Chapter 24
HOLLY
What the hell!?
His question catches me off guard.
A minute ago, he was all fire and fury, and I was ready to have the orgasm of my life, and now he’s talking takeout, like nothing happened.
My mouth opens as I swirl around to face him, ready to unleash hell and bring up the very specific all-night plans he had made about every available surface in this apartment. Balcony included. Bathroom very much included (fingers crossed).
Step one, though, rewriting the contract.
But I shut my mouth again fast. What am I even doing?
The truth is, I know exactly what this is.
I’m the one who said just once. I’m the one who said clean.
I’m the one who said quick. And Dexter is easing the heat down before all of this derails us.
It’s his way of smoothing the edge, of pulling us back to rock-solid ground. Or that’s what it feels like, anyway.
“You’re not still mad, are you?” I ask when he lifts me onto the counter without a word, his mouth set in a firm line.
“I am. Which means you’re cut off. No more orgasms for you until I decide otherwise.”
I giggle. I have no idea why. Probably nerves. Probably my common sense and my heart (and my clit) all talking at once, confusing my already overloaded brain.
“Actions have consequences, sweetheart. You knew that going in.” He plants his hands on the shelf above me, and shifts forward, caging me in.
I end up sitting back, my legs opening just enough as he leans closer—close enough that the humor drains out of me.
“You’re worth whatever comes with it. That’s why I don’t like the thought of anything happening to you,” he says quietly. “I’m not joking about that, Holly.”
I get lost in his stormy eyes, and for the first time I see myself the way he does: I’m beautiful. Desirable. Precious. I’m not replaceable to him. I’m the best friend he wants in his life, now and after. He doesn’t need words to make that clear.
I’m right there with him.
And if neither of us wants this to fall apart... then it won’t.
I breathe out, oddly content (apparently unfazed by the whole orgasm denial), considering my options, and pull him in for a hug.
My fingers find his jaw, skimming over the stubble I’ve been dying to touch for as long as I can remember.
If I’ve missed out, I’m catching up, any way I can.
The scratch of it makes me smile. “Japanese food. I’d kill for some sushi. Don’t argue.”
“I wasn’t planning to.” He brushes a kiss on my temple. Perfect. The friendly temple kiss. Back to safe territory. “Stay put.”
I stay perched on the kitchen counter, legs swinging like a teenager, mentally adding “built to handle more than smearing Nutella on toast” to its features (and maybe a few recreational uses I only just discovered tonight. Happy to report the Carrara was worth every penny.)
No more orgasms for you? Please. This bitch will get hers later.
Dexter returns with two wet washcloths and gently wipes me clean. He does the same for himself. After buckling his belt, he pulls his phone from the back pocket of his jeans.
“Avocado rolls, veggie dumplings, and miso soup?” he asks.
“You really do love me. Add seaweed salad, and I’ll be yours forever,” I tease, hopping down and wobbling for half a second. “Whoa!”
“Easy there, Hot Sauce.” He catches me effortlessly. “Ankle?”
“No. Just a little weak in the knees.”
“Happens a lot, huh?”
That smile. Crooked—exactly when I don’t need it—making his dimple pop. I become painfully aware of my lack of appropriate clothing and backpedal. “Right. Clothes. Shelby sent pictures I want you to see. Be right back.”
I throw on some clothes and retrieve my phone from the bathroom. When I emerge, Dexter is still shirtless, lounging casually on my couch with his jeans low on his waist, hair a little messy, his shirt draped over his left shoulder.
He glances up from his phone. “Food’s on the way.”
“Great, then I have time to show you these.” I pass him my phone and sit down. “Shelby found a place.”
He scrolls, slows, scrolls again. “That was fast,” he mutters.
“That’s Shelby.”
I wait for his reaction. He’s quiet as he flips through the photos. He stops on one of the shots, and a muscle twitches in his jaw. Then he flips to the next.
Why am I nervous? Some part of me wants him to like what I picked.
Which is stupid… and also smart. He’s not just my best friend, he’s an industrial and commercial architect.
One of the best. I trust his eye, and his judgment.
I think the building looks perfect, but if there’s something off, he’ll see it.
Maybe his trained brain will spot something Shelby and I didn’t. But I hope he doesn’t!
“What do you think?” I try to sound casual (like I’m not quietly dying inside).
Finally, he nods. “Light’s good. Layout makes sense. Roofline’s clean. That courtyard’s a win.”
Relief hits like air after holding my breath. “I’ve already started drawing up plans. My brain wouldn’t shut up otherwise. Honestly, still feels like it might blow at any point.”
“Of course it does.”
“I’m so excited, Dexter. Everything is falling perfectly into place!”
“I know.” His eyes lift to mine. But something’s tight behind them. That thunder, the same storm from earlier. They’re watchful and dangerous. If I’m not careful, I’m going to lose myself in them.
My head spins. “You sure? You don’t sound convinced.”
A strong hand rubs my back, and Dexter pulls me into a half-hug. “I am, just got a lot on my mind. Work stuff. There’s a rat leaking information to the press.”
I blink. “What? A rat? In your firm?”
“Either mine or the client’s. No clue yet.”
“That sucks. What kind of information is getting out?”
“Proposal figures. Projected costs. Stuff that shouldn’t be leaving the room.”
I think for a few seconds. “So, probably some tech or sales guy named James. Or Bob. You know, one of those guys who’s always around but no one’s sure what he actually does.”
A laugh slips out of him, and his posture relaxes a little. “I’m hoping it’s not anyone on my team.”
“Yeah, well… in the last movie I watched, it was the boss’s most trusted guy. He was the rat. You’re welcome.” I don’t mention that the actor who played “the rat” is also the romantic lead in my favorite movie. Not giving Dexter that ammo.
“It’s not Reed,” he says flatly. “Or Keith.”
“Okay, then maybe it’s not a guy. Maybe it’s a she.”
He gives me a look. “It’s not Hermine either, Holly.”
“Are you sure?” I press. “You sound very certain for someone who has no idea who it is. My money’s still on the tech guy.”
“Holly…”
“Okay, fine, how about this? Bait the rat. Make up a fake project with phony numbers. See if it leaks. That’s how they found the rat in the movie.”
That gets his attention. “Smart. I’ll run it through Hermine and the rest of the team I have on for Swan.”
“You’re welcome. I accept praise in the form of a Titanic rewatch and snacks. That’s how you thank me properly.”
“Noted. Now, tell me about these plans of yours before your brain explodes.”
As soon as he asks me about my intentions, my excitement for the kindergarten bubbles back to the surface. I lean into his hug and launch into my ideas, and he listens, just like he always does.