Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
Bree
I didn't imagine a dinner would get me so entangled with a billionaire.
Ever since that night two weeks ago, I've seen Sam practically every day. We hunkered down in his penthouse for the first week, the two of us working from home while I soaked up the security of his embrace and his lavish home. We didn't have to step a foot outside—food was brought to our door for every meal along with anything else I might have desired. At first, I was quite shaken, but that whole unpleasantness was soon forgotten.
How could I think of anything else but Sam?
He tended to my wounds until I was ready to go back home after another week, but just as quickly as I was gone, I was invited back, but not to his penthouse.
"I really should focus more on the piece my editor handed me. I can't do that in the love nest we made of your place," I whispered into the phone, kicking my feet up into the air as I thought of every place he had me. The healing that he gave me was very much physical.
"I'm not asking you to come back here," Sam insisted, his low voice over the phone making me yearn for his mouth on me at once. "I know the perfect place for you to write. Or if you don't want the inspiration, don't mind me?—"
"No, I do!" I perked up immediately. I was having a hell of a time with writer's block, and thoughts of Sam every waking second weren't helping.
It's not all his fault, though. My editor is requesting a miracle out of me. A beloved pop princess took to social media in the dead of night to post a positive pregnancy test. But in the now-deleted post, she claimed it was a young actor's baby. The problem is the actor is married—and not to her. Everyone is going crazy trying to figure out what this all means, when the affair started, how far along she is, how the wife is reacting, you name it. But no one is speaking about it, not a soul. I've reached out to everyone I can think of who could be related, anyone who might have insight, but someone on the PR team is working overtime to keep everyone's lips sealed, no doubt preparing their own story.
Too bad my editor still wants details that no one else has published.
"I'll send my driver to come pick you up," Sam said, and I was too curious to deny him.
That was a couple of hours ago, and now I'm sitting in his downtown loft, still marveling at the space.
I initially arrived outside of a fairly unassuming brick building that towered into the sky. I blinked up at it, not wanting to judge it by its cover. All the buildings around don't really indicate what's inside, giving off a kind of warehouse vibe. I didn't imagine it would be super cozy in there.
But when Sam opened up the door, my jaw hit the floor.
It was a huge loft space drenched in natural afternoon light. Wide floor-to-ceiling windows revealed an inner yard of waving flowers and tall swaying trees, their leaves orange and red. It was a beautiful natural space, and the interior of the loft seemed like it was designed to let you enjoy the view.
The wood floor was covered in different area rugs, the most notable—and largest—being a brown fluffy one that stretched across the living space. But when I set my purse down and slipped out of my heels, not wanting to get the rugs dirty, I could feel that the floors were heated through the narrow rug near the door.
So the rugs were just there to make the open space cozier?
I was pulled in by how inviting it was. The cold brick walls were tamed by accents of vibrant green plants. The staircase at the far right end of the room had a luscious tumble of leaves on every other step, all the way up, and smaller plants perched on the wooden tables that separate the comfy couches and rest next to the couch arms. There were bookcases, a desk next to the window that looked out into the garden, and overstuffed pillows sitting on the couches. It's like every inch of the place was painstakingly arranged to maximize comfort—I haven't even seen the sleeping space up the stairs.
"Sam…" I gushed out, peering up at the sky-high ceilings. "What is this place?"
Behind me, Sam cleared his throat. I looked back to see him scratching the back of his neck, his head dipped forward so that wisps of his black hair swung into his face.
"This is just one of the places I crash at when I'm downtown. I wanted a little hideaway from the office, something that still feels productive."
He said it so casually, but I didn't even want to think about how much this place cost. But more than that?—
"You have other places?"
"Yeah," he replied simply. "I'd like to show them to you. Do you like it here?"
He looked nervous when he asked me, and all I could do was incredulously look around.
The place is perfect. I want to stay and write here forever, but after I settled down on one of the couches and started gazing out the window, I realized even a beautiful setting like this won't help me write a story that doesn't exist.
I sigh heavily, tapping the side of my laptop and staring at the blank white screen.
"I don't hear you typing," Sam calls from the stairs as he makes his way down.
I look up, and he's looking casual in a pair of black sweatpants and a loose gray tee. I hungrily take in his defined arms and imagine them wrapping around me. I practically spent two whole weeks in his arms.
"Well?" he prompts me when I don't reply.
I sigh again and kick my foot at nothing. "There's nothing to write. I don't know what my editor is expecting out of me. I guess she wants me to say everything in a different way, but I just can't think of an angle to tackle this from."
Sam drops down heavily beside me on the couch and nods, appearing to think over my dilemma. But then he shrugs and cracks a grin.
"What can you do, then?" He starts walking his fingertips over my bare leg, heading for my knee.
"That's what I'm trying to figure out." I watch his fingertips walk over my knee.
His eyes flick to mine, then back down again. "Maybe it'll come to you if you sleep on it. Did you know people often get eureka moments from their dreams?"
Now his fingers are tracing the hem of my green dress, tickling me slightly. I fight off a smile and shake my head.
"No, I didn't know that. You're saying all I need to do is go to sleep, and my problems will be solved?"
"I don't think that's what I'm saying," he muses, cocking his head to the side as he dips his fingers toward my inner thigh. "I'm saying that inspiration can come from all kinds of places. If you're trying to force it, you won't get anywhere."
I'm only half listening to his little pep talk. My mind hooks on the roughness of his fingers, and suddenly, I'm picturing that roughness on my softness. It's getting warmer between my legs, and he's looking at me like he's not stoking my fire.
"I should stop trying to force it, then?" I ask as I set my laptop on the floor and look into his eyes, finding them blazing with intent.
He playfully pries my thighs apart and immediately moves his body between my legs before I can close them again. His scent engulfs me, and I breathe him in as he leans in close, his eyes now on my lips.
"You should do what feels right," he whispers.
"I'm not feeling much of anything at all right now," I tease, even though his fingers are slipping over my panties, teasing my clit through the cotton.
His light touch makes my breath hitch, which I try to cover up. It's his turn to grin now, his lips still hovering tantalizingly close to mine. Oh, I want to taste him, feel his bare abs, test the hardness of him.
My lids flutter low as he strokes me nice and slow, the sweetness of his breath rushing over my face. Just watching me is getting him hard. In moments like these, he gives me the control.
I throw my head back and let out a soft, low moan, and that's all it takes to break the pretense. His lips are on my throat at once, his hand down my panties so he can touch me directly. He groans once he finds me wet and waiting and easily slides along my clit.
I take in a slow breath as I relax into the pleasure, letting him take me away from the moment. I want to be in the palm of his hand, allowing him to build me up so I can spill over. Suddenly, this is all I want, to be here with Sam in sweet bliss.
His hot tongue lashes over my neck and up to my ear, and I cry out as he plunges a finger into my tight hole. He's inside me, curling up to that sensitive part and stroking while making me squirm with his tongue and lips.
"I could spend all day like this," he whispers urgently into my ear. "Making you so fucking wet, listening to all the little sounds you make. You're so fucking sexy, Bree."
I shudder beneath him, pulling him closer and working my hips on his finger. He slips another one in, slowly, then starts pounding at my G-spot. I gasp and cling to him, spreading wide to let him fingerfuck me as hard as he wants.
"Fuck, Sam, just like that!"
"Yeah, you want me to make you come like this?" he whispers, his teeth catching my earlobe.
"Yes, like that!" I call out through moans as he fingerfucks me harder.
I'm getting close, fast, and I can hear how wet I am, how lewd it sounds. This is how hot Sam gets me.
"Make me come, Sam, make me come," I start chanting under my breath, my eyes tightly shut.
"Come for me, Bree. Come on my fingers, that's it, come for me!"
"Yes! Yes!"
Suddenly, I seize around his fingers, my arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders. My hips buck, and I come hard, but he doesn't stop. He's wringing the orgasm out of me, still encouraging in my ear until I scream, giving everything I have. His low chuckle fills my ears, an approving sound that surrounds me as I catch my breath.
"You came hard, didn't you?" Sam finally asks, his fingers stopping to stroke me gently.
I twitch with every movement of his and have to push at his hand, still in a daze. As I thought, his palm is slick with my juices. When I look up into his face, he's grinning, looking accomplished.
"Don't look so happy!" I chastise playfully, feeling light all over my body. "Shit, that was a big one."
"You liked it?"
Sam places a kiss on my lips, light and sweet, then stands up and heads to the kitchen. I sigh contentedly and press my face against the couch, feeling warm and relaxed. I could easily return the favor or even just have a quick nap here on the couch?—
I jolt up suddenly.
This is not what I came here for.
I look down at my forgotten laptop on the floor and groan. I initially left his penthouse to get more work done, but here I am, fooling around still. And my deadline is only getting closer.
"Ready to keep going?" Sam asks as he walks back into the living space.
"I actually do have work to do, you know," I snap, regretting it immediately. I sigh and rub my face, trying to get rid of the irritation. "I'm sorry. This isn't what I came here for."
Sam raises his hands in the air, his eyebrows lifting in surprise.
"Is there anything—" he starts, but I cut him off.
"I need to go. This isn't going to work out. I can't be distracted right now." I pick my laptop off the floor, annoyed I set it aside in the first place, and get off the couch. "When I finish writing this article, we can hang out again. Until then, I really need to focus."
"Do what you need to," Sam says, suddenly short.
His tone gives me pause, and I realize I'm taking this out on him. He was just trying to help.
"Hey, I'm sor?—"
An angry chime interrupts me, and we both look at my wrist. Companion is flashing red, a sign that it's failed to sync. I frown and walk over to retrieve my phone from my purse by the door, wondering if the app will give a specific error code. It's probably having an issue giving me the prompt to classify the heart rate-spiking activity I just engaged in. I grin to myself. I've been logging every time we have sex, and since we started dating, I haven't been masturbating, which is out of the ordinary. I had been grabbing Companion's app like every day, telling it I was touching myself yet again.
It's nice to share with Companion that I've been getting laid regularly.
When I open the app, it's just a generic sync error, something I haven't seen before. I toggle the Bluetooth connection on and off, but that doesn't clear it.
"What's up?" Sam asks.
"Oh, sorry!" I realize I've just been sitting here in silence for five minutes. "My Companion is having trouble connecting…" I murmur, wondering if I'll have to reboot the device itself.
"Huh, our new update was just pushed out, I wonder if that has anything to do with it," Sam says to himself, walking over to me to look into the app. "Yeah, I think you'll have to uninstall the app, then reinstall it."
"Our app?" I repeat, looking up at him with confusion. "Are you?—"
By the look on Sam's face, I know I don't have to finish my question. He looks like he stepped in something. He clears his throat, indicating he's not comfortable answering the question, but speaks anyway.
"I'm one of the lead developers for Companion," he admits, not meeting my eyes.
"No way, really? Dude, I love this thing! It's hugely popular!" I slap him on the arm, unable to believe he's one of the guys behind the tracker.
"I know. I didn't think it'd get this big," he says shortly, looking uncomfortable. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."
"That's okay. It's not like we've been doing a lot of talking, anyway."
Then it hits me that I'm just about to leave after having an orgasm on the couch, right after he asked about us continuing. I sigh, feeling guilty, and rub at my face again. I don't know what to do. I want to stay and smooth things over, but at the same time, not making any progress on this article is driving me crazy.
"I'll see you later, then," Sam says, nodding toward the door. He gives a brief smile, then turns away, heading to the staircase.
"Oh, uh…" He's suddenly so cold that I don't know what to say. "M-maybe I could stay another hour or so," I offer, feeling defeated.
"Nah, you said you need to get some work done. I don't want to distract you. Sorry about that." He sounds detached and doesn't bother looking over his shoulder at me. "Text me when you can, I understand."
Does he? Is he mad about me snapping at him?
I feel helpless at the door, and I want to go after him, but he's already leaving the room.
I slip on my heels without another word, feeling confused. I want to call after him and apologize properly, but I get the feeling that it's too late. And why wouldn't I feel that way? It's not like we're officially dating. He's a developer for Companion. I bet he has girls lining up, waiting to have a chance at him.
We're no longer in the same room, so I don't say goodbye. I just slip out the front door and into the cold late afternoon.
Did I just fuck this up?