Chapter 30
MANDY
We stepped into the elevator, and I felt the whiskey warming my blood. Or maybe it was the way Briggs was looking at me—like he wanted to devour me the second we were alone.
Or maybe it was me who wanted to devour him. He did look good enough to eat.
The doors closed. His hand found the small of my back.
“You’re staring,” I said.
“I know.”
The elevator climbed. I watched the numbers tick up. Twenty floors. Thirty. Forty. The anticipation was building with each floor.
When the doors finally opened into his penthouse, I barely made it three steps before his hands were on me. He spun me around, pressing me against the wall beside the elevator. His mouth crashed onto mine.
I kissed him back just as desperately. My hands found his shirt, working the buttons open while his tongue swept into my mouth. I needed to touch him. Needed to feel his skin against mine.
“Bedroom,” I managed to say between kisses.
“Too far.”
His hands slid under my dress, hiking it up around my waist. I gasped when his fingers hooked into my underwear, pulling them down my legs. I stepped out of them, kicking them aside.
“Briggs,” I breathed.
“I need you.” His voice was rough, strained. “Right now.”
But I had other plans.
I pushed against his chest, creating space between us. His eyes were dark with desire, confused by my sudden retreat.
“My turn,” I said.
I dropped to my knees in front of him.
His eyes widened. “Oh shit, Mandy. You don’t need to.”
“Shh.” I worked his belt open, then his zipper. “Let me take care of you.”
I freed him from his boxers. He was already hard, already ready for me. I wrapped my hand around him, stroking once, twice. He groaned, his head falling back against the wall.
I leaned forward and took him in my mouth.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his hand immediately going to my hair.
I took him deeper, hollowing my cheeks, using my tongue to lick over the top and then down the sides of his hard length. His fingers tightened in my hair—not pulling, just holding on like he needed the anchor.
“God, Mandy.” His voice was strained. “Your mouth is so fucking hot.”
I looked up at him. His eyes were half-closed, his jaw tight. He looked wrecked already. I was just getting started. I wanted to turn the man inside out like he had done to me so many times.
I pulled back slowly, letting him slide out of my mouth before taking him deep again. I set a rhythm that had his hips jerking forward involuntarily. His other hand came to rest on the wall beside him, bracing himself.
“You’re so good at this,” he groaned. “So fucking good.”
I hummed around him, the vibration making him curse again. His control was slipping. I could feel it in the way his breathing had gone ragged. His fingers tightened in my hair, pulling a little harder than earlier.
“Mandy,” he groaned. “I’m close.”
I didn’t let him retreat. Instead, I took him deeper, my hand working what I couldn’t fit in my mouth. I wanted this. Wanted to make him come undone.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his hips stuttering. “I can’t stop.”
He came with a low groan that I felt vibrate through his entire body. I stayed with him through it, swallowing everything he gave me until he was pulling me up, kissing me hard.
“Goddamn.” He couldn’t seem to find words. “Come here.”
He pulled me toward the windows, those massive floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the city. The lights of Manhattan spread out before us like stars.
“Briggs, what are you doing? “
“My turn,” he said, echoing my earlier words.
He sat down on the couch facing the windows and pulled me onto his lap so I was straddling him. His hands found the zipper of my dress, sliding it down my back. The dress pooled around my waist.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his hands cupping my breasts through my bra. “Every time I look at you, I can’t believe you’re real.”
My heart squeezed. This wasn’t just sex. This was something more. Something that terrified me and thrilled me in equal measure.
He unhooked my bra, tossing it aside. His mouth found my breast, tongue circling my nipple before sucking it into his mouth. I arched into him, my fingers tangling in his hair.
“Briggs,” I moaned.
His hand slid between us, fingers finding my center. I was already wet. He stroked through my folds, his thumb finding my clit and circling with just the right amount of pressure.
“So wet for me,” he murmured against my skin. “Always so ready.”
“Always,” I agreed breathlessly.
He slid two fingers inside me, sliding over that sensitive bundle of nerves that made my toes curl. I rocked against his hand, chasing the pleasure he was building.
“I need you inside me,” I said. “Now.”
“I have to get a condom.”
“Do you?” I murmured. I surprised myself. “I’m on the pill. I’m clean.”
He stopped and looked at me. “I haven’t been with anyone in… well, a long time. I’m good.”
I grabbed his face with both hands. “Then please, fuck me.”
He positioned himself at my entrance. Our eyes met and he slowly pushed inside me.
I nearly wept with the immense pleasure.
I gasped as he filled me completely. The stretch, the fullness—God, it was perfect.
But this time felt different. No barrier between us.
Just him and me, skin to skin, connected in the most intimate way possible.
“Oh God,” I breathed, my fingers digging into his shoulders. “You feel so good.”
“You have no idea,” he groaned, his hands gripping my hips. “Feeling you like this—fuck, Mandy.”
I started to move, rolling my hips in slow circles. His eyes locked on mine. Whatever was happening felt like it was more than just physical pleasure.
“You’re mine,” he said, his voice rough. “Tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” I whispered. “All yours.”
He thrust up into me. I cried out. The angle was perfect, hitting that spot deep inside that made stars explode behind my eyelids. I moved faster, chasing the building pressure.
His mouth found my neck, sucking and biting in a way that would definitely leave marks. I didn’t care. I wanted his marks on me. Wanted evidence of this moment, this connection.
“Look at the city,” he murmured against my skin. “Look how beautiful it is.”
I turned my head, taking in the sprawling lights of Manhattan. We were so high up, so exposed. Anyone in the buildings across from us could look over and see us. The thought should have mortified me, but instead it made me clench around him.
“You like that,” he said, feeling my reaction. “The idea that someone might see.”
“Maybe,” I admitted breathlessly.
His hand slid between us, fingers finding my clit. He rubbed in tight circles while I rode him, the dual sensation pushing me closer to the edge.
“Come for me,” he commanded. “I want to feel you.”
The orgasm hit me like a freight train. I came hard, crying out his name, my body clenching around him in waves of pleasure. He followed seconds later, burying himself deep and groaning my name.
Both of us were breathing hard, foreheads pressed together. His arms wrapped around me, holding me close.
“I feel eighteen again.” He chuckled. “I’m impressed with myself.”
I laughed. “Good job. Really, good job.”
I lifted my head to look at him. His hair was a mess from my fingers. His lips were swollen from kissing. He looked thoroughly debauched and absolutely perfect.
“We should probably move,” I said. “Before I fall asleep right here.”
“Give me a minute. I’m not sure my legs work anymore.”
I laughed, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “You’re such a drama queen.”
“You ruined me. This is your fault.”
Eventually we did move, stumbling to his bedroom and passing out within minutes.
The next morning, I watched him adjust his tie in the mirror. He looked every inch the powerful attorney—three-piece suit perfectly tailored, hair styled, and clean shaven. This was the Briggs Blackwell the world saw.
“You look very lawyerly,” I said from where I was still lounging in his bed, wrapped in his sheets.
He turned and smiled. “Is that a compliment?”
“It is. Very intimidating. I’d hate to be opposing counsel.”
He crossed back to the bed and leaned down to kiss me. “Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need luck. You’re going to destroy them.”
“That’s the plan.” He kissed me again, deeper this time. “What are you going to do today?”
“I don’t know. Explore the city a little. Maybe go to a museum. I’ll figure it out.”
“There’s a spare key on the hook by the door. Help yourself to anything.”
I smiled at him. “Have a good day at work, dear.”
He groaned. “That was very domestic.”
“We’re married. It’s allowed.”
“Fair point.” He grabbed his briefcase. “I’ll text you when I’m done. Probably won’t be until late.”
“I’ll be here.”
After he left, I lay in bed for another twenty minutes, enjoying the quiet. I already missed him, which was ridiculous considering he’d only been gone half an hour.
Eventually I forced myself up and into the shower. I stood under the hot water longer than necessary, thinking about last night. That had been the closest thing to making love that I had ever experienced.
This was getting complicated in all the ways I’d been afraid it would.
I got dressed and made myself coffee in his pristine kitchen. While it brewed, I wandered around the apartment, really looking at it for the first time without Briggs there as a distraction.
The place was sparse, but there were small details if you paid attention.
A stack of books on the side table, all legal thrillers.
A framed photo on the bookshelf of him and his brothers when they were younger, all of them in football uniforms. Another photo of him with his father, both of them grinning at the camera.
I picked up the football photo, studying it. Briggs looked about fourteen. He was holding a football and had his arm slung around Dash’s shoulders. They all looked so happy.
I set the photo down and continued exploring. His office was the most personal room—diplomas on the wall, more family photos, shelves lined with law books and case files. There was a framed article about Blackwell Couture, featuring his father.
I found myself in the kitchen again, staring at his well-stocked fridge. An idea was forming. He’d cooked for me multiple times now. Made me feel taken care of in a way I hadn’t experienced in years.
I could do the same for him.
I grabbed my phone and pulled up a recipe. Something I knew I could handle. I wasn’t much of a cook, but I could manage the basics. And more importantly, I wanted to do something nice for him after what would probably be a long, exhausting day in court.
I made a list and headed out to find a grocery store.
Manhattan was overwhelming in the daylight. So many people, so much noise. Everyone was in a hurry, like they had somewhere important to be. I felt like a tourist, gawking at the buildings and nearly getting run over by aggressive pedestrians.
I found a market and got what I needed. Fresh pasta, ingredients for a simple sauce, a salad, and a loaf of crusty bread. I even grabbed a bottle of wine, though we’d probably stick to one glass after our recent track record.
Back at the apartment, I got to work. I wasn’t going to win any culinary awards, but I could make a decent meal. I put on music and lost myself in the process.
It felt good. Domestic.
I was just pulling the bread from the oven when my phone rang.
I answered and felt my heart drop. It was not a call I wanted to get.