Chapter 29
I choose my outfit with care. A short red tweed skirt, a pair of loafers, and a silk dress shirt lazily tucked into my skirt.
Typically, I always wear this skirt with stockings. It’s almost indecently short otherwise. But as I turn in front of the large mirror in the hotel room, listening to the sound of Nate showering in the en suite bathroom… the omission is perfect for what I’ve got planned.
I run some hair oil through my curls and put a black headband in place to keep them off my face. Do my makeup.
And when he emerges from the bathroom, I’m all done, sitting on the couch with a glass of wine from the minibar.
Nate has a towel wrapped around his waist as he exits and is using a smaller one to dry his hair. He does a double-take when he sees me, and his actions seem to fall completely still.
“You okay?” I ask sweetly.
His gaze feels hot as it runs down the length of my bare legs. “That’s what you’re wearing?”
“It is indeed. Like it? I found this skirt at a thrift store years ago. I know how you like vintage things.”
“It… leaves little to the imagination.”
I look down at the hemline, where it sits midthigh. “Hmm. Maybe I should be careful about not bending over.”
“You better be,” he says, but there’s fire in his eyes and a hint of a smile. “I’ll be ready in five. Don’t bend over, or we might not make it out of here at all.”
I make my eyes wide. “Oh? What would happen?”
He chuckles and tugs the towel from around his waist. Pulling it away.
The smirk is wiped off my face. He always seems so comfortable with this, being naked in front of me. Wasn’t the least bit self-conscious when I walked in on him jerking off in the shower.
And why would he be?
My eyes linger on his flat stomach, the hint of a V, his chest hair. And the length of his cock, sizable even when he’s not hard.
“I’d describe it to you,” he says, reaching for a pair of boxer briefs, “but then we’d be late.”
I swallow hard. “Yeah. We… can’t have that.”
He puts them on and tucks himself in neatly. Reaches into the closet for a starched white button-down. “It wouldn’t be professional,” he says, “to introduce you to my colleagues with your face still sweaty after an orgasm. Or two.”
I push off the couch. “You’re awfully confident.”
“Competent,” he says. “That’s the word.”
I walk past him but don’t make it far. He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me against him. He smells like soap and aftershave, and I take a deep breath.
“Feeling good?” he asks me, mouth hovering over mine.
“I feel amazing,” I whisper back.
He smiles and kisses me again. It’s warm and minty, and I crush the pristine collar of his pressed shirt in my hand. “Good,” he says. “Did you like it when I hit your G-spot?”
I blink against him. “What?”
He chuckles and releases me, grinning widely. Puts on his cuff links like he didn’t just say the most outrageous thing. “I need to plan what I’ll do to you later.”
“Tonight is about torturing you,” I say.
His smile widens. “And I’m looking forward to it. But I still want your notes, Harp.”
“What if I have no notes?”
“Everyone has notes,” he says. Pulls on a pair of pressed gray pants and unrolls a leather belt. I watch his strong hands fasten it with quick precision. “I want to make you come a hundred different ways, and I want you to tell me exactly how you need it. Do you like G-spot orgasms?”
“I think so. I think… the one you gave me at the inn was my first.”
He runs a hand along his stubbly jaw. “Mm-hmm. That shouldn’t make me feel good, but it does.”
I roll my eyes at him and grab my clutch. “You’re such a man,” I chide. But I’m blushing.
“Of course I am. Tell me, did you enjoy it?”
“Who doesn’t enjoy an orgasm?”
“Maybe I just want to hear you say it.” He puts on his shoes, and then we’re heading out of the room. “Maybe I just need some words of affirmation.”
Now it’s my turn to chuckle. “As if!”
He grins and pushes the button for the elevator. “I enjoyed it. Enjoyed eating you out in the back of my car, too. But I’m really going to enjoy doing it somewhere I can spread your thighs properly wide.”
My mouth goes dry, and I look around the corridor. There’s no one else here… that I can see. “Nate!”
“What?” he asks, still grinning crookedly. Knowing exactly what he’s doing.
“You can’t say things like that,” I say under my breath. The elevator doors open, and he gestures for me to enter.
I step ahead of him into the gilded cage.
“And why not?” he says. “It’s the truth. And you told me you like my honesty.”
I roll my eyes. “Someone could overhear you.”
“Yes, they might,” he says matter-of-factly. “And if they do, they’d hear a man burning with a need for you.”
His words make my mouth dry again. I look at the numbers on the indicator. Sixth floor, fifth floor… almost at the bottom.
So I lean closer, rising on my tiptoes until our mouths nearly touch. “Want to burn even more?” I ask and wait a heart beat. “I’m not wearing panties underneath this skirt.”
The grin vanishes off his face. “What?”
I take a few steps back and smile at him. “I guess I forgot. Whoops.”
“Harper,” he says, but then the elevator doors open. Several hotel guests await outside, and I walk by the group like I’m not at all feeling the breeze along my bare legs… or between them.
Nate is silent during our short walk to the restaurant where we’re set to meet his business associates. It’s not a calm, comfortable silence. It’s the silence of a man who is trying very, very hard not to crack.
The reservation is under Connovan, and the two men with whom he is meeting are already there, or so the hostess says. She leads us through a dimly lit interior where the candles are burning on every surface. The decor is old-school, with a slight burlesque touch to it, and I love it.
I feel like someone else tonight. Someone powerful. Someone in control. Someone… desired.
We join Thierry and Janos in a booth at the back of the restaurant. Thierry is French, Janos is Hungarian, and they’re both easy to get along with. They seem to have a natural rapport with Nate, and it’s clear they’ve all worked together for years. Despite his corporate role likely being the men’s superior, the conversation feels easy. He makes me feel included—effortlessly, easily, more than just a prop.
I order a glass of champagne and the steak tartare, and listen with interest as they talk about Contron. I’m learning more from this conversation than I’ve ever done while previously peppering Nate with all my questions.
Halfway through my meal, I accidentally drop my linen napkin onto the floor. “Whoops,” I say and slide my chair back. I glance at Nate, sitting across from me. “Guess I’ll just have to bend?—”
His chair makes a sharp screech on the tiles as he pushes it back. “Don’t you dare,” he mutters and reaches for the cloth. Hands it back to me, his eyes dark.
I smile at him sweetly. “Thank you, Nathaniel.”
I never call him Nathaniel.
His nostrils flare. “You’re welcome, Harper.”
Thierry and Janos don’t make any comments on this weird exchange. On the contrary, they take it in stride, shifting the discussion to ask me about my work.
The soft clank of cutlery against plates. Food quickly disappearing. And beneath the linen-clad table, I slip my foot out of my shoe and extend it across toward Nate.
I’ve never done this before.
I keep eye contact with Janos, nodding at whatever he says, and slide my toes up Nate’s lower leg. Find his knee and then the inner thigh, wedging my foot closer to his groin.
Nate makes a choking sound and reaches for his wine.
“You okay?” Janos asks.
“Yeah. I’m fine. Just a bit hard,” he says. “My lamb, that is. It’s slightly tough.”
“Oh, I’m sorry about that,” Thierry says earnestly. “We should call the waiter. This place is known for?—”
Nate waves his offers away. “No, no, that’s all right,” he says, putting his fork down.
While he asks Thierry about an upcoming conference in Copenhagen, Nate’s hand disappears beneath the table and encircles my ankle in a steel grip.
Keeping it in place.
He shoots me a dark look.
I give him a wide smile. “Copenhagen? Will you be attending?”
“I might,” he says. His voice sounds unusually strained.
At my side, Thierry nudges my shoulder. “You should go with him, if you have the time. It’s a beautiful city, Copenhagen. Very different from Paris or London. It’s really like nowhere else.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” I say and look back at Nate.
“Of course it’s not,” Janos says. “A beautiful lady is the best travel companion.”
They’re both smiling at us like we’re a couple. The insinuation, the clear expectation in their eyes, makes my chest warm.
Nate’s looking at me, while beneath the table, his thumb makes slow circles on my calf. “Indeed she is,” he states. But then, he taps his thumb against my skin in a few quick movements, and I hear what he can’t say out loud. When she behaves herself.
I smile into my napkin.
When everyone is done with the main course and another bottle of wine is ordered, I excuse myself from the table. Nate watches as I stand and tug the skirt down to make sure it’s in place. I smile at him before walking away. It’s not a vibrator I’m using on the delectable man, but it is definitely getting him rattled, and I’ve never loved teasing someone more.
It makes me feel amazing to know that he wants me like this.
And that he hasn’t been shy about telling me or showing just how much.
I ask a waiter for the restroom, and he points me toward the back. Weaving around a few tables, I eventually step into a small hallway with two doors clearly marked as gents and ladies.
As I’m opening the door to the women’s washroom, someone puts their hand beside mine on the wooden surface. “Get inside,” Nate says.
We both end up in a small red room, and Nate locks the door behind us. It’s a beautiful restroom, matching the decor outside, with dim lighting and a boudoir-esque wallpaper.
Nate’s hands find my waist. “You’re insane tonight.”
“Am I? Or am I driving you insane?”
“Is there a difference?” he asks, his voice hoarse. “I feel like we’re the same person sometimes.” His hands glide over my shirt, my hips, down to my ass. His fingers find the hem of my skirt. “I need to check.”
My breathing ratches up by about a billion degrees. “I told you the truth.”
“Maybe you did,” he says gruffly and starts tugging up my skirt. “Maybe you’ve been sitting out there with your pussy bare against the seat, ready to bend over for a napkin and show Thierry everything that’s mine.”
I grip his shoulders. Heat is already flowing through me, singeing my skin. “You’re really going to check.”
“I’m really going to check,” he says against my lips, and his hand slides between my legs.