3. Todd
TODD
The elevator ride to my floor should have felt awkward.
Instead, it felt dangerous.
Not because of the storm raging outside.
Because every time I looked at Cici, I wanted to kiss her.
The woman stood beside me with her hands tucked into the pockets of her jeans, completely unaware she was dismantling my self-control one smile at a time.
Or maybe she knew exactly what she was doing. I wasn't sure and honestly, I didn't care.
What I cared about was the way she looked at me.
Not Todd Archer, the CEO.
Not Todd Archer, the guy whose face occasionally ended up on business magazines and morning television.
Just Todd.
A man she'd met in an airport lounge.
The realization was weirdly calming. Every conversation we'd had tonight had been effortless because there was nothing attached to it.
No expectations. No calculated charm. No curiosity about my money, my company, or what I could do for her.
She laughed at my jokes because she thought they were funny. She challenged me because she disagreed with me. She flirted with me because she wanted to.
And when we stepped into my suite and I popped the champagne, I knew the feeling wasn't going away.
She wasn't looking at a title or a reputation. She was looking at me.
The thought sent a rush through me that had nothing to do with attraction and everything to do with relief.
For once, I didn't have to wonder what someone saw when they looked at me.
For once, I didn't have to separate genuine interest from professional interest.
So when we kissed, I felt it.
Yeah, sparks. Hell, these were fireworks.
Cliché as it sounded, it was the truth.
She tasted like champagne and something sweeter underneath. My hand found the curve of her jaw, my fingers sliding into the hair at the nape of her neck. She made a soft sound, as if almost surprised. Heat settled low in my gut.
I pulled back just enough to see her face. Her eyes were dark, the ice-blue swallowed by her pupils. Her breath came faster.
"We should establish something," she said, her voice steady even as her chest rose and fell. "This is one night. I'm not looking for?—"
"Neither am I."
"Good." She grabbed the front of my shirt and pulled me back to her.
This kiss was different. Hungry.
Her tongue swept into my mouth, and I matched her stroke for stroke, my hands sliding down her sides to grip her hips. She was lean and strong beneath her sweater, all taut muscle and warm skin, and when she shifted to straddle me, I felt the heat of her through her jeans.
"Fuck," I muttered against her mouth.
"Later," she said, and I felt her smile. "First, I want to take my time."
She kissed me again while my hands slipped under her sweater. I lifted the fabric over her head.
She wore a simple black bra. No lace. No frills. Just practical. Somehow, that made it even sexier.
"Your turn," she said as she reached for the buttons of my shirt.
Her gaze dropped to my chest, following the old scars that disappeared beneath ink and muscle. I saw her swallow.
"Military," she murmured, running her hands over my shoulders. "I can tell."
She bent to press her lips to the hollow of my throat, and I let my head fall back as her mouth moved lower. Her fingers worked at my belt with practiced efficiency.
"Cici—"
"Shh." She slid off my lap and knelt between my legs, looking up at me with those ice-blue eyes gone molten. "Let me."
She freed me from my jeans, her hand wrapping around my shaft with a grip that made my breath catch. She held my gaze as she leaned in, her tongue tracing the head of my cock before taking me into her mouth.
Heat. Wetness.
The slow, deliberate slide of her lips down my length. I groaned, my hands fisting in the sofa cushions, fighting the urge to thrust.
She set a deep, unhurried rhythm. Her tongue worked the underside of my cock as she pulled back, then sank down again until I hit the back of her throat.
"Jesus." My voice came out strangled.
She hummed in response, the vibration shooting through me like a current. Her hand worked what her mouth couldn't reach, twisting on the upstroke, and I felt my control fraying at the edges.
"Come up here," I said, my voice rough. "Before this ends too fast."
She released me with a slick pop, and I pulled her up onto the sofa, kissing her hard. I could taste myself on her tongue, salty and musky, and it made me dizzy with want.
"My turn," I said, echoing her words.
I laid her back against the cushions and stripped off her jeans and underwear in one motion.
She was lean everywhere. Long legs. Defined abs.
The sharp V of her hips. And between her legs, glistening in the firelight, her pussy was slick and swollen, the neat strip of blonde hair above it damp with arousal.
I bent her knees and spread her wide, settling between her thighs. The scent of her, warm, musky, and feminine. My mouth watered. I dragged my tongue through her folds, and she gasped, her hips bucking off the cushion.
"Easy," I murmured.
"Easy for you to say," she shot back, but her voice was breathless.
I found her clit. Swollen. Sensitive. I circled it with my tongue, slow and deliberate. Her hands fisted in my hair, pulling me closer, and I obliged, sucking gently as I slid one finger inside her.
She was tight. Wet. Her walls clenched around my finger as I curled it, searching for that spot, and when I found it, her whole body jerked.
"There," she said, her voice cracking. "Right there."
I added a second finger, pumping in and out as my tongue worked her sensitive bud. Her breathing grew ragged, her thighs trembling on either side of my head, and I could feel her getting close, the way her pussy tightened, the way her moans climbed in pitch.
"Don't stop," she gasped. "Don't?—"
She came with a cry, her back arching off the sofa, her walls clenching rhythmically around my fingers. I worked her through it, gentling my touch as the aftershocks subsided, until she pushed my head away with a shaky hand.
"Condom?" she asked, her chest heaving.
“Already on it.” I got to my feet and reached for my bag. I took one out, rolled it on, and returned to her. She pulled me down on top of her, wrapping her legs around my hips, and I sank into her in one long thrust.
We both groaned. She was still trembling from her orgasm, her pussy gripping me like a fist, and I had to pause, fighting for control.
"Move," she demanded, digging her heels into my ass.
I moved. Slow at first, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in, letting her feel every inch. Her nails raked down my back, leaving trails of fire, and her hips rose to meet mine, matching my rhythm.
"Faster," she said.
I braced myself on my forearms and obeyed, driving into her harder, faster, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room along with her moans. The sofa creaked beneath us. Outside, the storm howled, but all I could hear was Cici. Her breath. Her gasps. The way she whispered my name.
"Todd—yes—right there?—"
I shifted the angle, grinding against her clit on each downstroke, and felt her tighten around me again. Her eyes flew open, meeting mine, and the raw hunger in them pushed me over the edge.
I came with a groan, burying myself deep as the pleasure crested and broke. She followed a moment later, her orgasm rippling through her in waves, milking every last drop from me.
We lay there, tangled together on the sofa, our breathing slowly returning to normal. The fire had burned low, casting the room in amber shadows.
We made it to the bed eventually. And then the shower. And then the bed again.
The second time was slower. She was on top, riding me with precision. Her hands were planted on my chest as she set a pace that drove us both to the edge and held us there.
In the shower, I lifted her, pressing her back against the wall as her legs wrapped around me. I gripped her firm ass to support her as I drove into her sweet pussy. Her screams echoed off the tile walls as the water beat down on us.
The fourth time was rougher. I took her from behind, her face pressed into the pillows, and her moans were muffled by the mattress. I fucked her deep and hard until we both shattered.
Afterward, we lay in the dark, the storm still howling outside, our bodies cooling under the luxurious sheets. She was on her side, facing away, but was leaning right up against me. My arm was draped around her, our feet entangled, while sleep drifted in.
The next morning, I was sitting in the corner of the suite at four a.m. wearing a dress shirt, tie, suit jacket, and absolutely no pants.
A fact that had somehow never become a problem during my years of doing television appearances.
The camera framed me from the waist up.
Business on top.
Boxers on the bottom.
The secret weapon of early morning broadcasting.
The producer counted down in my earpiece.
I smiled for the camera.
The interview rolled smoothly.
Markets.
Economic forecasts.
International trade.
The usual.
Across the room, Cici stirred beneath the blankets. I noticed the movement but kept my focus on the camera. Monty was wrapping up the segment. I figured she was still asleep.
A mistake.
Because a second later, she climbed out of bed.
Wearing nothing but a pair of black underwear.
And walked directly behind me.
Toward the bathroom.
I never saw it happen.
The interview continued.
Monty's expression changed.
His eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.
Uh-oh.
I knew that look.
That was Monty seeing something he planned to torture me with later.
"Todd," he said carefully.
"Yeah?"
"Was that a half-naked woman who just walked through your hotel room?"
The control room went silent.
I didn't even turn around.
"Yes."
Monty started laughing.
The crew followed.
"Care to explain?"
"Absolutely."
I adjusted my tie.
"I ordered room service."
The laughter exploded.
Monty nearly fell out of his chair.
"Room service?"
"Excellent service, actually."
"You are impossible."
"So I've been told."
The segment ended seconds later.
My earpiece clicked off.
I finally turned around.
The bathroom door was closed.
I leaned back in my chair and laughed.
This was going to be a problem.
Five minutes later, the bathroom door opened.
Cici stepped out.
Her hair was a mess.
Her eyes narrowed immediately.
She looked me up and down.
Then blinked.
Then looked again.
"What are you wearing?"
I glanced down.
"Business attire."
"Business attire?"
I pointed at my jacket.
"See? Professional."
Her gaze dropped.
To my boxers.
Back to my face.
"You don't have pants on."
"I know."
"Why?"
"Because no one can see them."
She stared at me.
I couldn't help it. I started laughing.
"What?"
"I do this all the time."
"What exactly do you do all the time?"
"I wear a suit jacket and boxers."
"Boxers."
"That doesn't make it better."
"It makes it significantly better."
She looked genuinely confused.
Then suspicious.
Then confused again.
I stood and adjusted my tie.
"It's for Sunday Mornings with Monty."
"Sunday Mornings with Monty," she repeated. "The television show?"
"That's the one."
Understanding started to dawn.
Then something else occurred to her.
Her eyes widened.
"Oh no."
I winced.
"Yeah."
"Oh no."
"You may have walked through the background."
Her jaw dropped.
"I what?"
"Technically."
"Todd."
"It wasn't that bad."
"Wasn’t that bad?"
I was trying very hard not to laugh.
"Todd!"
Okay.
Maybe a little laughing.
She covered her face with both hands.
"Oh my God."
"No one saw you. Well, your face anyway."
Her fingers spread.
"What?"
"The camera angle wasn't on you."
She slowly lowered her hands.
"No one knows it was you."
She looked relieved.
For about two seconds.
Then her eyes narrowed.
"You let me walk through a live television interview?"
"In my defense, I didn't know you were awake."
She folded her arms and shook her head, disbelief written all over her face.
"I was practically naked on live TV!"
"I mean, technically you were. But if it helps, you were tastefully practically naked on live TV."
I straightened my tie with exaggerated dignity.
She stared at me, clearly trying to decide whether I was serious.
Then she shook her head.
"I'm so embarrassed right now." She covered her face again.
"No one could see who you were. I promise."
"Thank God."
A laugh slipped out before she could stop it.
I pointed at her.
"There it is."
"Don't."
"You laughed."
"I regret it already."
"Too late."
She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling now.
"You're ridiculous."
"I know."
That finally broke whatever resistance she had left.
She laughed, and a second later I joined her, the tension dissolving into easy laughter that filled the room.
And for the first time in a very long time, I realized I wasn't looking forward to getting home.
I was looking forward to breakfast.
With her.