Chapter 23 Thatcher
THATCHER
My eyes open to find Pierce already awake, watching me with an expression I’ve never seen before, all soft edges and unguarded warmth. His hair sticks up at impossible angles, and I have to resist the urge to mess it up even more.
“Morning,” I croak, my voice completely shot from last night’s activities. My body feels thoroughly satisfied, but there’s a hunger in Pierce’s eyes that makes heat pool in my stomach all over again.
“Morning,” he murmurs, his hand sliding down my chest. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I was ravaged last night,” I admit, watching his pupils dilate. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I need you inside me again,” he says, his voice rough with want. “That piercing… God, Thatcher, I can’t get enough of it. The way it hits…fuck…”
His honesty makes my cock twitch with interest. “Yeah?”
“I’ve never felt anything like it,” he continues, his hand wrapping around my cock. “I want you again. Want to go back home, still feeling every inch of you inside me.”
I don’t need to be asked twice.
This time is different from the first night at the hotel, slower, with more intent.
Pierce guides me exactly where he wants me, his hands directing my movements as he takes me inside, knowing exactly how to angle his body for maximum sensation.
When he comes, it’s with my name on his lips and his eyes locked on mine, and I follow immediately after, overwhelmed by how perfectly we fit together.
“Shower?” I suggest afterward, both of us sticky and satisfied.
“Yes, but we’ll need to make it quick so we can enjoy our last day in the city.”
The shower is anything but quick. Pierce’s hands map my body like he’s memorizing every detail, and I’m not stupid enough to stop him.
Unfortunately, he’s also a proper adult with self-control, so he abandons me to finish my shower alone.
“Shouldn’t you be frantically checking emails or practicing your boardroom scowl or something?” I ask, wrapping a towel around my waist when I come out.
“Today you’re my only appointment,” he says softly. “I ordered breakfast earlier. It should be here soon.”
As if summoned by his words, there’s a soft knock on the door. Pierce pulls on the hotel robe and answers, wheeling in a cart laden with covered dishes that smell like heaven.
“Room service breakfast,” he announces, starting to move plates to the small table. “Perfect-looking eggs, bacon, pastries, fresh fruit…”
My stomach rumbles at the sight of the spread, but I’m more interested in watching Pierce in the hotel robe, his hair still damp from the shower. “You know what I want more than coffee right now?”
He glances up from arranging plates. “What?”
“To ride your dick while you feed me breakfast.”
Pierce bursts out laughing, the sound bright and unguarded. “Be a good boy, eat all your breakfast, and I’ll see what I can do about the other thing.”
“Promises, promises,” I sing, but join him at the table for what looks to be potentially the best breakfast of my life.
“We should get ready,” Pierce says, stealing a piece of bacon from my plate.
Despite promises for post-breakfast activities, I can tell Pierce is eager to get out and show me the city. It’s a beautiful morning, and honestly, I should probably give my body a rest. Never in my life have I had such regular, amazing sex. It’s addictive.
As soon as I finish my last piece of egg and bacon, I get ready, and we pack quickly, leaving our bags with the concierge.
Pierce’s fingers lace through mine as we walk out onto the New York streets, the city already alive with energy.
Yellow cabs weave through traffic while street vendors set up their carts, the smell of coffee and fresh bagels mixing with exhaust fumes.
I’m coming to think this is a very New York thing.
“Where to?” I ask as we step onto the busy sidewalk.
Pierce considers for a moment, then smiles. “There’s a place I want to show you in Central Park.”
We walk north through Midtown, the streets growing less frantic as we move away from the business district.
We pass hot dog vendors and flower stands, street musicians setting up for the day, and tiny shops crammed between towering buildings. A man walks by with three dogs of completely different sizes, and all perfectly coordinated in their stride.
The entrance to Central Park appears ahead of us, and suddenly, we’re stepping from the concrete jungle into a green space that feels like a different world. The sounds of traffic fade, replaced by bird songs and the distant laughter of children.
“I used to come here as a kid,” Pierce says softly, his hand warm in mine as he guides us away from the main path where tourists cluster around maps and guidebooks. “My mother would pack these elaborate picnics, and we’d spend hours just exploring.”
We follow a narrower trail that curves away from the main thoroughfare, Pierce leading with the confidence of someone who knows exactly where he’s going. The path winds through trees, their leaves catching the morning light like stained glass.
“There was this spot,” he continues, leading me around another bend in the path. “Perfect for watching boats on the lake, hidden enough that tourists rarely find it.”
“Did your brother come too?”
“No. This was when he was still a baby. My mom was born in New York, and she loved coming back.” His voice carries an edge of old pain. I want to ask him more about his mom, but I don’t like seeing the sadness in his eyes.
Instead, I lean in to capture his mouth in a kiss. His other hand finds my waist as he responds with equal enthusiasm, and for several perfect moments, nothing exists except the press of his lips and the warmth of sunlight on our skin.
When we finally break apart, we’re both slightly breathless, and Pierce’s smile carries such genuine happiness that I have to capture it. I grab my phone and open the photo app.
“Our first selfie,” I declare, holding the camera at what I hope is a flattering angle. “Smile for posterity, Mr. Dellcourt.”
I snap the photo before he changes his mind. The resulting photo captures something I’ve never seen before—Pierce looking at me with such open affection that it makes me want to believe in things I never thought possible.
“Send that to me?” he asks softly, his arm still wrapped around my waist.
“Of course.”
The afternoon sun shifts higher as we reluctantly leave our peaceful spot by the lake, Pierce’s hand finding mine again.
Me, Thatcher “Meatball” Edward Charles III—god, I hate my parents—is now one of those people who walk in the park holding hands. I have someone to hold hands with. As my chest expands with mushy feelings, I pray that the remaining hours we have together will go as slowly as humanly possible.
“Thank you,” I say as we settle into the taxi to the airport. “For today, for this whole trip. For showing me this beautiful city.”
Pierce’s hand finds mine across the seat. “Thank you for letting me share it with you.”
As Manhattan disappears behind us, I stare out the window and try not to think about what happens when we land back in Cliffborough. We’ll return to being boss and assistant, to stolen moments and professional distance. The thought makes my stomach twist.
What do I do?
It’s a question that boops around my head like a game of Ping-Pong the whole flight home.
My apartment door is already unlocked when I reach it, which means Alli used her emergency key again. I find her sprawled on my couch with Berry curled up on her chest. At least there’s no wine this time. I’m not sure I could survive wine in my delicate emotional state.
“Welcome home, traveler,” she says without looking up from her phone. “How was the Big Apple?”
“How did you know I was back?”
“Flight tracker app. I’m very invested in your love life.
Besides, Josh left earlier, and if I’d stayed home, I would have called him to come back for a repeat of this afternoon’s repeat.
” She finally looks up, scanning the room behind me with obvious disappointment.
“Where’s your silver fox? I was hoping for another free show. ”
Heat creeps up my neck. “We decided to go home separately. Since we have to be at the office in the morning, it seemed more…appropriate. You know, professional.”
“Professional.” Alli sits up to make room for me on the couch, dislodging Berry, who gives her an offended look. “Right. Because nothing says professional like hickeys that makeup can’t cover.” She gestures at my neck. “Seriously, Meatball, did he try to eat you?”
I touch my throat self-consciously. “We may have gotten a little carried away.”
“A little?” She pours wine into both glasses, handing me one. “Spill. How was CANVAS? Did you meet any publishers? Make any connections?”
“The conference was amazing,” I say as Berry claims my lap. “I met some incredible artists, got some real interest in my work. There’s a publisher who wants to see more of my portfolio.”
“That’s fantastic! So why do you look like someone stole your favorite pencil?”
“It’s not what happened at the conference that’s worrying me. It’s everything else.”
“Meaning?”
“I’m in love with him, Alli.” The words tumble out in a rush. “Not just attracted, not just infatuated. I’m completely, stupidly, head-over-heels in love with my boss, and I don’t know what the hell to do about it.”
Alli’s expression softens. “Oh, honey.”
“I can’t keep working for him and pretending this is just physical.
I can’t sit in meetings taking notes while all I want to do is kiss him senseless.
And I definitely can’t keep having the best sex of my life with my boss and expect it to end well.
Not to mention that if we get found out, I could lose my job, and it would ruin his reputation. ”
“So what are you thinking?”
I look at the ceiling of my living room, my eyes focusing on the yellow stain from an old water leak from the apartment above mine. “I think I need to quit my job. Before this gets any more complicated than it already is.”
“And then what?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Maybe try to make it as an artist. Maybe find another corporate job where I won’t be tempted to fall in love with my boss.” I laugh, but it comes out hollow. With my track record, jobs like mine are hard to come by.
Alli is quiet for a long moment, stroking Berry’s fur. “Or,” she says finally, “maybe you tell him how you feel and see what happens.”
The suggestion makes my stomach clench with equal parts terror and hope. “What if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if this is just easy sex for him? I know he’s enjoying it, and the stuff he said in New York… I don’t know, I’m so confused.”
“Meatball, I saw how he looked at you in your kitchen. That wasn’t convenient. That was a man who’s just as gone as you are.”
I want to believe her. God, I want to believe her. But the thought of putting my heart on the line, of risking everything for a maybe…
“I’ll think about it,” I say finally.
“Good. Now tell me everything about New York. And I mean everything. Starting with why you’re walking like you spent five days getting thoroughly—”
“Only if you tell me all about Doctor Josh.”
Her laughter fills the apartment, and for a moment, everything feels normal again. But as I start telling her about the conference, about the publishers and the possibilities, the question remains: what am I going to do about being in love with my boss?