Chapter 33
Lark
Oh my God. Oh my God. My heart is racing so hard, I’m sure it’s going to break through my rib cage. He offered me the CEO job.
He offered me my dream job. Surely, this can’t be happening. Am I dreaming?
But no. Taking in the soft smile on his face and the seriousness in his eyes, I know, he means in.
But why?
"Are you sure? You’ve been running this company for the past two years. You turned it around. Made it more than profitable. And now you want me to take over?"
After he dropped that bombshell on me, I pulled on one of his sweatshirts and he pulled on a pair of gray sweatpants with a T-shirt before he led me down to the kitchen.
I mourned that he was covering up his physique, but damn, did he fill out a black T-shirt in a way that lit that fire in my veins all over again.
I offered to cook us an early dinner, and he pulled out a bottle of red from the wine collection in the cellar. He pours it into two glasses, walks over and hands me one.
“Remember what you said in your interview?” He looks into my eyes.
“That I wanted to be CEO.” I take the glass from him. “And I stand by it. But to do it so soon? I don’t feel ready.”
He cups my cheek. “I didn’t feel ready when Arthur asked me to be CEO either. But that didn’t stop me.”
“And you did an amazing job too.”
“Thank you.” He holds my gaze. "It’s been two years since I took over the position. The company has a healthy bottom line. It’s poised for the next leap of growth."
Needing to put distance between us as I think about what he’s saying, I step back, so he has to lower his hand.
Buying some more time, I take a sip of my wine, then place the glass down. "You’ve done the hard work in growing the company thus far. You should be in charge of the next round of expansion.”
"It’s precisely because I’ve brought it this far that I need to step aside," he muses as if he’s speaking his thoughts aloud.
I begin to season some chicken thighs with salt, pepper, and oregano. In a large pan, I heat olive oil and place the chicken in it. The delicious smell of frying chicken and the sound that accompanies the searing fills the air.
“It’s precisely because you brought the company this far you need to stay on.” I sear the chicken until it’s golden brown, then remove it and slide it onto a plate.
"It doesn’t excite me as much as it used to. The excitement I felt in the early days of leading the growth phase has faded. I don’t feel as charged up as I used to."
I mull over his words as I add a knob of butter to the same pan, then the chopped garlic. I stir it, letting the garlic brown before I add the barley grain-shaped pasta, also known as orzo.
The nutty scent of the frying orzo fills the kitchen.
I add the vegetable stock, then the peppers and broccoli I chopped earlier. I cover it and let the contents cook before I turn to him.
"Are you saying you don’t want to be involved with the company, at least, not in a full-time capacity?"
“Exactly.” There’s a pleased expression on his face.
I feel unreasonably happy that he approves of my question. It’s almost euphoric. How weird is that?
"I want to focus on what I love." One side of his mouth tips up.
"Which is working with military vets and, of course, startups?”
I remember the satisfied look on his face when he shared how he employed people from the forces and preferred to fund startups that provide better intel for troops.
“Exactly.” His eyes light up. “I want to move away from the day-to-day. Managing Human Resources, employee remuneration and office systems, not to mention tracking sales, finalizing marketing campaigns, etcetera, etcetera." He wrinkles his nose like he’s smelled something bad.
"So the stuff that keeps the company running smoothly?” I roll my eyes.
He chuckles. "I prefer the fun stuff."
"Like dealing with high-growth new ventures?" It’s not something I enjoy.
He, on the other hand, thrives on the challenge.
"I find these interactions adrenaline-filled.
" He raises a shoulder. "I love the thrill of finding a new idea that could make a difference to the world, then testing it from all angles and deciding which enterprise to back. It gives me the rush of completing the deal. And the satisfaction of backing a company from the start and building it up. It’s almost as good as—" He frowns.
A confused expression enters his eyes.
"You were going to say as good as sex, weren’t you?" I scan his features.
"I was"—he lowers his chin—"until I realized, it's not true anymore."
"Oh." I swallow. A sudden heat fills my chest. Is he implying that—nah, surely not. Not when he said he could never fall in love with me.
"Making love to you is the most sublime feeling in this world. It’s as if I’ve been waiting my entire life to be inside of you.
" He looks genuinely confused. And I can’t help feeling sorry for him.
Because my instinct tells me what he can’t admit to himself, let alone to the world.
That he’s falling for me. As I have for him.
I nestle the chicken into the orzo. Then cover and lower the flame so it can simmer.
"You sound like it’s not something you expected."
"On the contrary." He guides me to one of the barstools next to the island. Before I can protest, he hoists me onto it.
The way he handles me like I weigh next to nothing makes me feel protected. It gives me the confidence that this man can take care of me. It’s the ultimate turn on.
He prowls over to where I’ve left my glass of wine. Returning with it, he places it on the counter. Then slips onto the stool next to me. Turning, he parts his legs and drags my bar stool forward into the space.
"Whoa." I squeak. Not sure why, but I feel nervous.
He looks deeply into my eyes as if trying to decipher some puzzle, some truth which, perhaps, I haven’t admitted to myself yet? I swallow. My stomach flip-flops. To mask my skittishness, I reach for my glass of wine and take a sip.
"You’re staring." I savor the wine and set the glass aside again.
"You’re beautiful."
I flush deeply. "Thank you." I curse myself for feeling like I’m on a first date. Except, this is my husband. And he’s fucked me. And I want more. A lot more.
“And you’re distracting me from our earlier discussion.”
“That’s all you.” I scoff.
“So, you’ll take on the role of CEO?”
I hesitate. It is what I want. But there’s a difference between wanting something and having it handed to you, as I’m finding out. I think I need more experience before I take on that role. Of course, Brody will be there to guide me. But it feels daunting.
When I open my mouth to speak, he must sense what I’m going to say, for he holds up his hand. “At least, think about it.”
Holy stocking stuffers! He’s persistent. It’s one of the things I admire about him. I allow myself a small smile. “Okay.”
Some of the tension fades from his shoulders. “Now that we have that out of the way.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “You should know that you felt incredible around my cock.”
It’s a 360-degree change in topic, but I’m not surprised. Not with that current of electricity simmering between us whenever we're together. Still, hearing him say those words aloud makes me flush.
The need to duck my head and hide from his piercing gaze is almost overwhelming.
But damn, if I’m going to give in to it.
I’m not going to shy away from my sexuality.
Or this hunger he’s provoked in me. Besides, we are on our honeymoon.
Which, by its very nature, is meant for exploring carnal desires.
So no, I’m not going to turn into a wallflower.
"You felt incredible inside me." I tip up my chin. "I could feel every inch of your hard, ridged shaft."
It feels forbidden to voice how I felt, but also, strangely liberating. And when he drags his hot gaze down to my chest and doesn’t move it from there, my nipples tighten. My breasts seem to swell.
"Not complaining about the orgasms, either." I aim what I hope is a cheeky smile at him.
"Oh?" He looks a little taken aback but also recovers quickly. He drags his knuckles down my cheek, then my throat, until he rests them against the neckline of the sweatshirt.
"What else did you like about what I did to you?" He cups my breast, and I feel his touch all the way to the tips of my toes.
"I liked the way you took control. How you carried me to bed. How you threw me down on it, how you pulled me to the edge with my ankles, and how you ate me out."
I confess that I, too, like being in control—at work—which is why I thrive on to-do lists and schedules.
I assumed I'd be that way in all of my personal relationships too, but boy, was I wrong. In the bedroom, I want my husband to take charge. I want him to know exactly what turns me on. I want to trust that he’ll know exactly how far he can push me without hurting me, so as to draw out my pleasure.
And God, by the way he handles my body, I think he knows exactly what I want.
"Hmm." He pinches my nipple.
I moan, pushing my chest forward, hoping to feel more of his touch.
He clicks his tongue. "Oh, no. You don’t tell me what to do."
"But I want more." I scowl.
"More what?" He rubs his thumb over my nipple, and I swear, it throbs.
"More of your touch. More of your mouth on me. Your fingers and your cock inside me." I sway toward him, unable to resist this draw, which seems to have hooked its claws inside me and will never let go. "Brody, please," I whisper.
"Hmm." He places his other hand on my hip. "What do you want, baby?"
I let my gaze roam over his chest, the sculpted ridges of his abs, brick-like and impossibly defined. Every breath he takes draws my attention lower. “I want you,” I whisper, the words trembling between hunger and surrender.
"You’ll have to be more specific than that."
"I want"—I lower my gaze to the tent which stretches his crotch, and my mouth waters—"I want to taste you."
I never wanted to do this with my ex. But with my husband, I’m so turned on.
He makes me feel wanted in a way that steals my breath. I adore how he’s always focused on my pleasure, my release, my unraveling.
I want to return the favor. I want to watch him lose control the way he makes me fall apart.
Something like satisfaction seems to ripple over him. Once more, I have this unreasonable feeling of having done something that earns me his approval. It amps up my pulse rate and pushes up my heartbeat, so I can feel my blood pumping in my ears.
He leans back in his seat and widens the space between his legs. "What are you waiting for?"
I instantly reach over and grasp the ridge outlined at the crotch of his sweatpants.
He hisses. His stomach ripples. And when I squeeze up the column, he grows rigid.
"Fuck," he growls. "Take it out."
I tug on his waistband, and when he raises his hips, I slide it down his thighs. Instantly, his dick stands to attention against his stomach. Large. Long. Swollen. With a purple head and droplets of cum visible.
"You’re big." I swallow.
"You knew that already."
Yes, I took him inside me, but noting his girth now, I wonder how he fit. As I stare, he seems to grow bigger. I gulp.
"On your knees,” he growls.
His low, hard voice, and the absolute assurance that I’ll obey him, turns my insides to putty.
My legs seem to fold under me. He pushes the stool backward as I slide down to kneel in front of him.
In this position, his crotch is at eye level.
Which means, I’m directly facing his cock.
He cups the back of my head, his touch gentle.
He rubs his thumb into my scalp. It’s almost soothing, and gives me the courage to lean forward.
I close my fingers around his length and lick up the back of his shaft.
"Bloody hell." His entire body shudders.
And with that, a calm flows through me, infusing me with a sense of power. To have this big, beautiful man become putty under my fingers is the most incredible feeling to envelop me. I squeeze my fingers around the root of his cock, then lick up the column.
He jerks his hips forward as if he’s unable to stop himself.
His fingers dig into my scalp. He tugs on my hair, and pinching sensations spark in my scalp.
My clit throbs. It’s as if there’s a direct connection between his touch and that part of me.
I swirl my tongue over the sensitive head of his shaft.
He groans and throws his head back, exposing the strong column of his neck.
A feeling of greed grips me. I want to pleasure him. I want to make him fall apart the way he made me earlier. I begin to lick on his cock in earnest. His body is so rigid his muscles might have turned to stone.
With his other hand he holds onto the edge of the counter, the skin stretched across his knuckles.
A feeling of exultation swoops through me. I half rise, so I’m crouching, giving me the height needed to close my mouth around his cock.
"Lark, fuck." His voice is strained. As are the tendons of his neck. I look up to find an almost agonized expression on his features. His jaw is clenched. A nerve prominent at his temple.
He’s looking at me with avarice and helplessness. A combination which draws more moisture from my pussy. My belly trembles.
I reach down to touch myself, but he clicks his tongue. "Stop. Your orgasms are mine."
I pause, unable to disobey his command, then decide to pay him back. I tilt my head and take him down my throat.