Chapter 9 Tessa #2
Then one of his hands slid lower, trailing back until his finger pressed firmly between my cheeks. He circled the tight ring, spreading me open with gentle pressure before easing the tip inside.
The sensation was sharp and shocking, a forbidden invasion that made me stiffen and gasp while clawing his chest.
Heat and discomfort tangled as he pushed deeper, working me with slow, insistent strokes until I trembled above him, every nerve on edge.
"Lucian," I panted, grinding against him even as he thrust in and out of me at an opposite rhythm to his thrusting hips. "That’s bad."
His mouth curved in a dark smile. "I want to claim that hole one day," he growled as he pushed his finger as deep as it would go. "Every inch of you will be mine."
The words sent a fresh jolt through me, my body tightening around him as his thrusts met my movements.
My protests tangled with moans, every part of me strung tight between resistance and overwhelming need.
“Lucian,” I whispered, clutching his shoulders, “don’t stop.”
He didn’t. His pace quickened, each thrust angled to drag across every tender spot. My body arched with the rhythm, vision hazing as heat coiled low, pulling me closer to breaking again.
My body clenched around him again, the climax pulling me under a second time.
I collapsed on him and cried out against his neck as the orgasm tore through me. My walls convulsed around him in hard, pulsing waves, every squeeze dragging another cry from my throat.
My legs shook as heat ripped through my core, each spasm leaving me weaker until I was left gasping for air, clinging to him while the aftershocks continued to ripple through me.
When the aftershocks eased, his grip on my hips tightened and he drove up into me with urgent force, every thrust harder, rougher, building his own release.
His chest heaved under my palms, his teeth bared as his breath grew ragged. I felt his body tense and jolt in a final drive, and he came so hard his entire body shuddered and twitched.
I clenched around him, milking every last drop of his release into the sleeve, and he pulled me down against his chest hard, kissing my temple.
My head rested on his chest, his fingers trailing through my hair, combing the tangles gently.
"I've never talked to anyone the way I talk to you," he said into the darkness.
His admission made this suddenly so much more intimate than sex. I felt tense but strangely comfortable at the same time. Didn't he know that for a woman, talking after sex was the most intimate thing a man could do?
I felt a sudden urge to run, but I forced myself to stay still and stick to what I told him before he kissed me.
"We're friends," I said, trying to keep my voice light. "Friends talk."
"Is that what we are? Friends?"
I propped myself up on my elbow to look at him. "We can be. The mentorship, the attraction—it doesn't have to make things weird between us." Yet there I was, telling him these things with his dick still lodged in my body, with the smell of sex and lust wafting around us.
"Friends who sleep together?" I felt how awkward that sounded, but I had to double down now. I didn't want to admit how wrong I might've been.
"Friends who help each other. You're teaching me about the business. I'm providing you with an outlet for stress. It works."
He was quiet for a moment, studying my face in the dim light. "You make it sound so simple."
"Does it feel simple?"
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "With you, most things do."
Relief flooded through me. This could work. We could maintain our arrangement without crossing into dangerous emotional territory. We were both adults who understood the boundaries.
"Speaking of business," he said, his fingers still playing with my hair as I relaxed and laid back down on his chest. "I have a client meeting in Boston next month. I'd like you to come with me as my analyst."
I stiffened slightly. "Your analyst?"
"You've been sitting in on meetings, contributing valuable insights. It makes sense to formalize the role."
"Lucian, people are already talking about the special attention you give me. Promoting your assistant to analyst isn't exactly common."
"You're qualified. More than qualified. Your analysis of the Henderson acquisition was brilliant."
"That was one report."
"It was exceptional work." His hand stilled in my hair. "Unless you don't want the opportunity?"
I cringed inwardly. I did sound like I was being hesitant, and that wasn't what I meant to do.
It was just that he was already under scrutiny, and now I feared the same unwanted attention would turn in my direction.
"I want it. Of course I want it. I just…" I trailed off, unsure how to voice my concerns without sounding ungrateful.
"You're worried about appearances."
"Aren't you?"
"I stopped caring what people thought when I decided I wanted you in my bed." The blunt honesty made me shiver. "Your career shouldn't suffer because of our personal arrangement."
"And if people think I'm sleeping my way to promotions?"
"Then they're idiots who don't recognize talent when they see it. I've already told you that." His voice hardened. "You've earned this, Tessa. Don't let anyone convince you otherwise."
I settled back against his chest, processing his words. An analyst position would be a significant step forward in my career. It was what I'd been working toward for years.
"Okay," I finally said. "Boston sounds good."
"Good." I could hear the satisfaction in his voice. "We'll leave Thursday morning, be back Sunday evening."
The casual way he said it, as if traveling together for business was normal, sent a flutter through my stomach. This was getting complicated, but I couldn't bring myself to care.
Hours later, when it was time to leave, Lucian walked me to the elevator. He seemed reluctant to let me go, his hand lingering on my lower back as we waited for the doors to open.
"I have something for you," he said suddenly, reaching into his pocket.
He produced a small black velvet box, and my heart nearly stopped. Jewelry? This was exactly the type of gesture that would blur the lines we'd just carefully redrawn.
"Lucian, I can't—"
"Open it."
With trembling fingers, I lifted the lid. Inside, nestled in white satin, was a keycard.
Not jewelry. Something worse.
I felt the color drain from my face as I realized he was giving me a key to his penthouse.
"It's for the private elevator," he explained. "So you can come and go as you please. No need to announce yourself to security or wait in the lobby."
I stared at the keycard, not fully understanding what was really happening here. This wasn't just convenience—it was access. Complete, unrestricted access to his private world.
"I don't know if this is a good idea."
"Why not? You're here often enough. This just makes it easier."
But it wasn't easier. It was dangerous. Because looking at that keycard, feeling the weight of his trust and the casualness with which he'd given me entry to his life, I realized I was already far more attached to this arrangement than I'd admitted to myself.
And maybe, judging by the gift in my hands, so was he.