15. Piper
15
PIPER
T hank god it was the end of the workday when Vincent decided to rock my world behind the backdrop. Like hell would I have been able to go back to editing photos for the web site after that. It was all I could to do get myself dressed, grab my things, and follow Vincent to yet another of his ridiculous cars so we could go back to his place for round two. And three. And four.
Which was how I ended up here, waking up beside him the next day like a real girlfriend, in one of his old t-shirts.
I fell back against the pillow and checked out his beautiful space, which I’d barely taken a second to notice the previous night. His bedroom was a minimalist’s dream of white and grey, with giant windows hidden behind blackout blinds we hadn’t bothered to close last night, leaving him illuminated in the morning light.
How could someone so ruthless look so damn angelic as he slept? Vincent’s dark hair was messy, and his arm was thrown above his head, highlighting his impressive bicep. He looked…peaceful.
I leaned over the edge of the bed to grab my camera. I’d jokingly suggested we take some naked shots in between our fun which he’d kiboshed immediately. I scrolled to the images Vincent had taken of me back at the office, expecting out of focus, amateurish shots.
But no, once again, Vincent had proved that he accomplished whatever he set his mind to. The photos were mainly close shots of my arm and hand, but he’d framed them so the shadows and light fell perfectly. The shimmer was so sparkly I’d hardly need to amp up the color contrast. I continued flipping through, half impressed and half jealous that he was so damn good. Photography wasn’t just about the mechanics; it was about seeing, really seeing, and Vincent had a damn good eye.
I stopped scrolling when I came to a series shot from a little farther away. My breath caught.
In these photos, my face was included. I was happy he’d lied to me about what part of my body he was photographing, because I would’ve been self-conscious had I known. But as it was, the photos were beautifully unguarded moments. I could tell I was watching Vincent watch me. I wasn’t posing in them. My expression was sultry, hungry. Actually, I looked pretty darn amazing.
“What are you smiling about?”
Vincent’s sleepy voice startled me.
“Your photography skills,” I answered as I glanced at him. “Are you bad at anything ?”
He twisted his mouth as he considered it. “Pickleball.”
I laughed. “That’s it, huh? Well, I believe it. These photos are shockingly good. You don’t need to hire a staff photographer—you could do it yourself.”
“Why would I need to when I have you?” he asked as he slid closer and snaked his arm across me. “Hmm, and speaking of having you…” He flicked hungry eyes up and down my body.
“Yes? What were you saying?” I lowered myself so I was propped up on my elbow staring at him from a few inches away.
“Well, I just thought you should know that my latest obsession is this absolutely stunning new employee on my team,” he explained.
“Is that a fact?”
“It is,” he said as he moved closer to me.
We both froze as his hardness grew between us. I hitched my hips against him, a silent invitation. Vincent’s eyes flashed as he slowly slid his hands up my hips and raised the t-shirt I was wearing.
“No panties?” he gasped in faux surprise, as if he hadn’t seen me put on a shirt I stole from his drawer—and nothing else—before going to sleep the previous night.
“Underwear is overrated,” I said with a wicked smile Vincent didn’t see as he focused on my body, his gaze darkening as he repositioned himself. I felt the soft press of his lips on my hipbones, each kiss sending sparks through me.
“Vincent…” I whispered.
I wanted to tell him that we needed to stop worshipping each other’s bodies and eat breakfast, but the words wouldn’t come. Each kiss stole the thought away, replaced by the overwhelming need to feel him closer.
His lips trailed lower, coaxing me to open my legs wider for him. Soon, he was poised between my thighs, so close I could feel the heat of his breath.
“What are you doing?” I whispered in a strangled voice.
“Torturing you,” he murmured as he leaned closer to graze my skin with the lightest of kisses. His lips were soft, teasing, driving me to the edge with nothing but the promise of what was coming.
I let out a shaky breath, arching closer to him as his tongue briefly pushed against me, the sensation sending a shockwave through my body.
“Stop,” I sighed as I arched closer to him.
He sat up. “You really want me to stop?”
“Stop torturing me,” I begged.
Instead of answering, he sealed his mouth on top of me and swirled his tongue in the most incredible ways. Licking, probing, sucking. All I could do was writhe against him. I threaded my fingers in his hair and couldn’t stop myself from fisting it. But Vincent didn’t mind. In fact, it made his efforts more focused.
I was on the edge, teetering closer to release with every stroke of his tongue. When he slid a finger inside of me, curling it just right, every nerve caught fire as the orgasm ripped through me with shocking intensity.
I arched and screamed out his name. Vincent didn’t stop—he didn’t let go until I was completely spent, trembling beneath his touch.
“I love the way you say my name when you come,” he murmured against my skin, his voice low and filled with satisfaction.
I could only nod, still trying to catch my breath. My mind was spinning, my body humming with the aftershocks. I heard him open a drawer in his nightstand, then the crinkle of a condom wrapper.
“Was I too loud?” I finally managed as the bed shifted beneath his weight.
“No such thing,” he assured me. “And I want to hear it again. I need to hear it.”
He flipped me over effortlessly, pulling me up onto my hands and knees. I arched into him as he positioned himself behind me. His hands ran down my back, pausing just long enough to make me shiver before he gripped my hips.
“Don’t make me beg,” I whimpered, my voice barely recognizable as he teased me with his tip, hovering just out of reach.
“As you wish.”
He slid inside me, and we sighed in unison. The fullness of him, the way he stretched and filled me…it was perfect. He paused to run his hand down my back, then he clasped my hips and started slowly undulating against me.
We were perfect together, moving in rhythm like dancers, flawlessly in sync.
Vincent gradually picked up his pace, his hands holding my waist tighter. Then he let go and grabbed my hair.
He wrapped it in his fist and pulled, ever so slightly.
“Is that okay?” he whispered, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.
“Pull harder ,” I rasped, my voice hoarse.
The command unlocked something in him. A ragged breath escaped him, and he tugged harder on my hair, the pressure sending another surge of pleasure through me. His other hand came down on my ass, the sharp impact surprising me but making me moan.
I whimpered, the mixture of sensations driving me wild. This was new for me, but I was very sure that I liked it.
Vincent picked up his tempo, and the way he was pressing against me brought me closer with each thrust. When my orgasm finally hit, it was like I was free-falling—my body shattered, pleasure exploding through me as I screamed his name, my voice frenzied.
Within a few seconds, Vincent’s satisfied grunt joined my cries, his body collapsing against mine as we both tumbled onto the bed, panting, spent, and utterly content.
We lay there for a moment, both of us catching our breath, our bodies still tangled together.
“Okay, now I’m starving,” I finally managed after my breathing evened out.
Vincent laughed. “I’d say we earned our breakfast. Let’s go.”
He found an old pair of gym shorts for me, and we padded out to the kitchen together. Now I could see exactly how grand his place was.
I tried not to stare.
“Quite the view,” I said, pointing to the windows.
He paused in front of the open refrigerator to look at me. “I like mine better.”
My cheeks went hot. “Stop.”
“Do you want crepes?” Vincent asked. “I have eggs from the farmers’ market, and some of that coffee you like.”
“Hold on, you can make crepes?” I asked. “Like, make them yourself? I assumed you’d have a live-in chef or something.”
He chuckled. “If I had staff on the premises, they’d all be laughing about the noises we’ve been making. Right now, it’s just us—no one’s scheduled to be here for hours. And I can cook because my mom told me every man needs to know how to make one great meal for each time of day. She taught me how to make crepes for breakfast, open-face pear and cheddar sandwiches for lunch, and my dad taught me how to grill the perfect steak.”
“Sounds like your parents are epicures.”
He nodded. “They are. There’s great food in Miami, but she misses the variety here in the city.”
“I get it. And it sounds like your dad misses her.”
He frowned at me. “You picked up on that?”
“He almost came out and said it—kind of hard not to!” I laughed. “That’s a good thing, right?”
“Not really,” he said as he gathered ingredients and a crepe pan. “He’ll just fuck it up again. He’s the perfect example of why long-term relationships are hardly ever possible. They’re designed to fail—just like all his marriages.”
My stomach dropped at his tone. He really believed that?
“Sit,” Vincent pointed at the bar that opened to where he was cooking. “Watch and learn.”
I snorted. “Maybe I already know how to make them?”
“In that case,” he pushed the bowl closer to me. “Go for it.”
I laughed. “Okay, busted. I’m more of a frozen waffles kind of chef. But I’ll be your eager student.”
He wiggled his eyebrows at me. “That’s not the only thing you’re eager about.”
“Can you blame me?” I gestured to his body.
Vincent had opted to perform his chef duties shirtless and in the grey sweats that hung low enough on his hips to drive me wild. Every time he moved, my eyes were drawn south to watch the show.
Everything he did was watch-worthy. He was so confident in the kitchen that I wondered if he’d had professional help beyond his mother. But then again, that was Vincent. He was good at everything .
Even fucking. Especially fucking.
When he finished cooking, we took our plates outside to his balcony and once again I found myself shocked at how beautiful it was. The city stretched out for miles in every direction, but the spot was landscaped with potted trees and walls of vegetation so it seemed like we were in a private park. With the morning sun warming us, it felt like I was on vacation.
“This is delicious,” I said as dug into a Nutella-laced crepe. “You’re incredible.”
“Thanks for noticing,” he replied without even raising his eyes from his plate.
I kicked him under the table.
“Ow! What’s wrong with admitting my awesomeness?” he asked with his mouth full.
I considered it. “For you, nothing. It totally tracks.”
He paused. “Are you saying I’m an egomaniac?”
I held my hand up with my thumb and pointer finger an inch apart.
He shrugged and got back eating. “You’re incredible too—you just refuse to acknowledge it.”
The surprise compliment warmed my heart. “That was unexpected.”
“That’s my point; it shouldn’t be. You need to learn to own your awesomeness. You’re very talented.”
My bottom lip pouted out. “Aw. Thanks.”
“It’s true. You’re great at everything but parking.”
I rolled my eyes and laughed at him. “Of course you couldn’t just let me have my moment!”
“Not when it comes to parking,” he said as he downed more crepe. “But don’t worry, I can teach you.”
I was about to lean into what I assumed would be more pre-sex bantering when Vincent’s phone rang. He glanced at it and froze.
“It’s R&D,” he said slowly. “Calling me on a Saturday morning.”
“Does that mean good news or bad news?”
His mouth went tight. “Let’s find out.”
Vincent answered the phone, and I hugged my knees to my chest, watching his face as he spoke to whoever had called. A tense, creased forehead. Listening intently.
Then, his face shifted into the most gleeful smile I’d ever seen.
“Dwayne, are you serious ?”
He listened again as his smile got even wider.
“I knew you could do it! Hell yeah!” He punched the air. “Which method? Hot enfleurage? I would’ve sworn heliotrope was too delicate for it. Fuck yeah. You guys are rockstars!”
Vincent started pacing as he listened to the details of the victory.
“Can’t even tell you how excited I am. Thanks for making it happen, D.,” he said, then hung up and stared out at the horizon.
“You did it,” I cheered. “Congrats!”
“ They did it,” he said as he shifted his focus back to me. “All I did was hire a great team and push them. This is their victory.”
I thought back to the New York Times profile about Vincent. He’d been open about wanting to distill the flower but just as clear about the fact that it was his team doing the work under his guidance. It was good to see proof positive that the man could share a victory.
“Our day is off to a phenomenal start,” Vincent said. “We should celebrate.”
“Oh?” I tipped my head at him. “What were you thinking?”
“Maybe a little shopping…a nice lunch…we could go to a Broadway matinee…”
“Any other ideas?” I asked as I hitched up the t-shirt I was wearing and tied it in a knot so my belly was exposed. I leaned back and stretched my arms dramatically, which caused the shirt to rise higher and show off the bottoms of my breasts.
“Umm…” he stared at me, suddenly dumbfounded as I trailed my finger through the Nutella on my plate then popped it in my mouth.
I held his gaze as I dragged my finger out slowly, then pushed it back in.
Vincent jumped out of his chair so forcefully it fell over, and he grabbed me and threw me over his shoulder. I screamed with laughter as he smacked my ass. He grabbed something as we walked by the kitchen.
“What’s that?” I asked, still laughing.
“Nutella,” he answered in a hoarse voice. “I’m going to lick it off your entire body.”
And honestly, that was the only celebration I needed.