Chapter 14
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
ROSETTE
I’m awakened by the sound of soft music playing. Then there’s a bird call, and slowly, dim light filters into the room.
Right. I’m at Vincent’s house. We fell asleep curled around one another last night after the most incredible sex of my life, where we did nothing more than missionary position. Damn.
Now I’m lying under the comforter, curled against Vincent’s side and partially resting on top of him, his chest rising and falling under my head with his deep, sleeping breaths. The music continues, growing louder as even more light filters into the room.
Oh. It’s… automated. The windows appear to be tinted but are slowly lightening, as if on a timer. I check my watch and sure enough, it’s exactly eight a.m., and the bird calls are growing in volume.
“Vincent,” I hiss, because he’s sleeping right through it. “Vincent, can you wake up and turn off the birds?”
His eyes fly open, and he scrambles to the bedside table to grab a remote. Abruptly, the music and the bird calls stop, and he rubs his eyes.
“Sorry,” he says, flopping back down on the pillow. “It takes a lot to wake me up. I like to be… eased into it.”
I stifle my laugh. He curls his arm around me and brings me back in to cuddle more, and I can’t say I mind.
We lie like that for a long time as the room brightens, simply enjoying the feel of one another’s warm skin.
His hand coasts down my side, and eventually, curls around my ribs so he can cup one of my breasts.
It’s not long before we’re feverishly kissing again, hands every which way, Vincent’s cock growing thick where it’s pressed between us.
“Turn around,” he murmurs.
I flip over so my back is to his front, and he lifts one of my thighs so he can get access to me.
He feels marvelous from this angle as he slips inside me, remaining shallow as he brushes over my clit with his finger.
He gives me just the tip like this, over and over, rubbing me more furiously as I approach my climax.
I’m about to orgasm, and he’s not even inside me yet.
“Fuck!” I moan as it rips through me, which is surprising this early in the morning. I’m not usually so sensitive. As my climax courses through my blood, Vincent thrusts in deep, and he groans with satisfaction.
“Milk my cock,” he whispers into my ear as he continues pushing through my clenching muscles. “I can’t wait to make you come again.”
And he does. He makes me come again so hard that I scream and my vision blurs. I squeeze his hand tight in mine, not remembering when we linked them together, as I come back down to earth.
We both lie there, panting, his cum dripping down my thigh. Eventually, Vincent withdraws and offers me a hand.
“Shower?” he asks, leaning down to kiss me.
“Don’t mind if I do.”
It’s a lovely, easygoing Sunday morning together.
After a surprisingly chaste shower, where Vincent only kisses me under the warm spray, we towel off and he offers me some of his “smaller” clothes.
I only need one of his massive shirts over me to act as, essentially, a dress, and his eyes rove over me with more hunger than I’ve ever seen on him.
“Something about that,” he says, fondling my tits through the thin fabric, “is incredibly hot.”
“Oh, wearing my boyfriend’s shirt?”
“You mean, your mate’s shirt.”
I don’t answer right away because, truthfully… I still don’t believe him. Vincent’s changed, but I don’t know if I’ve made the same leap.
Because I worry. I worry what this means for me. What it means for my job as his assistant, for my job at Octavio’s. What does being his mate really entail?
“We should talk about that,” I say, and his lips thin into a line.
“I see.” Vincent leads the way down the stairs to the kitchen, where he quietly starts pulling out a carton of eggs and a package of bacon.
“I didn’t think you cooked for yourself,” I say, watching him over a mug of coffee.
“I can cook.”
It sounds a little defensive, and I wonder if I’ve hurt his feelings.
He tosses some bread in the toaster, then slathers it with an aioli sauce before adding bacon and eggs.
“Breakfast sandwich,” he says as he puts one down in front of me, then takes the seat next to mine. His hand roams up my thigh as we dig in, but then he draws it away again.
God, the sandwich is good, and exactly what I needed after last night. I glance at Vincent from the corner of my eye, and he’s focused on the table as he eats. When we’re done, he clears the table in silence, and I wish I knew what to say.
I guess we need to figure out our boundaries.
“I want to keep working at Octavio’s.”
Vincent’s head shoots up where he’s cleaning the bacon pan.
“But you don’t need the money if you’re with me,” he says, perplexed.
I wish he understood that it wasn’t about the money. “I like it. I like… being watched. Being wanted. Being seen.”
He puts down the pan and studies me as I talk. His hand flexes into a fist, but then he releases it and his shoulders droop.
“It would be difficult for me,” he says, turning his head away. “I want to be the only one to touch you that way. If you… if you decided to be mine.”
“I thought so.” I pull my legs up onto the chair so I can hug my knees. “I don’t want to have sex with anyone else. I know that. I can give you that.”
He lifts sad eyes to mine. “Even then, I couldn’t stay home knowing what other people might be doing to you. It’s against all my instincts.”
I nod, understanding. Even if he’s not there, he’ll worry.
I wish there was a way through this, because I don’t want to let go of what I’ve found here, or what I learned last night.
“What if… what if no one touched?” I ask. “What if they just looked?”
Vincent cocks his head. “Only performing?” He thinks through this. “I don’t mind if they look. Then they can appreciate and envy what I have.” His pride appears fluffed by this.
Good to know some things haven’t changed.
I could always be a dancer. There are other underground clubs, places I could perform. Places where… Vincent could perform with me, if he wanted.
“What if you were there?” I ask, taking his hand in mine. “What if you showed everyone what you have? What’s yours?”
He stares at me, not understanding. “Showed them?”
“There are clubs where performers, you know, do things on stage. You could, maybe”—I swallow hard—“fuck me there. Where everyone can see.”
His eyes widen. “You would want that?”
The idea is brilliantly exciting. People watching as Vincent claimed me? As his huge cock opened me, as he fondled me and touched me?
“Oh, yes.” That would certainly make up for the lack of touching. “Most definitely.”
He thinks for a time as he sips his coffee. Then, after a few more minutes, he nods.
“All right. I would do that with you. Only with you. And you cannot be with anyone else.”
I expected that much. I lean over to kiss his cheek.
“Yes. Please.”
He nods. “Then that’s what you’ll have.”
VINCENT
There is still the matter of Rosette working as my assistant. We both know this can’t persist while we’re in a relationship of this magnitude—one that I intend to make permanent.
Which will, unfortunately, require a trip to my home. I will have to introduce her to the family, as one does with a new mate, and perform the mating rituals with her there. If that’s still what she wants after three months.
That was her timeline. Let’s try it for three months. If it works out, then yes. I’ll be whatever you want.
I am more than happy to wait as long as she needs until I get to keep her at my side.
Yes, I have asked her to move in. No, she has not agreed yet. She is keeping her apartment until after we get “married”—her human word for the mating rituals. Legal marriage will be a separate issue, one that I’m not looking forward to, as it means a human wedding with her friends and family.
I roll my eyes thinking about it, but I will pay for whatever affair she wants. Now, I find I live only to please her, to grant her wishes wherever and whenever they call for me.
Despite the mating exception, human resources will insist on separating us.
We both know this, and so right away, after attending to our paperwork, Rosette sets to finding a replacement.
I’m loath to see her go, because I have had many other assistants in the past, and none have been so smart and capable as she is.
“Don’t worry,” she says, squeezing my arm. “I’ll find you someone.”
And she does manage to find someone—a young man fresh out of school, someone I would never have selected for myself. He’s small but surprisingly fiery.
“His boyfriend goes to my gym,” she explains. “I think he’ll be perfect for you. He’s also anal retentive.”
I don’t like the implication, but I agree to try him out, anyway.
He talks much more than Rosette did, but otherwise I find Collin to be attentive and insightful. Rosette trains him on her job, and I learn much about how she did her work just by overhearing them.
“Always pay attention to what the client won’t say,” she explains. “When Mr. Roth asks a pointed question and they dodge it, it’s almost always something we want to watch out for. Usually a hole in their projections.”
But now that she’s on her way out, where does that leave Rosette?
This question gets under my skin. I want the best for her, but it likely means moving to a different department or another firm entirely.
I also need her close to me, and I certainly don’t want to imagine some other boss of hers looking at her the way I did.
On her last week training Collin, I finally broach the subject.
“We haven’t yet discussed what you’re doing after this,” I say to her one night, while she lies in my bed naked and sweating. It’s silly that she hasn’t moved in here when she’s over every night. I insist on sleeping next to my mate.
She gives me a quizzical look. “Oh. Naomi hired me.”
I blanch. “What? How did you—?”
“She approached me right after the gala. She hasn’t had a good assistant in years and always thought I did a good job for you.”
And here I was, worried about nothing.
“Don’t you want a dog, though?” I ask. I had so hoped I could bribe her into staying home with a new pet.
She thinks about that for a moment. “Well, maybe we can hire a dog nanny?”
I bark out a laugh, and she smiles widely. I like seeing Rosette when she comes out. I love her, actually.
I really, really do.