Chapter Twenty-Two
Twenty-Two
Alex
“Is this all you brought?” Vicky asks.
I pause in the act of buttoning up my shirt.
She has her suitcase open on the bed, the clothes within laid out in neat piles. The suitcase is empty.
“Evidently.”
“It’s all dresses.”
I walk over. “That one’s a skirt,” I say, pointing out the obvious. “That’s a blouse.”
She folds her arms over the thick bathrobe she’s still wearing. “And the rest are dresses. You packed for access.”
“Did I?” I ask, continuing to button my shirt while she huffs in exasperation.
“And you forgot my underwear.”
“I did?” I reply, face perfectly neutral. I manage to pull it off because exasperation turns to suspicion, and then her trademark glare. The petulance is cute.
“I’m not going.” It’s missing a stamp of her foot and a pout, but her tone manages to carry it.
“Yes, Tinker Bell, you are.” I gesture at the clothes on the bed. “You can wear those, or keep the robe on. But you are going.” I pause, reflecting. “Actually, wear the robe. I like that you’ve leaked my cum onto it.”
“There aren’t even any tights,” she sulks, picking up a summer dress. “I’m going to freeze.”
“You have a coat,” I point out helpfully. “Besides, I’ll keep you warm.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she mutters.
She shrugs out of her robe, uses the hem of it to wipe between her legs, then pulls the dress on. I watch it all with amusement, and she blushes at my frank appraisal, eyes lowering. That’s cute, too.
The one she’s chosen is a pastel blue, fine cotton, fitted to emphasize her small waist and falling loose over her hips.
I think I bought it for her within our first week together.
Her shoulders are bare save for two thin straps, and they draw my eye to the curve of her neck, the swell of her firm breasts, nipples prominent against the soft fabric.
She turns to present her back, the skirt swirling lightly around her thighs. “Zip me up?”
Her skin is smooth and flawless, and it’s a shame to slide the zip into place, covering it. It takes more control than I would expect.
This might’ve been a mistake. She’s fucking distracting.
Oh well, too late.
“That looks perfect.”
She holds up the shoes I brought, dangling them from two fingers. “Strappy heels? Really? No socks or boots?”
“They suit the dress.”
She gives me a look of disdain, drops the sandals on the floor, then sits on the edge of the bed and pulls on the ankle boots she was wearing yesterday. I allow this small rebellion.
“Where are we going?”
I don’t actually know. “We’re being picked up.” I glance at my watch, then go for my blazer. “In ten minutes.”
“Who are we meeting?”
“Bastien Fournier.”
“Who the hell’s that?”
“He runs Cadrion Holdings. It’s the umbrella for Northbridge.”
She pauses in the act of zipping up her boot. “Like your boss’s boss?”
“Hmm.” I smooth my blazer down and adjust my cuffs. “More like my boss’s boss’s boss’s boss.”
“Great,” she says sarcastically. “And I’m meeting him dressed like a na?ve schoolgirl.”
“You’ve already met him. He was at the ball.”
She frowns. “I don’t remember.”
I wave it away. “Oh, before I forget…” I slip a hand inside my blazer pocket and pull out Vicky’s ring. “Put this on.”
She hesitates, eyeing it with a complex mix of emotions playing across her face. Then her eyes harden. “‘Put this on’? That’s romantic, isn’t it?”
“Put this on, or I’ll spank you. I’m sure that’ll make the ride more interesting for you.”
“You don’t need to threaten all the time,” she mutters, then takes it from my palm, sliding it back onto her finger, a frown creasing her brow as she stares at it.
I watch with a strong sense of satisfaction.
It’s not only that she’s accepted it again, it’s that she’s wearing something that marks her as mine.
I like that, but I wonder if it’s enough.
Maybe I should design a tattoo for her, something indelible and permanent that she can’t remove.
A constant reminder on her body of who owns her.
“Shall we go?”
She stands, collecting her coat and pulling it on. “Sometimes I hate you.”
“And that’s what makes the sex so fun.”
Her response is a joy to see. She stills, in that way she has when she’s uncomfortable. Her eyes shoot to me, widen, look away. Her cheeks flush. She bites at her lip. It all takes place in a second, and I know she’s aroused.
Yeah. Fucking distracting.
But I don’t care. Fournier probably wants a ‘welcome the new boy’ meet-and-greet, and it’s going to be over twenty minutes after we arrive. We can get back here, and I can spend the afternoon tying her up and exploring everything under that dress.
I slide a hand into my pocket, surreptitiously adjust myself, then pull my coat on. “Let’s go.”
Glancing at the time as we walk out of the lodge, it’s two minutes till eleven.
I’m not sure who’s meeting us or where, only that this is where we need to be, and when.
There are few cars in the lot, all of them parked, none of them occupied, and nothing in sight.
The sun’s out, the ground dry, but the air is crisp.
Vicky shivers, fixes me with a hard look, and hunches her shoulders in her coat. “Where is he, then?”
“I very much doubt he’ll be here in person.” I slide an arm around her waist and pull her against me, and it’s a mark of how cold she is that she doesn’t protest or try and draw back.
I keep an eye on the road, but there’s no sign of any cars. We’re standing like lemons outside the lodge, no one around, no movement, and I’m beginning to get irritated.
“How wealthy is this guy?” Vicky asks, the words carrying a curious note.
“Millions,” I say offhandedly. “Possibly a billion or two.”
She nods past me with her head, away from the road. “I think our ride’s here.”
I follow her gaze, and it takes me a moment to spot what’s caught her attention, because I’m looking at the ground.
There’s a helicopter coming in, descending on a path that makes it clear the lodge is its destination. It’s sleek, black, and eerily silent as it approaches. Only as it draws nearer does the sound of the rotors grow from a whisper to a whump, and a moment later it lands at the far end of the lot.
“There we are then,” I say, like I expected it. I start walking, Vicky taking a moment to catch her step beside me, my arm dragging her for the first two paces.
“I can’t believe you’ve dressed me like this,” she mutters.
“You chose your clothes.”
“From your options.”
I run my tongue inside my cheek. Her available wardrobe perhaps didn’t take into account the weather, but I’d have brought the same clothes even if I had considered it. She looks good enough to eat.
I probably will, later.
The copilot climbs out of the helicopter, coming to meet us.
He’s dressed in a uniform and all smiles.
“Mr. Reyes, Miss Callahan, how nice to meet you both.” It’s not a question; he’s recognized us.
“I’m Jonathan Davis, your host for this trip, and Mr. Fournier is anticipating your arrival.
” He opens the passenger door for us and steps back, inviting us in.
The downdraft from the slowing rotor blades stirs our coats, and Vicky shivers again.
She’s only too keen to step inside, into a cabin with wooden floors and individual swiveling leather seats.
Plenty of space. It’s more like a small lounge than a helicopter.
“Please make yourselves comfortable,” Davis says.
“Do we need headsets?” Vicky asks as I take the seat beside her.
Davis gives her a condescending smile that makes me want to punch him.
“Oh no. This isn’t that kind of helicopter.
The cabin is fully sound-insulated, and the vibration is isolated from the fuselage.
That means you can talk normally the entire flight.
You’ll find it much more civilized than the sort of aircraft most people are used to. ”
“Thank you,” she replies, like he didn’t just mansplain to her.
“Off you go,” I tell him, and close the door in his face.
Vicky gives me a look, then settles back in her chair and fastens her lap belt. I don’t bother with mine, but relax back in my chair and portray a calm exterior, even if within, there’s unrest.
It’s not the unknown of the pending meeting with Fournier. In fact, that barely plays on my mind. Perhaps it should, but I’m certain this is a formality, at worst a reprimand for the inadvertent dual-invite at the ball. I’m resigned to it being a waste of time.
Instead, my thoughts focus on the woman sitting beside me, flicking between the memory of her body beneath me that morning, the taste of her the night before, and how I can provoke more of that enticing battle within her.
That, and the strangely disconcerting tendency I have to lose my cool whenever another man is in her presence, especially when she’s not treated with the respect she deserves.
It’s so far removed from what I expect of my own behavior that it’s worth a moment of analysis.
Then again, Vicky and I are working through the throes of freshly discovered passion, and maybe it justifies my… fascination.
The helicopter rises gracefully with a slight tug at my stomach.
“I think you’ve changed,” Vicky says from beside me, her voice soft. The patronizing man is correct; it’s quiet enough to hear her.
“We all change,” I reply off-handedly, distracted by my thoughts.
“You’re more…” she pauses, twiddling her engagement ring on her finger. “…controlling.”
I don’t bother to point out that’s complete bullshit. I’ve always been controlling.
She gets there by herself. “No, that’s not it,” she muses. “You’re obsessed.”
That gets my attention. “With what?”
“Me.”
I laugh. “No, I’m not.”
“Uh-huh,” she says. “And what would you do if I go back to Miami after the meeting today?”
“You won’t,” I say firmly. “That’s not happening.”
Her breath catches, just slightly. I notice. “If I did? If I somehow, miraculously, escape your evil clutches?”