Epilogue #2
He teases my clit with the tip of his tongue, flicking it back and forth, sending shockwaves straight to my core.
“Harder, Andrej.”
He slides two fingers inside me, and they squelch with my wetness. “I’ve never seen you so fucking soft and wet. Did you miss me?”
“Yes.” I don’t want to talk. I want to come all over his face and keep right on coming until my legs give way.
As if he heard me, he sucks on my clit, tugging it between his lips, licking and nibbling until it’s all I can feel. All I can think about.
“Fuck my face, baby. I’ve waited too long to taste you.”
I rock my hips, grinding my pelvis onto his fingers, dragging my clit back and forth across his tongue. Somehow, he unfastens the satin ribbon, and it slithers off my body, leaving me naked.
“Are you going to come for me?”
“Yes.” I’m reduced to a one-syllable mess as my hips keep rocking of their own accord, and my clit takes exactly what it wants from him.
The orgasm shatters through me. My legs are like jelly. My entire body convulses, and it’s only the back of the sofa that’s keeping me upright, keeping my pussy on his face, and my hips rocking back and forth with a momentum that I’m powerless to stop.
Andrej sucks until I’m spent. I collapse on top of him, conscious of his chest wound, and barely supporting myself on my elbows so that he doesn’t take my weight.
His lips find mine. They’re desperate, demanding, his tongue filling my mouth while he fists my hair. “Taste your cum, baby,” he manages between kisses.
I suck my juices from him, cupping his face and whimpering as I lick my taste from his lips. But he stops me with his hands on my shoulders and slides out from under me.
“I’m not done with you yet.”
My orgasm is still pulsing through me, and I watch him wide-eyed and open-mouthed, as he drags his sweatpants down over his hips but leaves his boxers on.
“This is all yours. Use me as you will.”
On my knees on the sofa, I reach a hand inside his boxers and stroke the length of his shaft until I reach the base. Then I feel something small and solid. Metal. And my hand instinctively pulls away.
“What is it?” I sit back.
“Why don’t you take it out and see?”
Bemused, I slide my hand back inside his boxers, feeling my way down his erection until I find it again, tangled in the tight neat mound of pubic hair. As my fingers close around it, I realize that it’s a band of some sort. A ring.
I pull it out and hold it between us. It is a ring. A platinum wedding band with our engraved initials interwoven around the metal.
“I…” In the throes of my orgasm, my befuddled brain is trying to put it into context. “A wedding ring?” He nods once. “How did you…? When did you get this?”
“Tamara helped me get it made while I was at the hospital. When I proposed to you, I should’ve said that I’m not prepared to wait. You’re mine, Cartier. I told you this when we first met. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Starting now.”
“You want to marry me today?” I’m still holding the ring between my thumb and forefinger. “The turkey is in the oven. I don’t have a dress.”
His laughter is contagious. “I love your priorities. Personally, I’d marry you naked. I’d be happy if I never saw you in clothes again, but I understand that it could be a bit impractical.” He pauses. “How about next week?”
“Next week?” He nods, waiting for me to process the new proposal. “Okay. Yes. But I’m not getting married naked.”
“Deal.” He takes the ring from me and slides it into the pocket of his sweatpants. “Now where were we?”
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And…
Here is you next spicy hot holiday read form New York to Ireland…
A Dark Mafia Christmas: A Billionaire Boss Fake Engagement, Surprise Baby Romance.
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Emmett
“Enough.”
I unwrap Bonnie’s arms from around my neck, dodging her glossy pout at the same time. I grip her wrists tightly in front of her. It’s meant to sober her up a little, but instead, it seems to have the opposite effect, and a smile that’s trying too hard to be sexy curves her lips upwards.
“Want to play rough, Emmett, huh?” She tries to bat my nose with her fingertip and realizes a beat too late, that her arms are being restrained. The pout is back.
“I want you to come with me and get some water.” I lead her towards the bar like a disobedient puppy.
She rises to the role, dragging her six-inch heels and twisting her ankle, catapulting herself into my arms. I can smell the alcohol on her breath, see the runny mascara under her eyes, and the lipstick that almost managed to stick inside the outline of her lips.
“Why don’t we go—” she hiccups on cue “—somewhere quiet?”
I stand back, keeping her at arm’s length, and order a large glass of water from the bartender. “This is my party,” I remind her. “The boss can’t be the first to leave.”
Bonnie peers all around, swaying on those fuck-me heels, the room full of people slowly coming into focus. “No one will even notice you’ve gone,” she whines like a child who has just been told it’s too late to go to the park.
Thanks for that.
The bartender slides the glass of water towards me, and I prop her upright with one arm while I raise the drink to her lips. “Drink this, wouldja. Slowly now!” I have visions of the cocktails she has been downing all evening ending up on my shoes.
Her large brown eyes hold mine while she slurps water and swallows. Her expression crumples into a grimace of disgust. “What are you trying to do to me?”
“Sober you up before you do something you regret.”
The comment is missed as the sloppy smile reappears and she cocks a finger at me, clutching the bar for support. “Don’t answer that. Yet. Save it for when we’re alone.”
I glance around for my driver, Dave, who is standing strategically by the door in his customary black suit. I don’t even have to signal—the domino effect happens all on its own.
“I’ve been waiting for you to call me, Em.” Bonnie is still talking, her voice rising a notch. I hate being called Em. “You said you would call me…”
A security guard appears from nowhere. He grips Bonnie’s arm, and she glares at him, trying to wriggle free. “Come on, ma’am. A car is waiting outside to take you home.”
“Home?”
She looks at him as though he just suggested she strip naked and perform a pole dance on the bar. Although Bonnie would probably enjoy that.
“Emmett? Em? Tell him…”
“Go home, Bonnie.” I turn back to the bartender who slides a champagne flute my way.
The guard leads her towards the exit, but she somehow manages to wrench her arm free and stumbles back towards me. “Tell him that we hooked up, Emmett. Tell him.” Her eyes grow large with tears.
The thing is, sober-Bonnie is one of the sexiest women in the building. Blond, curves in all the right places, clothes that leave little to the imagination, and a J-Lo butt to complete the picture, but drunk-Bonnie…
I don’t need this tonight.
“Yeah, that’s right. We. Hooked. Up.” She drawls the words to anyone who will listen as the guard herds her towards the exit and the elevator down to the lobby.
I keep my eyes on the champagne glass and sip ice-cold soda.
The office is closed for the holidays, and I’m flying home to Ireland tomorrow.
I haven’t seen my mom in a year. I need to be clear-headed to avoid the when-are-you-going-to-meet-a-nice-girl-and-settle-down discussions that will inevitably dominate the entire visit.
And there’s still the little matter of one final job that needs to be settled tonight.
“Emmett O’Hara, you don’t get rid of me this easily!” Bonnie shrieks from outside the room.
I don’t look around. I know that everyone will be staring at my back, storing up the drama to be recounted via text messages and WhatsApp chats tomorrow when they’ve shrugged off their Christmas party hangovers. But what’s new? Bonnie wasn’t the first, and she certainly won’t be the last.
I turn around and catch several pairs of eyes widening before the owners pretend to be deep in conversation.
We hold the Christmas party on the top floor of O’Hara Developers every year.
It’s a huge open-plan space. With the bar taking up the length of one wall, tables laden with canapés on the opposite side of the room, and a DJ set up in one corner, lights flashing along in time with the bass beat, there’s ample space to accommodate the staff.
No partners invited. We do this as a company, or we don’t do it at all.
I’ll be forced to sit through a bunch of cheesy Christmas movies by my mom, cousins, and aunties when I get home, without having to watch my employees getting all fake-merry because, hey, it’s the most wonderful time of the year, dontcha know?
Don’t get me wrong. I’m no Grinch. I just don’t understand why people can’t be jolly all year round instead of saving it for when the advertising companies say they should be happy spending all their hard-earned money on shit no one wants.
Who am I kidding?
I organize a Christmas party because it’s what’s expected of me, and not because I want to get steaming drunk and sing along badly to Mariah Carey’s ‘All I Want for Christmas Is You’, with someone’s sweaty arm hanging off my shoulders.
Besides, Sonia, my PA, would never forgive me if she didn’t get the chance to wear a sparkly dress and reindeer antlers, and dispel the boss’s snooty gatekeeper image at least once a year.
On cue, I catch her eye as she makes her way over to the DJ with a cheesy request, and I raise my soda to toast her. She blows me a kiss from across the room. I don’t even pretend to catch it.