52. The aftermath
Alexander
After Sam’s jury review, I decide not to return to the office. She’s exhausted, emotionally drained. The interview was tense. The jury revealed nothing. Impossible to know if she passed or failed.
I take her home. She needs to relax and we need time for ourselves.
The hot shower water does us good. Her shoulders relax imperceptibly.
“Let me take care of you,” I tell her.
I grab the shampoo and pour it into my hand before lathering her hair. My hands gently massage her scalp. She closes her eyes and enjoys the moment. Despite my good intentions, her moans of pleasure immediately make the lower part of my anatomy react.
“Thank you for being there,” she breathes softly, completely unaware of the desire she provokes.
“There’s nowhere else I would have wanted to be,” I respond while carefully rinsing her hair.
Then I continue my ministrations, moving down to her shoulders which I massage gently.
She surrenders to me, completely trusting.
The tips of her magnificent breasts point toward me as my soapy hands gently caress them.
The soap sliding on her skin multiplies my sensations tenfold, it’s extremely erotic.
Their softness and firmness are addictive. I could never get enough.
“I think they’re clean now,” she says with a mocking smile.
“Let me verify,” I reply playfully, leaning down to take a pink nipple in my mouth.
It tastes exquisite. Sam arches against me and her belly meets my erection.
She rubs against it eagerly while I try to concentrate on my feast. I gently pull on the hardened peak, pinch it and suck it avidly.
Sam’s body presses fiercely against mine, trapping my hard cock between us.
I taste one breast then the other before releasing them with regret to refocus on my task.
I continue soaping her belly and thighs.
I crouch down to soap her legs and feet.
My face is so close to her mound that she can feel my breath on her skin.
Her breathing becomes erratic.
Taking intimate soap, I slide my fingers into her folds and soap them gently. She protests when I withdraw my fingers. The water soon erases all trace of soap, but I’m not done with her.
I place a kiss on her vulva. She trembles with desire, her hands resting on my head, as if not wanting to miss what I’m about to do.
My lips press against her pussy and my tongue finds her folds, caresses and devours them eagerly.
She presses her pubis against my face. My hands tighten around her firm ass.
My mouth claims her clit, delights in it and sucks it until Sam becomes incoherent in my arms, her body writhing with too violent pleasure.
“Yes, that’s it, beautiful. Come for me.”
When she comes down from the haze of her orgasm, my tongue plunges into her to lick every drop of her pleasure.
She’s still panting when I turn her around and wash her other side.
My soapy fingers glide over her magnificent legs and sublime ass, which I kiss with devotion, then I straighten up, soap her back and shoulders.
She arches against me, seeking my rigid member.
I let her and press myself against her. I want her to feel how crazy with desire she makes me.
“Stop playing with me,” she says, her voice hoarse.
“Tell me what you want,” I demand.
“Take me, I want to feel you inside me.”
I don’t need to be told twice. I turn off the water and dry us quickly before guiding her to a dry area.
Guessing my intentions, her hands press against the wall and her body leans forward, her ass slightly raised and exposed to my view.
Fuck, she’s hot. My hand guides my erection to her entrance, wet with desire.
I slip in slowly, my gaze locked on her face.
Her lips part in anticipation. I sink into her in one long thrust. Her sweet sheath sucks me in as we both moan with pleasure.
“You take me so well,” I breathe in her ear before withdrawing almost completely.
Then I sink into her again to my full length. She releases a moan of agony and pleasure. My hands close on her hips and, withdrawing again, I impale her again and again with deliberate slowness.
“Yes like that,” she moans. “I feel you so well.”
I continue my thrusts.
“You’re made for me,” I whisper before changing rhythm.
My thrusts accelerate. The slapping of our skin is so erotic. We’re nothing but desire and sensation. I wrap my torso around her, my face nestles in the hollow of her neck. One of my hands grabs her breast while the other presses against the wall to better stabilize us.
“It feels so good to be inside you,” I confess to her as pleasure builds between us.
Sweat beads on my body but I don’t care.
Our moans become incoherent. Pleasure builds more and more until it becomes almost unbearable, then we both tip over, seized by a violent orgasm.
And as my hot seed spurts into her and her walls contract around me, I dream of one day seeing her belly round with my baby inside.
“I love you, Sam. I love you so fucking much.”
The tension in our bodies releases, and we slowly straighten.
Our breathing calms. When we finally pull apart, Sam turns toward me. Her hands frame my face, and she kisses me gently.
“I love you, Alexander,” she whispers. “I’ve never loved anyone but you.”
Just like that, my heart explodes.
After another shower, I carry her to bed.
I make love to her again, slowly, tenderly, taking all my time. Each caress is a promise. Each kiss, a silent declaration.
And as I watch her sleep, I know I made the right choice.
No matter what the world thinks.
No matter what the board of directors will say tomorrow.
She’s worth it.
*
The next morning, 7:23 a.m. My phone won’t stop vibrating. Messages. Notifications. Missed calls.
I grab it, still half-asleep, Sam curled against me in the rumpled sheets.
David. Three missed calls. Five messages.
My stomach tightens.
David: Check Twitter. Now.
David: We’ve got a problem.
David: Call me as soon as you’re awake.
I sit up abruptly. Sam stirs beside me, slowly opening her eyes.
“What’s going on?” she murmurs, her voice still heavy with sleep.
“I don’t know yet.”
I open Twitter. And my blood runs cold.
It starts with a single anonymous post that’s gone viral. A photo of me storming out of the meeting room, jaw tight, clearly in a hurry. Someone photographed me without my knowledge.
@TechGossipFR: “AlexanderDelaunay, CEO of MatchMapping, left a CRUCIAL board meeting to attend his girlfriend’s graduation presentation—artist Samantha Chevalier. Irresponsible or incredibly romantic? What do you think? #MatchMapping #Leadership”
The post already has 17,000 retweets. 41,000 likes. Hundreds of comments.
I scroll, nausea rising.
@InvestorWatch: “While MatchMapping loses 15% of its active users, its CEO prefers playing Prince Charming. Shareholders will appreciate that.”
@TechCriticParis: “Nice love story, but when you run a company in crisis, you make choices. Apparently, Delaunay chose his personal life. His employees and shareholders deserved better.”
But there are other voices, too.
@WomenInTech: “Finally, a CEO who proves you can be human AND professional.”
@MatchMappingEmployee (anonymous account): “I work at MatchMapping. Delaunay is the best boss I’ve ever had. He treats us like humans. What he did yesterday? Makes me want to fight even harder for this company.”
Sam has sat up beside me, reading over my shoulder.
“Oh my God… Alexander, I’m so sorry. This is because of me—”
“No.”
I set my phone down and look straight at her.
“This is not because of you. It was my choice. And I take full responsibility for it.”
“But—”
“Sam, listen to me.”
I cup her face in my hands and lock my eyes onto hers.
“I knew this could happen. And you know what? I don’t regret it. If I had to do it again, I would.”
“Alexander…”
“Because it was worth it,” I continue. “You’re worth it. Being there for you yesterday, seeing you before your exam, supporting you… there is nothing more important than that.”
Her eyes fill with tears.
“But if it ruins your career—”
“Then I’ll build something else.”
She throws herself into my arms, trembling. I hold her tightly, breathing in her scent, feeling her heart beat against my chest.
My phone vibrates again. David.
“I need to answer,” I murmur into her hair.
She nods, pulling back slightly.
I pick up.
“David.”
“You saw it?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“The board wants an emergency meeting this morning, in two hours.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Ms. Bertau is furious. She’s talking about a vote of no confidence.”
She didn’t waste any time. A no-confidence vote from the board could cost me my position as CEO.
“That’s a risk I knowingly took.”
“What are you going to tell them?”
I look at Sam, sitting on the bed, the sheets pulled up to her chest, hair tousled, eyes fixed on me, anxious.
“The truth,” I say. “I made a choice. And I stand by it.”
Silence on the other end.
“Alright. Then I’ll stand with you.”
“Thank you, David.”
I hang up.
*
Two hours later, I’m in the boardroom, facing the sixteen members of the board.
Ms. Bertau stares at me with an icy expression.
“Mr. Delaunay,” she begins sharply. “Yesterday, you left a crucial meeting, abandoning your team and this board in the middle of a crisis. Then we learn through social media that it was to attend… an art presentation. What do you have to say in your defense?”
I stand. All eyes turn to me.
“I didn’t hide anything from you when I left yesterday,” I say. “I left that meeting to be present for a pivotal moment in the life of the woman I love. I acknowledge that I should have better structured the meeting to ensure it ended on time. That was a mistake.”
“A mistake?” Ms. Bertau repeats, incredulous. “The company is going through its worst crisis and you—”
“Please allow me to finish,” I interrupt, politely but firmly.
She falls silent, lips pressed tight.
“I’m sorry I had to leave before the meeting concluded. I should have informed you at the beginning of the meeting about my constraints.”
I pause, scanning the room.
“For years, my priority was work. But things change. I have a woman in my life now, and she will always be my priority.”
A murmur ripples through the room.
“That does not make me a less committed CEO—just a more balanced one. So yes, from now on, I will set boundaries. I will protect my private life and stop living solely for my job.”
“Obviously, we are not asking you to sacrifice your personal life,” says Mr. Arnaud, another board member. “But what about results?”
“The recovery plan is being deployed. The team is engaged and motivated.”
A heavy silence settles.
“Very well,” Mr. Arnaud concludes. “We will take note of your position.”