10. Evander
Evander
It's been a week since the gala, and Mireille and I have spent every night together. We've managed to keep our professional and private lives separate, maintaining our usual work dynamic during office hours. But as soon as we leave the building, everything changes.
I find myself looking forward to the end of each workday with an anticipation I've never felt before. Mireille and I have fallen into a routine of sorts—we leave the office separately to avoid suspicion, then meet at my penthouse or her apartment.
Tonight, we're at my place. I'm in the kitchen, attempting to cook dinner while Mireille sits at the counter, sipping wine and chatting about her day. It's so domestic, so normal, and yet it feels extraordinary.
"You know," Mireille says, a teasing lilt to her voice, "when you said you were going to cook, I didn't realize you meant ordering takeout and pretending to plate it yourself."
I look up from where I'm arranging Thai food on fancy plates, trying to maintain a serious expression. "I have no idea what you're talking about. This is a secret family recipe, passed down for generations."
She laughs, the sound warming me from the inside out. "Oh really? And does this secret family recipe always come in little white boxes with ‘Big Chowder’ printed on them?"
I can't help but chuckle, abandoning my charade. "Alright, you caught me. But in my defense, I never claimed to be a chef."
Mireille stands, coming around the counter to wrap her arms around my waist. "It's okay. I like you anyway, even if you can't cook."
I turn in her embrace, pulling her close. "Oh? And what else do you like about me?"
Her green eyes sparkle with mischief. "Well, you're not terrible to look at. And you do have a rather impressive... office."
I raise an eyebrow. "My office, huh? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"
Mireille bursts into laughter, burying her face in my chest. I hold her close, loving how natural and normal this feels.
As our laughter subsides, I tilt her chin up, meeting her eyes. "I like you too, you know. More than I've ever liked anyone."
Her expression softens. "Evander..."
I lean down, capturing her lips in a tender kiss. It's different from our banter filled exchanges of the past week—slower and deeper, Mireille has gotten deeper than anyone else.
When we part, Mireille's cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright. "What about dinner?" she asks breathlessly.
I glance at the forgotten takeout, then back at her. "It can wait."
With that, I scoop her up in my arms, her squeal of surprise turning into giggles as her legs wrapped around my waist and her lips trailing kisses along my neck. To my shock, she’s not wearing any panties. My cock thickens against my slacks. Christ, I can’t get enough of her.
Our lips meet once again and that little moan that she releases at the back of her throat is absolutely intoxicating. Whenever she makes it, it makes me harder than stone.
Unsnapping the buttons and releasing the zipper, my cock spills free and I line it up at her entrance, the heat of her pussy enticing me, urging me to thrust deeply and I do.
I thrust hard and fast, burying myself inside of her. She groans against my mouth, and I tighten my grip on her. My movements methodical, thrusting in and out of her, my cock hitting deep inside of her.
She throws her head back, a long groan spilling from her lips. “God,” she moans.
My pace is unrelenting as I fuck her hard and fast. There’s nothing better in this world than being inside of her. Every time I withdraw, her pussy sucks me right back in.
A man could get fucking addicted to her. She’s intoxicating. She’s the drug that will have you wanting more, get you hooked and never let you go.
“Evander,” she moans, her pussy contracting around my cock. “More, please,” she begs.
My fingers tighten on her, and I have no doubt that they’re going to leave a mark, my cock thickens at the thought of me branding her. Fuck. I hammer into her, searching for my release.
“Yes,” she cries, her pussy spasming as her orgasm washes over her. “Evander,” she whimpers.
I’m lost, the way her pussy squeezes my cock, suffocating it. I’m gone. I hammer into her once more, burying myself to the hilt and releasing inside of her with a groan of her name.
We’re both breathing hard, none of us speak. My knees are shaking but I keep a hold of her while we both come down from our orgasms.
“Once I’m able,” I begin. “We’re going to do that again.”
Her eyes dance with happiness and her beautiful face splits into a smile. “Hmm,” she says with a grin.
I can't believe how different my life has become since the night of the gala. Being with Mireille is different, she’s brought light and laughter into my dull existence, reminding me that there's more to life than work and duty.
"So," I say, attempting to sound casual as I run my fingers through her silky hair. "About the gala next weekend...do you think we could make it a proper date? You know, just you and me, no work involved?"
Mireille lifts her head to meet my gaze, her eyes shining with emotion. "I'd love that," she whispers. "But on one condition."
"And what's that?" I ask warily, bracing myself for an outrageous request.
Her grin is mischievous as she playfully bites her lip. "Well, you are taking me out, after all. So, I expect you to pull out all the stops—flowers, champagne, the works."
Despite myself, I chuckle. "You drive a hard bargain."
"I know," she teases. "It's one of my most endearing qualities."
I rise to my feet, fixing my slacks and buttoning them up. "I wouldn't have it any other way." I help her to her feet, I lean in, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "You know that right?"
Mireille smiles against me as her arms wrap around my waist tighter than before. "I do," she said with a big grin. "You’re starting to grow on me, Grumpy Pants."
I chuckle at Mireille's playful nickname for me. "Grumpy Pants, huh? I'll have you know I can be quite cheerful when the occasion calls for it."
She raises an eyebrow skeptically. "Oh really? I'd like to see that."
"Challenge accepted," I say with a grin. "How about we finally eat that dinner I so expertly 'cooked', and I'll show you just how un-grumpy I can be."
Mireille laughs, the sound warming me from the inside out. "Alright, I'm game. But I warn you, I have very high standards for cheerfulness."
As we settle in to eat our reheated takeout, I find myself enjoying how comfortable this all feels.
The easy banter, the stolen glances, the way Mireille's presence seems to fill up all the empty spaces in my life I never even realized were there. I was always content, but didn’t realize something was missing, until Mireille.
Later, as we're curled up on the couch watching a movie, Mireille nestled against my side, I can't help but think about how much has changed. I've gone from being solely focused on work to looking forward to these quiet evenings with her.
I press a kiss to the top of her head, inhaling the sweet scent of her shampoo. "Thank you," I murmur.
She tilts her head to look up at me, confusion in her eyes. "For what?"
"For this," I gesture vaguely. "For being you. For making me happier than I've been in a very long time."
Mireille's expression softens, her eyes shining with emotion. "Oh, Evander," she says softly, reaching up to cup my cheek. "You make me happy too. Happier than I ever thought possible."
She rests her head against my shoulder and focuses back on the movie. I know that no matter what, I won’t lose her. I’m falling for her, hell, I’m already gone.
“ C offee time,” I hear Mireille call out as I’m replying to emails.
I look up to see Mireille balancing a tray with two coffee mugs, carefully making her way into my office. Despite her best efforts, she stumbles slightly, causing the hot liquid to slosh dangerously close to the edges.
"Careful," I say, quickly standing to help her. I take the tray from her hands, setting it safely on my desk. "Are you alright?"
Mireille blushes, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm fine. Just my usual graceful self."
I can't help but smile at her self-deprecating humor. "Well, thank you for the coffee. Though perhaps next time I should come get it myself."
"Nonsense," she says with a wave of her hand. "What kind of assistant would I be if I couldn't even bring you coffee?"
"A safe one," I tease gently.
Mireille rolls her eyes, but I can see the smile tugging at her lips. "Very funny, Mr. Prescott. Now, did you need anything else? Besides protection from my clumsiness, that is."
I chuckle, shaking my head. "No, that will be all for now. Thank you, Mireille."
As she turns to leave, I find myself calling out, "Oh, and Mireille?"
She pauses at the door, looking back at me expectantly.
"Be careful out there. I'd hate to lose my best assistant to a coffee-related incident."
Mireille laughs, the sound brightening my entire office. "I'll do my best," she promises before slipping out the door.
I sit back down at my desk, sipping the coffee she brought me and smiling to myself. Who would have thought that Mireille's endearing clumsiness would become one of my favorite parts of the day?