Chapter 23
The elevator spits me out onto our floor and I walk hastily to our suite. City light floods the glass, bright and humming, and I stare at the skyline.
I peel off my shoes and carry them in my hand as I pad toward the bedroom. The rug is plush, luxurious against bare feet. I sink onto the bench at the end of the bed. My reflection hovers in the long black window: hair barely tamed, makeup softening at the edges, my posture poor.
I’m stowing my shoes in the closet when I hear the door open and close.
James.
I feel him before I see him. There’s a shift in the air, a gravitational pull. I hang in the closet a moment longer, pretending to straighten the few hangers of my conference wardrobe.
“Hi.” His voice floats in, mild but edged.
I turn, and he’s there in the bedroom doorway. He’s shed the suit jacket, and unbuttoned his shirt just enough to read casual, but the posture is all business: arms crossed, eyes locked on me.
“Hi,” I say, and offer a half-hearted smile.
He doesn’t move. “You okay?”
I leave the closet, crossing the room to stand in front of the window, taking in the city lights with my arms wrapped around myself.
“Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude, leaving like that.”
He approaches me from behind, pulling me back against him and nestles his head between my neck and shoulder.
“You weren’t rude,” he says. “I’d be willing to bet no one else realized you were bothered.”
“But you did.”
“I did. So why were you bothered?” he asks, turning me to face him and pressing me against the window.
“I don’t know. I’m probably just tired. It’s been a long day,” I say, resting my head against his chest.
He hooks his finger under my chin and lifts my head to look at him. “Avery. Why did those questions upset you?”
“I haven’t been asked questions like that since my personal life became a secret I have to keep. I don’t know how to answer those questions. I don’t even know what this is or what I’m doing or any of it,” I say, flailing my arms in the little space between us.
“What is there to know?” James asks, voice low and firm. “And I,” he groans. “I don’t know what this is either.” He pauses, and for a moment I wonder if that’s the end of the thought, but he keeps going. “But what I do know is there’s nobody I’d rather be here with than you.”
“What is there to know? Real rich coming from the guy who’s never been in a situation he couldn’t control.”
I expect James to bristle. Instead, he softens.
“I like control,” he admits. “But even I can’t control this.
Trust me, I’ve tried.” He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Even now. I know we shouldn’t be here together.
We should be staying in separate rooms.” He presses a kiss to my cheek.
“I shouldn’t know what you look like when you shower.
” He kisses my shoulder. “Shouldn’t know how good your pussy feels.
” He licks up my neck. “Shouldn’t want to see this dress on the floor.
” He reaches behind me and unzips my dress.
“But I’m going to,” he says, sliding my dress off my shoulders and letting it fall to the floor around my feet.
“And I’m going to fuck you against this window so the entire city can see that you’re mine. ”
I hurriedly untuck his shirt as he undoes the rest of his buttons before discarding the shirt to the side. He kisses me as I fumble with his belt and zipper, before yanking his pants down along with his briefs.
He steps out of them, still kissing me, and pulls my lace panties down my legs as I unhook my bra and slide it off my arms.
He hoists me up against the window, his hardness pressed against my center, sending a shiver down my spine. He positions himself at my entrance, teasingly running his tip up and down along my wetness.
“James,” I whimper, a plea for him to stop teasing.
With a thrust, he enters me, filling me completely. We both let out a moan at the sensation.
Slowly pulling out and then slamming back in, James establishes a rhythm that sends waves of pleasure through both our bodies. My nails dig into his shoulders as I cling to him for dear life.
He reaches one hand between us to tease my clit while continuing to drive into me mercilessly.
“Look at you. Full of my cock for everyone to see. You like that they’re watching you fall apart for me, don’t you?”
“Yes!” I breathe out.
It doesn’t take long before I can feel an orgasm building up within me like a volcano threatening to erupt.
As our pace quickens and our moans grow louder, the moment finally comes, a climax so intense that it leaves us both breathless and shaking.
He pulls out of me and sets me on my unsteady feet, but doesn’t let me go.
He kisses me passionately. And I cannot get enough of this man.
James turns me around, folding me into his arms, and we stay pressed against the window, city lights flickering below as if they exist only for us. My skin sticks to the glass, cooling rapidly, but he’s an unyielding furnace at my back.
I let my head rest on his chest, listening to the way our breathing harmonizes, both of us still a little wild from what just happened.
“We should probably move before someone makes an indecent exposure complaint,” I murmur, but make no effort to untangle myself.
“Let them watch,” he says, voice rough. “You look like a fucking goddess right now.”
The reflection in the glass shows us blurred and backlit. His hands roam over me, slow and possessive. He doesn’t let go.
He eventually guides me away from the chill of the window, scoops me up in his arms and carries me to the bed. He lays me down carefully, as if I’m breakable, and then lies beside me, pulling the covers up over us, cocooning us in warmth.
For a while, we just breathe. James traces his fingertip along my collarbone, down the valley between my breasts, and then settles his hand over my ribcage.
“What are you thinking?” I ask, genuinely wanting to know.
“That I’d rather stay in this bed with you all week than go to any part of this conference.”
I roll over and lie on his chest, tracing the dark lines of his tattoos.
“But didn’t you hear? The brilliant Jameson Sterling will be presenting. We wouldn’t want to miss that. I heard he has some really sexy tattoos hidden under all those tailored suits. I might even slip him my number,” I say with a wink.
He huffs a quiet laugh and flexes his arms behind his head, letting me sprawl over him.
“You’re going to give that man an even bigger ego than he already has. He might be insufferable by Friday.”
I bite his shoulder, just enough to get a reaction. “I’ll be sure to let him know if he is.”
James makes a low sound in his throat, something between a growl and a sigh. He turns his head to look at me.
“So you like my tattoos, hmm?”
“I do. I like a lot of things about you, James,” I say, unable to look at him.
“I like a lot of things about you too, Avery.”
I lift my head from his chest to look him in the eyes and just stare for a moment, taking him in, before planting a soft kiss to his lips.
Then I nestle against him again with a smile, letting out a soft sigh, and fall asleep on his chest.
***
I’m woken by the whisper of James’s voice, close to my ear.
“You’re snoring,” he says. I can’t tell if he’s teasing or not. My mouth is dry, my limbs heavy, and I realize I slept so soundly that I hardly moved at all in my sleep.
I lift my head to look at him, furrowing my brows. “I don’t snore.”
I sit up, stretching my arms, and turn back to look at him still sprawled out in bed. “And that is absolutely no way to wake up your…employee that you sleep with casually, is it?”
He props himself up, sheets pooling at his waist, and the way he looks at me makes me want to curl back up next to him.
“No, you’re right. Let me try that again.” He places his hand on the nape of my neck, pulling me towards him, and kisses my forehead. “Good morning, beautiful.”
“Much better,” I say with a sheepish grin.
James’s hand slides up my back, knuckles tracing the fine line of my spine. “We should get going.”
We ready ourselves in a comfortable silence and head downstairs to meet the other attorneys in the breakfast line before heading into the ballroom for the start of the conference.
***
The conference is exactly as exhausting as I expect. The first three days are a monotony of rotating lectures and panels, all variations on a theme: new trial tactics, tort reform, the advances of legal technology.
I still take notes on all of it.
I fill pages in my legal pad with bullet points I know I’ll never look at again, but it helps to keep my head down and my hands busy, projecting the aura of someone who is here for professional enrichment and not the electric current running under my skin every time I look at James.
We’re careful, keeping business and pleasure completely separated by the doorframe of our hotel suite. But every night, as the door clicks shut, it’s like a dam breaking. Hours of looking but not touching all flooding at once, drowning us in our own desire.
We’ve christened nearly every surface in the suite: the couch, the bar, the bathtub, even the piano bench.
If this was the Sex Olympics, we’d be taking home the gold.
Thursday is James’s day to present. I find my spot in the middle of the crowd.
James moves differently up there. His voice, always controlled, takes on a deeper resonance on stage. It’s projected so that even at the back of the ballroom, you feel it thrumming in your ribcage.
He fields questions on litigation strategy and client wrangling, cuts through bad hypotheticals without so much as blinking. Every answer is precise, but laced with the kind of dry humor that keeps an audience engaged.
Behind me, a pair of young attorneys debate whether he’s hot or just intimidating. Someone says “both,” and the quiet laughter infects a whole row of seats.