Chapter 12
CHAPTER
TWELVE
ROSETTE
Vincent Roth holds me like I’m something deeply precious to him. His hand curls around mine, his arm at my waist, his heart beating huge and heavy against my cheek.
“Rosette.” The way he says my name is silken. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him speak it aloud before. “I want to know you.”
Tilting my head, I peer up at him. “Know me? You know me already. Both versions of me.”
“Yes, but I sense there are three.”
He might not be wrong about that. I do play a certain version of myself at work, and a different one at Octavio’s. But who is Rosette without either at play?
“I don’t know if I’ve ever been that version of myself since moving to this city,” I say after a time. “The one who’s just Rosette.”
He lifts his hand to my hair, threading his fingers through it. “I guess we will have to find her and lure her out.” Leaning down, he noses my hair and inhales. All at once, I can feel his cock against me through his nice suit pants, but he continues dancing as if nothing has changed.
“Who is Vincent?” I ask after a while. “I know he enjoys learning new things.”
He shrugs. “I don’t know that there is one.”
“Surely there is. A Vincent who isn’t Mr. Roth.”
He rubs one of his tusks thoughtfully. “I’ve always wanted to go up. Up, and up, and up.” He shakes his head. “Then I saw you. You walked into my office for your interview, and then it all became about you.”
What?
I stare up into his face, not quite believing what I heard. “When you interviewed me?”
“You’re all I’ve thought about since.” He leans down, cupping my chin in his hand so I can’t turn away, and looks right into my eyes. “I’ve been obsessed with you, Rosette. Perhaps that’s who Vincent really is. The orc who cannot get his mate out of his head.”
It’s as if an electric current has been sent through me.
“Would you… like to go back to my house with me?” Vincent asks.
Oh, right. What mates do, he said. I think I might have an idea of what that means after the night he’s shown me, and now I want to find out.
“All right. Let’s go. I need to get these heels off my feet.”
He shoots off a message to George on his phone before tucking it away in his pocket, then he leads me out of the ballroom. We wave goodbye to his coworkers as we go, who all turn to murmur to each other the moment we step out.
We’ll be the talk of the office for a while.
Then we head into the cool night air, which I’m immensely grateful for after all the wine I’ve had.
Vincent simply holds my hand as we stand on the curb, waiting for George to arrive.
When the black SUV slides into the pickup area, Vincent opens the car door for me and helps me inside before going around to the other door.
“The house, please,” Vincent says to George. The driver glances at me in the rearview mirror, nods, and drives off.
We don’t talk as we leave the city, but our hands stay linked, Vincent’s thumb gently brushing over my knuckles. As the road narrows along the river, George turns off into a driveway at an enormous, beautiful house.
Wow. Big bay windows look out at the street and then the river, and we first enter through a gate into a quaint yard, clearly maintained by a professional gardener. A wide-set door welcomes us inside.
The ceilings are vaulted, the interior decoration mostly white and minimalist. There are accents of black and red throughout, with black countertops and white cupboards, and paintings with red splatters and black-and-white photographs.
It is very much a Vincent Roth home, if I were to have imagined one.
The living room is sprawling, with a television hanging from the ceiling. Another big window looks out over the river and the city beyond it, immense buildings on the skyline.
“Do you want a drink?” Vincent asks, leading me into the kitchen.
“I think I’ve had enough tonight.” I scratch my cheek. “I’m actually a bit of a lightweight. I don’t drink at Octavio’s, and when I do go out, I only need one or two to feel tipsy.”
Vincent’s lip quirks. “All right. Then I suppose there’s nothing to do but to take you to my room.” He curls an arm around my back and draws me in closer, tipping his head down so our noses are only a few inches apart. “But there’s something I’ve been wanting to do first.”
I cock my head. “What’s that?”
He doesn’t answer with words. He answers by pressing his much larger lips to mine, his tusks perfectly framing my cheeks. Telling me with a kiss everything he’s been holding back.
Vincent’s mouth is gentle at first, probing as he caresses me. Damn, he’s good at this. His big hand cups the side of my face, tilting me so he can better kiss me.
I melt. I completely, utterly melt, captured by the hopeful sincerity in his lips, in the eagerness and tentative exploration that remind me of being in middle school again.
I reach up to wrap my arms around his neck, to bring us even closer together, to squash that distance that’s been building up between us.
Now clutching me tight, Vincent tests the seam of my lips, asking for more. I never thought he’d be the type to ask—just take. When my mouth opens, he teases his way in, and immediately I think of all the times I’ve let other parts of his body inside me this way.
As if in answer, Vincent rubs his hips against me, his cock making itself known at my belly. I return the gesture, telling him just how much I want him, too.
His tongue invades, and this sweet kiss has become a claiming. Hands are all over fabric. I’m tired of wearing this dress, just as I’m tired of his suit getting in the way of feeling his bare skin.
I’ve never seen Vincent without his clothes on, because he’s never done more than lowered his pants. Now, I want to see. I want to know.
“Vincent,” I say as I pull away from his kiss. He stares down at me with huge, dark pupils. “Where’s your room?”
This time, he does smile. It’s nothing extravagant, but it’s all his, showing his top and bottom teeth and lifting his big tusks to his cheeks.
“This way.” He reaches down, slides his hands under me, and lifts me up easily into his arms. I squeak and throw my hands around his neck, worried that he’s going to drop me, but Vincent just chuckles.
“I won’t let you go.”
“I didn’t say you would.”
“You didn’t need to.”
He leaves the kitchen, easily carrying my weight, and heads up a set of stairs. They’re out in the open, overlooking the living room as we ascend to the second floor. Up here, there’s another recreational room, and Vincent pivots down one of the two hallways.
His bedroom is just as minimalist as the rest of the house, with a white and red comforter and black silk sheets. Much like downstairs, the upstairs window looks out over the river. Here, Vincent sets me on the floor on my feet, turning me toward it.
“Look while I undress you,” he says. I nod, not moving as he investigates the zipper behind my dress, then pulls it down.
Once it’s free, he loosens the many straps, sliding them off my shoulders and shuffling the dress down my hips until it’s in a pool on the floor.
I’m wearing a black lace bra and panty set underneath. Vincent’s hands whisper along my sides.
“You’re beautiful,” he says into my ear. “I could just eat you.”
I hope he does.
As I look out over the river, his fingers trail up my back to the clip of my bra. He unhooks it deftly, and it drops down my arms. His big hands curl around me from behind, scooping up my breasts to hold them both in his massive palms.
“I’ve been waiting.” He gently strokes my nipples with his thumbs, his clothed front hot against my bare skin. “These are magnificent. Perfect for my hands.”
I have to agree as he pinches one nipple, rolling it back and forth, little shocks erupting from the spot he’s touching me. I twitch and gasp, and Vincent nuzzles the top of my head.
Then one of his hands breaks away, sliding down my belly to the crux of my legs. He slips it down into my underwear, squeezes between my thighs like a heat-seeking missile, and brushes his finger over my soft lower lips.
“Already wet.” He chuckles against my hair. “You like being fucked, don’t you?”
“I really like it.” I swallow. “Especially when it’s by you.”
He sucks in a sharp breath, pressing his finger between my folds and dragging it up to my clit. He applies a lovely, steady pressure as he strokes it, making circles and then passing over it again, and again, until I’m leaning back into his arms and my legs are trembling underneath me.
But this isn’t fair. Why am I almost naked while he gets to keep his clothes on?
I turn around in his arms, forcing him to withdraw his hand. Vincent gives me a quizzical look as I tug on his red tie.
“You next,” I tell him, reaching up to untie it.
He allows me to do it, hands on my hips as I pull the tie free and toss it aside.
His shirt buttons follow, and it seems like Vincent is holding his breath as I work my way from his collar to his belly, untucking the shirt from his pants.
Underneath, his green skin pokes out, and I want to see even more.
I slide the suit jacket off his shoulders, and he lets it spill down his arms and onto the floor.
“Shirt,” I insist, and Vincent agreeably plucks the buttons free on each of his wrists before tugging off the shirt, too.
Now at last, I can see him—and my eyes devour all of it. His pecs are enormous, and it’s no wonder they strain his shirts. His powerful belly is almost as thick, his abdominal muscles pulsing with his breaths.
I know what I need to do. I fall to my knees, so his crotch is right in front of me, and begin with the hook on his slacks.
Then I pull down the zipper, revealing his dark blue briefs.
He’s huge and hard underneath, trapped down his thigh.
Vincent’s watching me intently as I pull down the band, allowing that thick, heavy thing to go free.
But before I touch it, I drag his clothes the rest of the way down his massive thighs and bulky calves.
He definitely doesn’t skip leg day.
Now his massive cock is released, full of blood and ready for me. I lick the droplet forming at the tip, and Vincent sucks in again. But I’ve only just begun.