Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Dax
The first rays of sunlight filter through the curtains, casting a golden glow over Scarlett's bare shoulder.
Her body is pressed against mine, her warmth driving me to the brink of madness.
My cock stirs against her soft skin, impossible to ignore.
I tighten my hold around her waist, unable to resist running my hand along the curve of her hip.
She stirs, her breath soft against my chest. Her lashes flutter open, and her blue eyes meet mine, hazy with sleep. The sight of her, flushed and still tangled in the remnants of last night's sex, ignites something primal within me.
"Good morning," I murmur, my voice thick with desire.
Her lips curve into a lazy smile.
"Morning."
I slide my hand lower, caressing the dip of her waist, the softness of her thigh. The blanket shifts, exposing more of her body, and I can't stop myself from trailing kisses along her neck, down to her collarbone. Her skin tastes sweet, intoxicating.
"Dax…" she whispers, a hint of amusement and arousal in her tone.
"We just woke up."
"I know," I reply, my lips brushing against her ear.
"We have to go to the office…"
"I know," I say, as I shift beneath her, positioning myself as I guide her onto me, pulling her to straddle my hips.
"You're ridiculous," she teases, her fingers threading through my hair.
My mouth captures hers in a deep, hungry kiss. My hands roam her body, memorizing every curve, every dip.
She gasps softly as I position myself at her entrance.
Her wetness tells me she is just as aroused as I am.
Her eyes lock with mine, and she lowers herself slowly on my hard throbbing dick beneath her.
Her lips curl into a wicked grin as she begins to move, sliding me deep inside her.
My hands grip her hips, steadying her as she begins to move, her rhythm slow and teasing.
The sensation is mind-numbing. Her wet pussy walls envelope me, and I can't help but groan as I thrust upward, meeting her movements. She grinds against me, her hands braced on my chest for balance, her head tilting back as soft moans escape her lips.
My hands roam her body, one sliding up to cup her breast, the other gripping her thigh as I drive my cock deeper into her.
Her movements quicken, her rhythm erratic as her pleasure builds.
I match her pace, thrusting upward, my grip on her tightening.
The sight of her above me, completely lost in the moment, is almost too much to bear.
She's stunning, her flushed skin glowing in the morning light, her eyes half-lidded with ecstasy.
Her tits bouncing as she continues chasing her release.
"Dax," she gasps, her voice trembling as she grips my shoulders for support. Her nails dig into my skin, and I know she's close.
Then I hear it. The sharp electronic ring of her alarm, vibrating through the quiet walls like a cruel intrusion. My jaw locks. She slows, just slightly, glancing toward the sound—but I grip her harder, pulling her back down on me.
"Don't stop," I growl.
She smirks, knowing exactly what she's doing, and starts again—riding me harder now, more deliberately. My hand finds her clit and I circle it with my thumb, pressing in just right.
"Come on my cock," I whisper against her mouth.
Her moans rise over the sound of the alarm, which rings again—this time more insistent—but neither of us gives a damn. We sound like animals now, two fucking animals lost in the need, the hunger, the filthy pulse of it.
I feel her clit throb under my fingers. Her thighs start to shake. Her eyes clamp shut. Then she cries out—loud, guttural—as her orgasm crashes through her body. Her pussy clenches around me, and I feel the flood of her release dripping down onto my stomach, soaking everything between us.
I grip her hips and thrust up hard—once, twice and deep. I grip her with all of my might, as I release. My grunt is sharp and primal as I spill my warm load inside of her, pulsing, groaning as her walls milk every drop from me.
She collapses onto my chest, laughing breathlessly, her lips finding mine in a slow, sated kiss. I hold her there, her skin warm against mine, my heart thudding through my ribs like I just ran a marathon.
The alarm continues its insistent beeping until Scarlett reaches over and silences it. She lifts her head from my chest, her hair falling in messy waves around her face.
"What time is it?" I ask.
She glances at the clock on her nightstand.
"Seven."
Seven. We need to be at the office by nine.
She shifts, starting to move off me, but I hold her in place for another moment, not ready to let her go.
"Are you going to the office in the same suit?" she asks, amusement coloring her voice.
I look at her, running my hand down her back.
"No. I have a closet at the office. Couple of suits, ties, everything I need."
She raises an eyebrow.
"Of course you do."
I smirk. "I'll take a shower here. If you don't mind."
"Of course not."
I give her ass a firm smack, and she yelps, laughing.
"Just lay here and marinate for a while."
She swats at my chest as I slide out from under her and stand. My legs are steadier than they should be considering what we just did.
I head to her bathroom, turning on the shower and stepping under the hot spray. The water washes away the sweat and evidence of the morning, but it does nothing to erase the memory of her body against mine, the way she looked riding me with the sun streaming through the windows.
When I return to the bedroom, a towel wrapped around my waist, Scarlett is still in bed, propped up on one elbow watching me.
"Enjoy your marinating?" I ask.
"Very much."
She gets up, wrapping herself in a silk robe that barely covers anything. I cross the room and pull her against me, my hands sliding under the robe to grip her bare skin.
"Dax," she laughs, pushing lightly at my chest.
"I have to go. We have to go."
I kiss her anyway, slow and deep, tasting her mouth one more time before I let her pull away.
She heads toward the bathroom, pausing at the doorway to look back at me.
"Don't be late."
"I won't."
She disappears into the bathroom, and I hear the shower start.
I get dressed in yesterday's clothes—wrinkled shirt, suit that smells faintly of her perfume and sex. It'll have to do until I get to the office.
Before I leave, I walk back to the bathroom door. The shower is running, steam already escaping into the hallway.
"Scarlett."
The water stops briefly. "Yeah?"
"I'll see you at the office."
There's a pause. "Okay."
I stand there for a moment longer, something unspoken hanging in the air between us. Something I'm not ready to name yet.
Then I turn and leave her apartment.
The morning air is cool as I step onto the sidewalk. The city is waking up—early commuters, delivery trucks, the hum of traffic building. I hail a cab, and one pulls up within seconds.
The ride is quick. Manhattan is still quiet enough that we make good time. I check my phone—no urgent messages, nothing that can't wait another hour.
The building lobby is nearly empty when I arrive. Just security and a few early risers heading to their offices. I nod at the guard and take the elevator up.
The forty-second floor is silent. No Emma at her desk. No team members milling around the kitchen. Just the soft hum of the HVAC and the view of the city stretching out through the windows.
I head straight to my office and close the door behind me.
My closet is built into the wall behind my desk—custom, stocked with exactly what I need for situations like this.
I pull out a fresh suit, charcoal gray, along with a crisp white shirt, navy tie, socks, briefs.
I strip out of yesterday's clothes and get dressed methodically.
Fresh everything. No evidence of where I spent the night or what I did this morning.
By the time I'm fully dressed, tie knotted perfectly, shoes polished, I look like the CEO who walked into the office yesterday. I check my reflection in the mirror one last time, adjusting my cuffs. Professional. Controlled. Exactly as it should be.
The day gets going in full swing; meetings, debriefs, calls. I'm reviewing a contract when my cell phone rings. Not my office line—my personal cell.
I glance at the screen. Mom.
I haven't talked to her in weeks. Between the MediaLink crisis and everything with Scarlett, I've been too consumed to make the usual check-in calls.
I answer. "Mom."
"Dax." Her voice is warm, familiar.
"I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me."
"Never. Just busy."
"I heard about the case. The MediaLink situation." Of course she heard. Barbara Blackwell has connections everywhere.
"How's it going?"
"Almost wrapped up. We brought in outside help, got ahead of the narrative. Should be resolved soon."
"Good. I'm glad to hear it." A pause.
"You sound tired."
"I'm fine."
"You're always fine." She sighs.
"I worry about you, working yourself to death in that city."
"I'm not working myself to death."
"Mmm." She doesn't sound convinced.
"Have you talked to your brother lately?"
My hand tightens on the phone. "No."
"He was down here in Florida for a while. A couple weeks after... well, after the wedding situation."
I sit up straighter. "Was he?"
"Yes. I thought maybe he'd reached out to you, but I suppose not." She pauses.
"He reconnected with his ex-girlfriend while he was here. You remember Rebecca? They dated years ago."
My jaw clenches. "He…reconnected with her?"
"Mmm-hmm. Spent quite a bit of time with her, actually." Mom's voice takes on that disapproving tone she reserves for Miles's bad decisions.
"I asked him about it, and he said he felt there was unfinished business. Wanted to make sure it was completely closed off before he committed to Scarlett."
I'm gripping the phone so hard I'm surprised it doesn't crack.
"He wanted to make sure."