Chapter 25 #2
I deliver the revised pitch, incorporating her changes, and it flows better. Feels more authentic. More me. When I finish, I look at her expectantly.
“Better?” I ask.
“Much,” she says, a small, satisfied smile playing at her lips. “It’s actually good now. You’re good.”
“We’re good,” I correct her. “This was a team effort.”
She rolls her eyes, but the smile remains. “Fine. We’re good.”
“Okay,” I say, setting the tablet down on the massive boardroom table. “That’s... actually a lot better.” I turn to face her fully, taking a step closer, unable to stop myself. “You’re good at this.”
“I know,” she says, her voice not quite steady as I take another step, closing the space between us.
“You know,” I say, my voice dropping low without my input, “I still owe you for the help.” I lift a hand, my knuckles gently brushing her cheek, sending a visible shiver through her. “How do you feel about neck kisses as a form of payment?”
I start to lean in, my gaze dropping to her mouth. Her lips part slightly, her breathing shallow. I can smell the subtle change in her scent. A warming, a sweetening that signals her arousal. The air between us feels electric, as if I could shock myself at any moment.
“You don’t owe me anything,” she whispers, but her eyes have gone dark, her gaze dropping to my mouth.
That’s all the invitation I need.
I close the distance between us, my mouth capturing hers in a kiss that is a pure, unadulterated release of all the tension that has been building between us for days.
She makes a small, surprised sound, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, her hands come up to grip my shoulders, her fingers digging in as she answers the kiss with a hesitant, then hungry, passion of her own.
I groan, my own hands sliding down her back, grabbing her hips, and pulling her flush against me. I want her to feel exactly what she does to me, the hard, insistent proof of my arousal pressing against her stomach. I grind against her, just once, a low, possessive growl rumbling in my chest.
She moans into my mouth, her body melting against mine, and I know I’m seconds away from losing control completely. Seconds away from lifting her onto this million-dollar boardroom table and showing her exactly what “mutual benefit” looks like.
It’s that thought, that raw edge of my own control snapping, that seems to jolt her back to reality.
Just as my mouth leaves hers to trail a line of hot kisses down her throat, her hand comes up, pressing the tips of her fingers gently but firmly against my lips.
I freeze, my entire body humming with a frustrated, electric energy. Her touch is a soft, infuriating barrier. Her eyes, when I meet them, are still dark, dilated, and full of the same hunger I’m feeling. But there’s a new, sharp glimmer of control in them.
“Tristan,” she says, her voice a whisper, even as her other hand is still clutching my shirt. “Wait.”
The words are ripped from my throat, a low, rough growl. “Wait for what?”
“This,” she says, her fingers still pressed against my mouth. “This... is just for now. For fun. A temporary arrangement until the gallery situation is sorted out. Until you guys figure out the static thing. That’s all this can be.”
She’s lying. I can see it in the flush spreading across her cheeks, feel it in the slight tremor of her fingers against my lips. Her body is betraying her words, leaning toward me even as she tries to maintain distance.
I search her eyes, and I know she can see that I see through her. A slow, knowing smirk touches my lips. I don’t pull back from her hand. Instead, I lean into her touch, my lips closing around the very tip of her index finger.
I feel her entire body jolt as I drag my tongue across the sensitive skin of her fingertip.
I taste her. And fuck, I’m aching.
I release her finger and watch as her eyes flutter closed, her resolve completely shattering.
“Right,” I murmur, my voice a low, rumbling purr.
“Right,” she breathes back.
My phone suddenly buzzes, the sound loud in the quiet boardroom as it vibrates against the table. I ignore it, but then it vibrates again. And again.
The spell is broken. With a sigh of annoyance, I pull back and glance at the screen. Three text messages, all from Rett.
Head home NOW.
Static’s back. Bad.
Need Zoe close.
The heat drains away.
“What is it?” she asks, her own face paling at my expression.
“It’s the pack,” I say, and my own voice sounds hollow. I run a hand through my curls. “We, uh, we need to head back.”
“Is everything okay?” she asks, her brow furrowed with concern. “Is it the static?”
I look at her, at her wide, worried eyes, at the way her hand is still half-raised as if to touch my lips again, and the lie I’m supposed to tell sticks in my throat.
I should say yes. I should make it about the static.
That’s the deal. Her presence for our relief.
Her safety for our sanity. A clean, simple transaction.
But it’s not simple anymore. It’s not clean. The thought of taking her back to the penthouse not because I want her, but because my brothers need her as some kind of... biological cure... it makes me feel sick.
“Yeah,” I finally manage to say, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. “They, uh... they need you.”
She doesn’t argue. She doesn’t hesitate. She just gives a small, determined nod that makes something in my chest ache. “Okay,” she says. “Let’s go.”
The elevator ride down is silent. I place my hand at the small of her back to guide her, the gesture feeling both instinctive and profoundly dishonest.
“It’ll be okay,” she says quietly as we walk through the empty lobby. “We’ll figure it out.”
We. Not you. We.
And despite the sour taste in my mouth, despite the lie that is sitting like a stone in my gut, I can’t help the small, fierce flare of hope that ignites in my chest at that single word.
Maybe this arrangement isn’t what she thinks it is.
And maybe, just maybe, I’m starting to wish it wasn’t an arrangement at all.