Chapter 5
5
Fletcher
I couldn’t keep my eyes—or my hands—off her.
It was fucking agony to let her walk out of my office—after I’d made sure the coast was clear—then wait a full five minutes before following her down to the basement where my chauffeur waited.
Especially when in those five minutes it seemed everyone in the damned firm, having heard the news, made it their business to step into my path and congratulate me on my divorce.
As if the failure was something I wanted to shout about.
The only thing I wanted to roar about was the magnificence of Emily Hartley’s pussy. But only in the privacy of my bedroom. Or bathroom. Or every single space I intended to fuck her once we reached my condo.
“You’re staring, Fletcher,” she murmured, her eyes darting to the front where Stan, my driver, kept his gaze on the road.
I hit the privacy partition, then returned my gaze to her. “Problem solved.”
A small smile curved her lips, and her dimple made an appearance. Her two climaxes had left a rosy pink, slightly dazed look on her face, making her even more breathtaking. I intended to keep that look permanently in place.
“That wasn’t what I meant, and you know it.”
I picked up our linked fingers, brought the back of her hand to my mouth. “I can’t help it. You’re breathtaking.”
She blushed, swayed towards me, then winced.
I swallowed the growl building in my throat. “How much time do you need, baby?” I wasn’t a total animal, but please let it be…not long.
Her blush deepened. “I don’t know. I’ve never…never had anyone with your…”
“My size? You fucking better not have,” I snarled.
Okay, so I was a feral beast when she referred to previous boyfriends. Before morning, I intended to wipe every last memory of them from her mind. Luckily there were other ways to get her off. And I deeply relished revisiting her gorgeous little pussy. And hell, I hadn’t even seen her glorious ass naked yet.
“You’re wearing your marauder smile again.”
I laughed, surprising myself.
When was the last time I laughed? Or the last time I felt so carefree? Definitely not in the recent months or years. “My what?”
She smiled. “That’s what the interns and associates call it. It’s the smile you use right before the big guns come out.”
My mock scowl was hopelessly undermined by my smug grin. “I’ll need names and positions.”
She gasped. “I’m not a snitch.”
“Then you’ll have to find inventive ways to save your colleagues. We have all afternoon.”
“Am I the reason you took the afternoon off?” she asked, her eyes searching.
“I had some catching up to do on the sex front. It’s been almost three years and I wasn’t spending another night with my hand for company.”
She blinked in surprise. “Three years?”
I brushed my mouth over hers. “You heard me.”
“But you and…” She paused, and I was glad she didn’t say my ex’s name. I didn’t want her ruining this moment. “You were separated and had filed for divorce.”
I shrugged. “Didn’t matter. Vows matter. I took vows and wasn’t a free man no matter how other people saw it.”
“Do you mind if I ask what happened?”
I grimaced. The last thing I wanted was to talk about my ex, but I could tell she was regretting her curiosity and went easy on her.
“We should never have married. A combination of too much booze and being high on life. I’d just made managing partner the week before. One of the youngest in the city. But”—a wry smile twitched my lips—“I despise losing at anything, so for the first few months I tried to make it work. Then I found out she’d cheated on me literally days after we got married.”
Her eyes widened. “Wow.”
“Yeah. And she was pretty indiscreet about it. Things got ugly when she realized I wasn’t going to be as cool about infidelity as she’d thought.”
“But…why did she stretch out the divorce for so long?”
I shrugged. “She’s liked the perks of having my name, despite not minding about dragging it through the mud with her behavior. One of the many things she wanted to fight over was for me to pay her to drop my name after the divorce. She wanted ten million dollars for that alone.”
Emily’s eyes goggled, then she shook her head in wonder. No doubt people she grew up with didn’t resort to crass greed like my ex-wife—fuck, it felt good to be able to call her that, to put her in my rearview where she belonged.
“Doesn’t stop her from dropping it into conversation of course, but she can never use it on any official document without getting sued, and I won’t fucking hesitate if she tries.”
“Why was that important to you that she not use your name?” she asked.
This was probably where I needed to be careful, to go slow so I didn’t overwhelm her. But fuck it. Emily was soft and tasted like the richest peaches and cream, but she wasn’t fragile or weak.
I’d seen her stand up to many an asshole client who thought they could throw their weight around.
I liked her because she knew when to stick to her guns. Hell, she’d needed to do that with me because I didn’t tolerate wallflowers. So I stated the bold, unvarnished truth.
“Because when I marry again, I want there to be only one Mrs. Fletcher Knight. I want there to be no doubt who I belong to, and who belongs to me.”
Not if .
“When?” she echoed, eyes wide and bright.
“Yes. I intend to marry again.”
And I had already picked my bride.
But this news I intended to keep to myself for a little bit longer.