Chapter 4
CHAPTER
FOUR
VINCENT
Nothing in the world has ever tasted as good as Ms. Kristoff did, and as I stride quickly out of the club, I know I’ll never forget her flavor as long as I live.
But I let it get away from me. I allowed my need to take over, and that was a mistake. She asked me to be alone with her, and I knew exactly what I would do to her if that happened. I would fuck her so fast and so hard, she would probably break apart.
Not with my assistant. One ought to never mix business with pleasure. Even at my position in the firm, such involvement is still a liability. It’s good I finally came to my senses when she suggested the back room, though perhaps I could have tempered my reaction.
But I’m angry. Now that I’ve tasted her delectable pussy, I’ll want nothing else ever again. I’ve ruined myself for anyone else. I should never have partaken to begin with.
I stalk out of Octavio’s and call up my car, which was waiting in a lot a few blocks over. When George arrives, I slide into the back seat and slam the door. George peers at me in the rearview mirror.
“I didn’t expect you so soon,” he says as we pull away from the curb.
“It wasn’t what I had hoped.”
No, it was far more. I could never have imagined I’d meet lovely little Ms. Kristoff dressed to kill, made up like a completely different person. Now my cock is thirsting, craving, still thick under my pants as I remember how sweet and succulent she was on my tongue.
George nods and falls silent as we drive back to my place. I have two apartments in the city, but I prefer my house, which is a bit farther out. It’s a magnificent brownstone with a newly remodeled interior, vaulted ceilings and marble countertops, and big windows looking out over the river.
Once I’m home, I pour myself a martini and get started on dinner. My personal chef was over earlier today and left me a meal in the fridge, which I heat up to go with my drink.
But it tastes like ash in my mouth compared to the meal I had earlier. How am I going to face Ms. Kristoff tomorrow? I consider calling out sick, which I’ve never done, even when I had a nasty cold last year. But that would be cowardly, and I’d still have to see her again on Monday.
Unless I fire her.
I squash that thought when it flits through my mind.
What happened tonight isn’t Ms. Kristoff’s fault, and it would be cruel of me to punish her for doing her after-hours job.
Besides, where would I find another assistant like her?
I’ve had half a dozen of them during my career, and none compared to her skill.
I need to go in tomorrow and pretend like nothing transpired between us. It will murder me, I think, not to touch her ever again when her skin was so smooth and soft under my hands, but I will just have to die and be reborn with new self-control.
With that certainty in mind, I clean up dinner and head to bed.
But the moment my eyes close, I remember Ms. Kristoff in my lap, her luscious mouth wrapped around my cock.
She’d looked so good doing it, her skill unmatched.
It usually takes more than a blowjob to make me come, but I’d unraveled in that wet, perfect mouth.
Now that I’ve drunk from her fountain once, I hunger for it. How would it look with my cock inside that delectable pussy, stretching it wide open for me? Yes, I would have to teach her. That would be a process. But once she could fit me, I would bring her to such heights of pleasure—
I need to knock some sense into myself. Pissed off, I get out of bed and head downstairs to my workout room. This is how a true orc deals with his problems: he fights them out. I don’t have anyone to attack with a battle axe right now, though, so the weight room will have to do.
After a bit of warmup on the treadmill, I load weights onto my bar and deadlift it as many times as I can, until it feels like my legs are going to give out. Then I get back on the treadmill and run some more.
At last, it feels like I might be able to sleep. I stumble back upstairs and fall into bed, but even as I lie there unconscious, she’s in my dreams.
ROSETTE
Getting ready the next morning, I’m more terrified than I’ve ever been going to work.
What happened last night at Octavio’s stays between us. That’s my job, and I would never violate a client’s trust. But the look on Mr. Roth’s face as he left? The fury, the hatred?
I wonder what kind of disaster I’ll be walking in on. I might even lose my job, now that he knows what I do outside of working for him.
Today, I stick to my daytime makeup—light concealer, a flourish of powder, some color on my eyelids and a few strokes of mascara.
Nothing like what I had on last night at the club.
I wear my best blouse and a matching skirt, this one longer than my usual.
I’ll be the perfect, demure personal assistant, exactly what Mr. Roth wants.
I’ll give him no reason to fire me.
My hand is trembling just slightly as I stand outside my apartment.
The car pulls up to the curb at nine on the dot, as it does every morning.
I don’t even dare look at Mr. Roth where he sits on the other side, pulling my feet inside, closing the door, and setting my purse into the seat back pocket like I always do.
Then I keep my gaze straight forward as I scroll to my calendar app.
“Prospective client meeting at ten,” I say. “Just enough time to get coffee and head to the other side of town.”
I see from the corner of my eye as Mr. Roth nods, not speaking, same as he always does.
The car pulls away as we head to the coffee shop.
But as we drive in silence, it feels far more deafening than it ever did before.
I’d grown so used to it, but now all I can think is that he’s going to confront me about last night.
But he doesn’t. I get our coffees as always and place them in the cupholders.
“Thank you,” Mr. Roth murmurs, then picks up his coffee cup and brings it to his lips. I jerk my gaze away so I’m not staring at him.
He’s never said that before, not in the two years I’ve worked for him.
My face heats as I drink my own coffee, trying to choke it down even though it’s fresh and hot. Maybe he isn’t mad at me after all.
When we reach the prospective client’s office, I follow Mr. Roth inside. But this time, he holds the door open for me, and I stare at him quizzically before stepping through.
Inside the white foyer, Mr. Roth leads us down a hall to an office. Typically, I sit behind him and take notes, but as he sits down, my boss pulls out the chair next to him and gestures for me to sit there.
My jaw flexes, but I have no choice but to sit in the offered chair. I whip out my notebook, ready to take notes as the two start talking business.
On the way out, Mr. Roth holds the door open for me again, and I come so close to him as I pass that my ass almost touches his groin.
He inhales sharply, but then I’m on the other side, striding down the hall.
He follows along behind me, and I’m too scared to look back and see the expression on his face.
After he calls the car, we wait at the curb, and a gentle rain starts to fall. Mr. Roth puts one hand on my shoulder and guides me backward, under the overhang.
“Can’t have the rain ruin your makeup,” he says under his breath. Then he releases me, and we wait side by side for the car to arrive.
The rest of our day is much the same. At five, after Mr. Roth’s last meeting, the car heads toward my apartment. I expect Mr. Roth to do something—anything—to give me an idea of what he’s thinking, but as normal, the car stops outside my apartment and Mr. Roth is silent.
But when I put my hand on the door handle, his voice stops me.
“Thank you for your hard work today, Ms. Kristoff.”
I turn around, and his yellow eyes are focused on me.
“Oh. Sure. It’s… my job.”
He nods, and then turns away, which I take as my sign to go.
That night, I luxuriate in the shower, touching my nipples as I think about Mr. Roth in the car today. Then my hand ventures south, and I brush over my clit as I remember his hand sliding up my thigh.
He was hard, too. I didn’t miss that. I make him just as horny; I affect him just as much. So what will it take to convince him to make the next move?
I head to the club in my long overcoat, pondering as I ride the subway. This was not the day I expected to have after how we left things last night.
Once downstairs, I greet the other girls getting ready and tuck my belongings away into my locker. I have to shift into Velvet now, the after-hours girl, and try to shake off my weird day. Tonight, I’m sexy, available, and eager to please.
The club is packed, but every girl is working, so again, I don’t get flagged down. When I reach the bar, though, Matt is waiting for me.
“He’s back,” he says conspiratorially.
“Who’s back?”
“The gentleman from last night. Must have made an impression for him to come two nights in a row and inquire about you.”
I freeze. No way. He’s here. Vincent is here again, and he’s been asking about me.
“Thanks for letting me know.” I wave as I head off to the VIP room. Tonight I’m wearing a midriff-length, structured top with a high-waisted skirt, all of it black. The club is busier tonight, but I see right away when I step through the doorway that Mr. Roth is here again.
Vincent. He’s sitting in the back by the wall at a small table, alone. But then his nostrils flare, and his gaze jumps up to mine.
I don’t know what to think as I weave my way toward Vincent’s table. He’s not smiling, but he’s not frowning, either—just the blank expression I’ve come to expect from him as Mr. Roth.
“It’s you,” I say brightly, as if we left off last night and today at work never happened. “Didn’t expect you to come back. Why did you leave last night?”
I guess Velvet will just put it all out there.
“I have my reasons.” That’s all he says in response. Then Vincent taps the drink menu. “Bombay Special, please.”
Drink order in hand, I head back to the bar, trying to figure out how best to approach this. Matt makes the drink quickly, then I carry it back with me. What does my boss have planned for tonight?
“Sit with me,” Vincent says when I return with the drink. Cautiously, I take a seat on his lap, and his arm loops around my back with an easy grace. He takes a sip, squinting as he does, as if he doesn’t like the drink at all.
“Do you want me to return that?” I ask, but he just shakes his head.
I feel him growing thicker under my thighs. After a few moments, he pushes the drink aside.
“Get on the table,” he says. His voice is steady and commanding.
Surprised, I do as I’m told, pushing the drink out of the way again so I can sit on the edge.
A few heads in the room turn to look at us, but most everyone else is occupied with a conversation or with one of the girls working the floor.
Vincent grunts low in his throat. “Pull your skirt up.”
What? He can’t possibly mean that he wants to do that again. Still, I do as the client says, hiking my skirt up so I’m bare from the hips down.
Vincent’s eyes slide down between my legs, and he wets his lips. Again, he pushes my thighs wide apart so he can wedge himself between them, then he bends down and licks me from ass to clit.
Oh, fuck. I’m toast.