Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty Eight
Nico
As the elevator climbs, I stare at my reflection in the brushed metal.
I adjust my cuffs out of habit and tell myself I’m restless because it’s a Monday, because there’s a lot of work to do.
But that’s not it.
It’s the first day Erica’s back.
While her father was in the hospital, I spent every night at Erica’s. We never even spoke about it or planned it. It’s just the way it was. Every evening, I went to her house, and we spent the night together. Every morning, I went off to work, and she went to the hospital.
Then her dad came home, and she took a few more days than originally planned to get him settled in with the new equipment set up in their living room, to meet the new nurse, to adjust to the new schedule.
I haven’t seen her since he was discharged.
And typically, that wouldn’t bother me.
A woman disappears for a few days, a few weeks—fine. The world keeps turning. I keep moving. I don’t itch. Like something under my skin that won’t let me forget it’s there.
In my head.
In my hands.
The elevator dings.
The doors slide open, and I step out into the entry area of Conti Operations. A small hall takes me to where my office sits back from the main flow. I like it this way. Less foot traffic. Less noise. Less curiosity.
I round the corner.
And there she is.
Erica is at her desk outside my door, shoulders squared, posture straight, hair down and smooth like she took her time with it this morning.
She’s in a fitted blouse that makes it clear she’s back in work mode, but it doesn’t hide what it can’t hide.
Long legs tucked under the desk. A throat I’ve kissed.
A mouth I’ve had to stop myself from thinking about all week.
She looks up as I approach and holds my gaze.
No flinch. No looking away. No hiding behind her monitor.
Something in my chest eases. I feel myself softening in a way that’s never happened to me before her. Relief, maybe. Or satisfaction. Or the simple fact that she’s here, alive, upright, and not breaking.
The part of the building that holds my office is quiet and isolated enough that people don’t just drift over here unless they have a reason to be here. And that’s by design.
Looking at Erica now, I’m grateful for it. I don’t care if anyone in this building knows I’ve been in her bed.
What are they going to do, report me to HR?
But she cares. It’s actually adorable.
Me? I just don’t care for the curiosity. The glances. The whispers. My private life is no one’s business, and I prefer to keep it that way.
I stop at her desk the way I always do, like this is just another day.
It is not.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning, Mr. Conti,” she says in that sultry voice of hers.
“Come in and see me when you have a moment, Erica.”
Her lips part.
“Yes, Sir.”
I imagine dragging her into my office and ordering her to strip for me.
I show none of this on my face.
I keep walking into my office and close the door behind me.
A few minutes later, there’s a soft knock.
“Come in.”
The door opens, and Erica slips inside. She closes it behind her and locks it without being told.
She stands in front of the shut door and watches me, not saying a word.
I crook a finger.
No hesitation, she comes around my desk, heels quiet on the polished floor, stopping in front of me close enough that I can smell the perfume she put on this morning. Something deceptively innocent.
I catch her wrist and pull her in.
She lands in my lap with a soft, surprised sound, hands bracing on my shoulders.
I cup the back of her head and take her mouth.
It’s a consuming kiss that’s both a greeting and a claim. She makes a small yearning sound into my mouth and kisses me back just as hard, just as hungry, one of her hands sliding up my neck into my hair.
She’s here.
And she’s in my arms.
And she tastes exactly the way I remembered.
For the first morning in a week, the knot in my chest starts to loosen.
I pull back just enough to see her face.
Her pupils are wide, her lips swollen, her cheeks flushed.
She’s so fucking beautiful it makes my chest ache.
“Hi,” she says, her voice a little breathless.
I tighten my arm around her waist, pulling her closer.
“Welcome back,” I say.
A slow smile spreads across her face. “It’s good to be back.”
I trace her lower lip with my thumb, watching her breath catch.
“I missed you,” she whispers.
The words are so simple, so honest, they hit me like a punch to the chest.
I kiss her again, a hard, possessive kiss.
“I missed you too,” I say, and it’s the truest thing I’ve said all week.
I lean in and kiss her again, softer this time, savoring the feel of her lips, the taste of her, the simple fact of her here in my arms.
She melts against me, a soft, contented sigh escaping her lips.
“I was worried I’d forgotten how to do this,” she says, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw. “The normal stuff. Being here. Working.”
“And have you?” I ask.
She thinks about it for a second.
“No,” she decides, a small smile playing on her lips. “It’s like riding a bike. Except with better accessories.” She glances down at my tie and toys with it with her fingers. “I like this tie."
I look down at the navy silk with its subtle burgundy pattern. "Thank you." I still her wandering fingers and press her hand flat to my tie. "I think it would look even better wrapped around your wrists.”
Her breath hitches.
I slide my hand from her back to her hip, my fingers tracing the curve of her waist. I love the feel of her, the soft, warm weight of her in my lap.
"Or your throat," I add, my voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur.
Her eyes widen, and a flush spreads across her cheeks. She doesn't look scared. She looks intrigued.
And turned on.
My cock, which has been semi-hard since I saw her at her desk, goes rock solid.
I want her.
Right here. Right now.
On my desk. Against the wall. Bent over my chair.
I want to take her in a dozen different ways, a dozen different positions, until she’s a screaming, sobbing mess, until she can’t remember her own name.
And then I want to do it all over again.
The door is locked. The windows are private.
I slide my other hand up her thigh, pushing her skirt up with it.
Her breath hitches, and she looks at me with wide, trusting eyes.
“Mr. Conti,” she whispers, a hint of a question in her tone.
I like that.
I smile.
“Yes, Ms. Crawford?”
She licks her lips, a slow, sexy movement that has my cock throbbing.
“I was wondering,” she says, her voice a low, husky murmur. “If there’s anything… special you need me to do this morning?”
I slide my hand higher, my fingers brushing against the edge of her panties.
She gasps, her hips bucking, a small, involuntary movement.
“Oh, I think I can think of a few things,” I say, my voice a low, teasing purr. I dip my fingers beneath the lace, a fleeting touch that has her arching into my hand. "You're wet for me already."
She bites her lower lip and has my cock aching.
"I never stop," she whispers.
The confession hangs in the air between us, so raw, so honest, and so incredibly hot, it makes my head spin. She's not just playing a game. She's not just saying what she thinks I want to hear.
She's telling the truth.
And it’s the most goddamn beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.
I slide my fingers deeper, and she trembles, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
I find the hard, sensitive nub of her clit already slick with her arousal.
I circle it with my thumb with a light pressure that has her arching into my hand for more, her head thrown back, a low, throaty moan escaping her lips.
"Shh," I murmur, my other hand moving from her waist to the back of her neck, my fingers tangling in her hair. "We wouldn't want anyone to hear you."
The thought of being caught, the risk of it, seems to excite her even more. Her breath hitches, and I can feel the tension coiling in her body, the frantic energy of a woman on the verge of losing control.
I love it.
I love the power I have over her, the way I can make her feel with just a touch, just a word.
I love the trust she places in me, the way she gives herself over to me, so completely, so willingly.
I love her.
I love her.
The thought is so natural and right that I don’t even question it.
I love her.
I apply a little more pressure to her clit, and she cries out, a sharp, startled sound that I quickly swallow with a kiss.
My tongue plunges into her mouth, a demanding, possessive kiss that’s as much about control as it is about desire.
She kisses me back with a matching fervor, her hands clutching at my shoulders, her body arching into mine.
She's a wild, wanton creature, lost in a haze of pleasure and need.
And she's all mine.
I can feel her getting closer, the tension in her body building to an almost unbearable peak. Her movements become frantic, her kisses more desperate.
She’s so close.
I can feel it in the way her body trembles, in the way her breath hitches in her throat, in the way her nails dig into my shoulders.
The little whimpers in her throat get louder, more frequent.
Pleas fall from her lips as her movements get more erratic.
And just when I can feel her hovering on that precipice, that razor-thin line between pleasure and oblivion...
I stop.
I pull my hand away, breaking the kiss at the same time.
She sobs in protest, a raw, ragged sound that’s full of frustration and confusion.
She looks at me, her eyes wide and dazed, her lips swollen, her cheeks flushed.
She's a beautiful, beautiful mess.
And I'm not done with her yet.
"Why?" she whimpers, her body trembling with unsatisfied need.
I don't bother to answer. Just slip my fingers back between her legs and start all over again.
My touch is lighter this time, more teasing, designed to drive her insane.
I trace the outline of her lips, dip a finger inside her, then pull it out, before moving back to her clit, my touch feather-light.
It's a slow, torturous dance, a game of push and pull, of pleasure and denial.
And she’s playing right along.
Her hips buck, trying to get closer, to get more, to get the friction she so desperately craves.
I pull back.
She whimpers.
I lean in and press a kiss to her neck, my teeth grazing her skin.
"You're a tease," she gasps, her hands fisting in my hair.
I chuckle. "I'm just getting started."
I slide my fingers back inside her, and this time, I don't hold back.
I pump my fingers in and out, fast and hard, my thumb rubbing her clit in a relentless rhythm that’s designed to push her up fast and hard.
The entire world narrows to this woman, to this room, to this single, singular focus of making her fall apart. She’s a puppet, and I’m the puppet master, pulling her strings, dictating her every move, her every reaction.
Her body is a tight, trembling bow, and I’m the archer, drawing the string, getting ready to let the arrow fly.
"Please, Sir. Please, please," she cries against my lips. "Can I please come, Sir?"
I bend my head to nibble on her neck. She tilts her head to give me more access. I press my lips to her ear. "No," I say firmly.
I pull away, my fingers stilling their assault on her clit.
Her eyes fly open, wide and dazed with pleasure and confusion.
Her body tenses.
"Sir, please," she whispers. "I'll do anything."
"I know you will." My lips still pressed to her ear, I whisper, "But you're going to do that anyway."
"Please," she whines, stretching the word out.
I chuckle, enjoying this far too much.
"Beg all you want," I say. "It's not happening."
The look of devastation on her face is so beautiful, so exquisite, that it almost makes me want to give in.
Almost.
But not quite.
I still have more to teach her.
This is where she belongs. On the edge. Waiting for me. Needy for my command.
Her lips press together in a pout, and I find it incredibly sexy.
"I thought this was a welcome back," she says, her voice a little sullen.
"Oh, it is," I purr. "I'm welcoming you back to being mine. And mine does what I say, when I say it."
She glares at me.
It’s a good effort, but it’s a little undermined by the fact that she’s still on my lap, her legs spread, my fingers still between them.
Her body betrays her.
I lean in and kiss her, a deep, possessive kiss that’s designed to remind her of exactly who’s in charge.
She melts against me, still needy but softer now. The fight goes out of her. The compliance that I crave returns.
I pull back and remove my fingers from her. Looking her in the eyes, I bring my slick fingers to my lips and lick them clean.
She watches, her breath hitching, her cheeks flushed.
I see the hunger in her eyes, the raw, primal need that matches my own.
She wants this.
She wants me.
And I am going to give her exactly what she wants.
Eventually.