Chapter 33 - Good Morning
Sarah’s POV
I woke Saturday morning the same way I fell asleep last night, with Eli kissing, nipping, biting. By the time I stretched beneath him, my body felt like a raw, needy nerve. I could feel him smiling against my neck when I shivered.
“Good morning, my Sarah,” he whispered.
“Mmmm,” I purred. “Best alarm ever.”
He straddled me, pinning my arms above my head.
“Tell me we have all morning to indulge in each other.”
I scrunched my face as I shook my head. “Unfortunately, I need to get home to relieve the sitter, but we have a little time to indulge,” I said with two little thrusts.
“I’ll take it,” he said as he moved off of me. “Turn over for me and raise that beautiful ass up in the air,”
I stretched again and flipped over, pushing my ass up and pulling the pillow under my head.
I heard the tearing of paper and turned my head to find him putting on a condom.
He returned to the bed, positioning himself behind me, rubbing each ass cheek, then swiping his finger through my core.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” he teased as he pushed one finger inside of me.
“Are you sore?”
“No.” He bent down and bit one ass cheek and then the other.
My squeal echoed through the room. The rich, deep bellow of his laughter wrapped around me like a blanket.
Our moans broke in unison as he pushed his way deep inside of me.
The gentleness of his movement made me want to gaze into is eyes while he drove me to the brink of madness, fucking me long and slow.
He reached between my legs and placed something against my core…
and switched it on. “Oh, God.” I shuddered.
My walls pulsed around him, moan after moan spilling out of me.
He turned it off. The absence confused me, making me irritable.
“When we are in bed, you are in my control, Sarah. I own you here. I will never give you anything but pleasure. But what I say in the bedroom goes. His hips picked up speed as he talked. The buzz of the toy against my clit began again, my nails digging into the bedsheets.
“Ohhhuhh. It’s…” My walls gripped hold of his cock, I convulsed in his hands, the buzz of the toy still flush against my clit. I lost the ability to communicate as sheer ecstasy jolted through me. A distant part of my brain registered Eli moaning my name.
I moved forward and broke our connection, already slipping into that warm blur that comes right after. Eli’s arms slid around me and pulled me back against him.
Oh, I could get used to this.
I turned in his arms and tucked myself under his chin. His fingers traced slow paths up and down my back, feather-light. “My beautiful Sarah,” he whispered.
I knew I needed to go. Five more minutes, I told myself. Just five more. I deserved this. It had been over a year since something other than my vibrator had given me pleasure.
“Come to my place tomorrow,” he murmured. “Bring your kids. We’ll cook dinner, put them to bed, and take a long bath.”
My eyes stayed closed, but I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
“I want to meet your children, Sarah.” His tone shifted, a hint of offense creeping in.
“And I want you to meet them, Eli, but the first time can’t be an overnight trip where we play family and then sneak off for a fuck fest.”
He gave a short laugh. “You’re overreacting. I have the place to myself. They can run wild.”
That got my eyes open. I looked up at him. “You’ll do well to remember to never debate me when it comes to my children. That’s deal-breaking territory.”
His smirk faded a little.
“You stick with control in the bedroom,” I said quietly, “and leave my kids out of it.”
He stared at me for a long second, then leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. “Yes, ma’am.”
He kissed me again, soft this time, then pushed me onto my back. I barely had time to react before he caught my chin gently between his teeth and growled.
“What are you doing?” I squealed, half laughing.
He started biting and growling along my neck, down my side, until he found my ticklish spot.
“Eli!” I screamed, laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe.
When the laughter faded, quiet settled over us. The kind that makes you aware of every heartbeat. I was surprised he didn’t put up more of a fight when I got out of bed to get ready.
If I’m being honest with myself, I didn’t want to leave. Dragging my body out of his arms and away from that bed felt like tearing skin from silk. The hardest part was saying goodbye while knowing he wanted me to stay.
We stood in the middle of his swanky suite kissing, me fully dressed, him in nothing but boxers. A temptation I was dangerously close to giving in to.
I pulled away, breathless and warm. “I’ve got to go. Thank you for a wonderful night.”
He smiled, slow and satisfied, the kind of smile that promised more. Then his phone rang. The sound cut through the moment like static.
He glanced toward the screen, distracted, and I took my chance. I grabbed my purse, waved once, and slipped toward the door.
Just before it closed, I heard him answer.
“Elliott Thompson.”
The name sliced through the air, barbed and sharp, dragging across every nerve in me.
In that moment, I realized I’d never asked his last name. This was the first time hearing it come straight from his mouth. I just hoped there wasn’t any connection to the walking disaster that was Lily Thompson. My fingers itched to grab my phone and let Google do its worst.
The hotel lobby was bright and bustling with people. My body still hummed, my hair a little wild, my lipstick long gone, but I managed a polite smile for the concierge as I stepped through the revolving door. Was this a walk of shame?
A black sedan waited by the curb. The driver, mid-fifties with silver at his temples, stepped forward and opened the rear door. “Ms. Taylor?”
I stopped, one hand on my purse. “Yes?”
“Eli asked me to take you to your car. He didn’t want you walking alone.”
The instinct to decline pinged in my brain, but exhaustion and curiosity got the better of me. “All right,” I said quietly, sliding into the back seat.
The city blurred past the windows, all muted golds and glass. I kept my hands folded in my lap, trying not to overthink the name I’d just heard upstairs.
“Is Mr. Thompson always this considerate?” I asked finally.
The driver caught my eyes in the rearview mirror, a knowing half-smile tugging at his mouth. “You mean Eli?”
I nodded.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve worked with him for almost eight years. He’s the best boss I’ve ever had. Always looks after people.”
“Sounds like him,” I said, staring out at the skyline, my reflection superimposed over the glass.
He dropped me beside my car, where I left it. I thanked him, but the words felt small, too neat for the mess inside me.
The moment the door shut, that uneasy feeling settled low in my stomach. I sat there for a minute, hands on the steering wheel, replaying everything.
The engine purred to life, and I exhaled a frustrated breath. “You slept with a man whose last name you didn’t even know,” I muttered to myself. “Brilliant work, Sarah.”
That thought played over and over. I panned to the song Good Ol’ Days by Hayley Williams and started my drive back to Highland Park.
Tonight, I was absolutely going to Google Elliott Thompson.
It took nearly an hour to get home. The kids were still asleep, and I found the babysitter, Joshlyn, curled up in the guest room, headphones in. It was nine a.m. on a Saturday. What did I expect?
Damn. We could have had more time.
I showered, dressed, and moved through the quiet house with a kind of practiced normalcy. Coffee first. Then, French toast, scrambled eggs, and bacon, rituals that made me feel like myself again.
By the time the smell of syrup filled the kitchen, the countertop had become my command center. Laptop open. Google’s blank search bar stared at me like it was my research assistant.
I took a sip of coffee, flexed my fingers over the keys, and whispered, “All right, Elliott Thompson. Let’s see who the hell you are.”
E-l-l-i-o-t-t T-h-o-m-p-s-o-n.
Enter.
The search didn’t turn up much. A few articles about philanthropic investments, some vague mentions in real estate circles, and one image that looked like it had been taken years ago.
He was standing in front of a wrought-iron balcony in New Orleans, dressed in a white linen shirt and sunglasses, looking effortlessly put together.
I stared at it longer than I meant to, tracing the line of his jaw, the easy confidence that came through even in a candid photo.
Nothing about him gave me answers. If anything, it made him more of a mystery. I scrolled a little further, but there were no social media accounts, no interviews, no breadcrumbs to follow. Just a clean digital footprint that felt too intentional to be accidental.
I shut the laptop, expecting to feel relieved, but instead I felt unsettled. The quiet of the kitchen only made it worse.
My phone chimed.
Eli: Hello, Sarah. Did you make it home okay?
I will be out of town this week, but I’ll send a car for you on Saturday morning at 11. I’m sending a dress, shoes, and jewelry on Thursday.
I figured if I’m going to drag you to a wedding, the least I can do is dress you in Dior.
I hope you have a wonderful week. I’ll miss you.
—Eli
I rubbed her temple, unsure whether to smile or groan.
Sarah: Hi Eli, yes, made it home. Last night was fun. It’s a shame you’ll be gone all week.
Dior? I have dresses, Eli. I can dress myself.
His reply came almost immediately.
Eli: Nonsense. Like I said, it’s the least I can do. See you in a week.
I stared at the message, thumb hovering over the screen.
A week.
Plenty of time to decide whether I was falling for a man or walking straight into something I didn’t understand.