-to-ceiling windows showcase Seattle's twinkling skyline, the Space Needle glowing like a man-made star. The open-concept space flows from living area to office to what's technically a "meditation pool" but is really just my attempt at justifying a rooftop infinity edge to the board.
"This is..." She steps inside, turning slowly. "This is where you actually work?"
"Live, sometimes." I follow her in. "When meetings run late or I need to avoid my mother's attempts at crystal healing."
"You live here?"
"Only when necessary." I gesture to a door. "Bedroom, bathroom, kitchen. The basics."
"The basics," she repeats faintly. "Right. Because everyone has a rooftop pool forty stories above Seattle."
"It's for stress relief."
"Sure it is." But she's biting on her bottom lip. "Just like the movie screen is for 'virtual conferencing'?"
"Actually, that one's just because I like old movies."
She wanders to the windows, pressing a hand to the glass. "It's beautiful."
"Yes, it is.” But I'm not looking at the view.
She catches me staring. "What?"
"Nothing." I move closer. "Just... enjoying the perspective."
"The perspective of watching me gawk at your secret billionaire pad?"
"The perspective of watching you be you." I reach for her, then stop myself. "Do you know how rare that is? People who are just... genuine?"
She turns to face me. "Connor... "
"Everyone wants something." The words rush out before I can stop them. "My father wants his legacy. The board wants security. And I guess… they all mean well, but they're all part of this world. This reality where everyone plays their part."
"And I don't?"
"You've never played any part except yourself." I step closer. "Even in Vegas, drunk and ridiculous, you were real. Genuine. Completely yourself."
"Maybe that's why we got married," she says softly. "Because drunk-me recognized something in drunk-you."
"What's that?"
"Someone else who's tired of playing parts."
Her words hit deeper than she realizes. Maybe deeper than I want to admit.
"Ariana..."
She closes the distance, rising onto her toes, her breath a whisper against my lips. "Tell me you haven't thought about this since that night."
I exhale sharply. "Every damn day."
Her fingers slide into my hair, and it's over. Whatever control I thought I had dissolves, and when our lips finally meet, it's like breathing for the first time.
The kiss is slow, deep, a confession in itself. My hands grip her waist, pulling her flush against me as I back her toward the floor-to-ceiling window. The world falls away—Seattle's glittering skyline, the distant hum of the city, even the gravity keeping me tethered to the life I've always known.
I lift her, and her legs wrap around my waist like they belong there. Like she belongs there. The city spreads out behind her, a galaxy of lights that can't compete with the way she looks right now—flushed and wanting and absolutely perfect.
"You're staring," she whispers .
“That’s because my beautiful…wife looks like a goddamn meal.”
Her breath catches. “You’re not playing fair with that word.”
“Never pretended to be.”
She traces the line of my jaw, and I fight the urge to pull back. To maintain distance. To keep that last bit of a boundary that's always kept me safe.
“I can hear your thoughts from here,” she murmurs.
"Force of habit."
Her gaze narrows. “What are you afraid of, Connor Reeves?”
Everything. Nothing. The way you make me want to let go.
Instead of answering, I kiss her again. Because this - this physical connection - it's easier than admitting how terrifying it is to want someone this much. To need someone this much.
To risk being left again.
Breaking the kiss, I stare at her. “You want me to be honest?”
“I wouldn’t have asked, if I didn’t.”
I force down a swallow. “I’m thinking of how royally fucked up I am. How I’ve built more fences around myself than the goddamn Pentagon. And how you’re…”
"Yours?"
The word stops me in my tracks.
She was right about me before. So were the guys. Because I don’t do this.
Connor Reeves doesn’t do relationships.
He’s never wanted to be owned. Never wanted to own anyone.
Until now.
I grip Ariana’s nape, meeting her eye. “Yes, sweetheart. You are.”
She kisses me again, and everything else falls away. The IPO, the investors, every line I’ve drawn in the sand—none of it matters. Nothing matters except the way she feels in my arms, the soft sounds she makes as I press her against the glass, the way she whispers my name like a prayer.
I set her down, her back still against the glass, and begin to undress her slowly, savoring every inch of skin I reveal. Her blouse falls open, and I push it aside, revealing her lace-covered breasts.
I’ll never get sick of seeing her like this. Never stop appreciating the sexy sight of Ariana Bristol coming apart.
I soak it in—the vision of her, the softness of her skin, the scent of her body—before I lean in, capturing one pebbled nipple in my mouth.
Through the lace, I lick it with my tongue, listening to her soft gasp. In my arms, Ariana arches her back, pressing herself closer to me—enough for me to switch between her tear-drop tits. Enough for me to kiss and nip and suck at each as she writhes against the glass.
I’m the luckiest goddamn man in the world. Because I’ve captured a siren.
A woman who wholly matches me for intellect and humor. A woman who stimulates my mind as much as she does my cock.
And speaking of my cock…
I can’t stop it from hardening, stop it from pushing up towards my stomach as I unzip her skirt, letting it fall to the floor.
Now in nothing but lace panties, Ariana steps gently to the floor. Lowering to my knees, I hook my fingers into the waistband of the lacy underwear, slowly slipping them down her legs. Revealing her inch by inch.
The second they hit the Italian marble, she steps out of them, kicking them aside.
Fuck, she is a sight. Standing before me. In nothing but a bra, her back pressed against the glass .
I take a moment to just look at her, to appreciate the sight of her presented before me. Her skin is flushed, her breaths heavy. And her inner thighs are already slick with her arousal.
"Connor," she moans, her hands tangling in my hair. "Please..."
I know what she wants, what she needs.
Nuzzling my nose between her legs, I inhale the smell of her arousal, and Jesus Christ, she smells sweet.
"Spread your legs for me, baby," I say softly. "Let me taste you."
She does as I ask, and I nearly come on the spot.
The glistening folds of her sex make my mouth water, and I can't wait any longer. I lean in and run my tongue along the length of her slit, from her entrance all the way up to her clit.
She cries out, her hips bucking against my mouth as I repeat the motion, licking and sucking at her sensitive flesh.
"Oh god, Connor," she gasps, her voice breathless and desperate. "That feels so good..."
I can barely hear her.
I’m too busy exploring the shape of her clit with my tongue. Too busy stroking and licking her and tasting her. Until she is practically a puddle in my hands.
Her moans fill the air, her body writing against the glass as she chases her release.
"Don't stop," she begs. "Please don't stop..."
Stopping is the last thing on my mind right now. And I let my mouth show it.
I devour Ariana. I press my face further between her legs, sucking clit between my lips, lapping her with my tongue until she can’t take any more.
Until she can barely stand.
Until her legs are trembling, her fingertips shaking, her thighs quaking.
Until she comes right on my face .
And I don’t stop. I lick her until she can’t be licked anymore. Until she collapses against the glass, her body damn near boneless.
Only then do I stand up, capturing her lips in a fierce kiss as I press her back against the glass.
"Connor…” she whispers.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Please fuck me. Please..."
I glance down. I’m fully dressed. And she’s still naked.
But I don't need to hear another word.
Reaching for my wallet, I slip out the one condom that’s inside. I can barely reach for my belt buckle before she’s unfastening and throwing it aside.
Ariana takes over, reaching inside my boxer briefs and wrapping her hand around my already-stone hard cock.
With my name still a whisper on her lips, she rolls the rubber on, and I hiss as she covers me to my base.
“You’re awfully good at that,” I tease.
She smiles, brown eyes hazy. “I have a good motivator.”
With one hand, she guides me to her entrance. I can feel the heat of her, the slickness of her arousal, and it takes every ounce of my self-control not to thrust into her right then and there.
Instead, I kiss her nose. “Are you ready?”
She licks her bottom lip and the surface shines. “I don’t think I’ve been ready for anything more in my life.”
I grin. “Good answer.”
Without hesitation, I lift Ariana back in my arms, cupping my palms under her rounded ass. With one stroke, I thrust into her in one smooth motion, burying myself to the hilt in her tight, wet heat.
We both moan. And I have to pause for a moment to collect myself .
She feels incredible, her body gripping me tightly as I begin to move, thrusting in and out of her in a steady rhythm. She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper, meeting each of my thrusts with one of her own.
The glass is cool against her back, a stark contrast to the heat of our bodies as we move together.
For us, this is just another dance—one where we know all the steps.
"Oh god, Connor," she cries out, and I can no longer control myself.
I pound her, pushing her against the glass.
"Come for me, Ariana,” I murmur against her skin. “Let that pretty pussy squeeze me.”
The words are like a bolt of lightning. Ariana comes, her body clenching and convulsing around mine.
For me, it’s enough. And too much.
Her orgasm milks my own from me, and I come with a groan, spilling myself deep inside her as currents of pure ecstasy shoot through my every vein. I press her back against the glass, holding her tightly as the waves continue to crash, leaving us spent and sated.
I can barely stand by the time I pick Ariana up again. The walk to my bedroom is short, the sheets soft as I pile us both on top of them.
We’re both asleep within seconds.
Later—much later—when we lie tangled in sheets, her head on my chest, I try not to stare at her sleeping form. Try not to let my heart beat any harder.
I fail. The city glows beyond the windows, but I can't take my eyes off her.
Ariana Bristol Reeves is fucking gorgeous. And sensual. And smart.
And mine .
I’m still staring at her when she slowly stirs awake, her doe-like brown eyes rising to meet mine where we lay.
“Connor…” she murmurs.
“Good morning,” I tease. “Or, rather, good night.”
“How long have you been awake?”
“A while.”
“You seem worried.”
I shake my head. “Not worried. Thinking.”
“And what are you thinking?" Her hand strays to the growing erection between my legs. “Other than the obvious.”
"That I'm in trouble."
She props herself up on an elbow. "Because of the IPO?"
"Because of you." I brush hair from her face, rolling her beneath me. “And speaking of being in trouble…” I capture her hands, pinning them above her head. “Trouble implies uncertainty."
"And you're very certain?"
"About you?" I kiss her neck. "Absolutely."
She arches against me. "Prove it."
So I do.
Much, much later, I watch her sleep, moonlight painting silver across her skin. She's curled into me like she belongs there, like this is exactly where she's meant to be, and something in my chest aches with the rightness of it.
I've spent every day for the last twenty-something years avoiding this. Closeness. Betrayal. Having someone turn their back. Or—in James’ case—completely losing them.
But maybe...
Maybe it's time to let someone in.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand:
DAD VADER: Board meeting emergency. 7 AM.
DAD VADER: Don't be late.
DAD VADER: And don't bring distractions.
I look at Ariana, peaceful in sleep, and make a decision .
For the first time in my life, I ignore my father's message.
Instead, I pull Ariana closer, breathing in the vanilla scent of her hair, and let myself imagine a future where boundaries isn't everything.
Where she is.