Chapter 14 #2
She turns her head slightly, curiosity flickering across her features. Her dark eyes follow the movement of my phone with a mixture of intrigue and mild suspicion, the expression of someone accustomed to people taking action without warning her first.
"What exactly are you doing?" she asks, her tone caught somewhere between amusement and the faint edge of exasperation that I've come to recognize as uniquely hers.
There's a hint of that old boardroom authority creeping back in, as if she's bracing herself for whatever scheme I'm about to set in motion.
"Texting my assistant to have movers at your apartment by eight a.m." I type out the message one-handed, keeping my other arm locked around her waist. "You're not changing your mind, so we might as well be efficient about it."
She tries to turn over to glare at me, but I hold her firmly in place, preventing the movement with effortless strength. After a moment, she huffs and relaxes back against me.
"You're impossible," she murmurs, her voice carrying that particular blend of resignation and affection that I've learned to crave.
"You love it," I counter, and there's no question in my tone, it's a statement of fact, delivered with the same certainty I'd use in a boardroom when closing a deal worth millions.
"Unfortunately." The word emerges wrapped in warmth, and I can hear the genuine smile threading through her voice now, can feel the precise moment her entire body surrenders more completely into my hold, relaxing against me with a trust that still catches me off guard.
She shifts slightly, her fingers finding purchase against me.
"Fine. But I'm keeping my desk. The one from your office building, the vintage mid-century modern piece. It's non-negotiable."
"Done," I agree without hesitation. The concession costs me nothing, and frankly, watching her work from that desk, all focused intensity and rapid-fire efficiency, has always been a sight worth preserving.
"And my coffeemaker," she adds, her tone taking on that characteristic note of stubborn determination. "The espresso machine I brought from my apartment. I'm keeping it."
"I have a better one installed in the kitchen," I point out, though I already know how this will end.
"I'm keeping mine anyway," she states flatly, brooking no argument. There's her corporate negotiator voice, the one that's won her countless impossible contracts. "Non-negotiable, Thrall."
I suppress my smile into her hair.
"Fine." I set the phone aside and roll her beneath me again, settling between her thighs and bracing my weight on my forearms. She's flushed and sated and utterly disheveled, and I've never wanted anything more in my entire life. "Anything else you want to negotiate, CEO Lin?"
She pretends to give it serious consideration, drawing the moment out with deliberate thoughtfulness.
Her fingers trace a lazy path along the line of my jaw, deliberately steering clear of my tusks with the careful precision she's developed over months of learning exactly how to touch me without triggering that possessive growl that makes her eyes go dark.
There's something almost playful in the gesture, a stark contrast to the corporate negotiator who'd been barking orders just hours ago.
"Equal closet space," she says finally, testing the words like she's presenting them in a boardroom. Her voice carries that familiar note of stubborn determination, the one that's won her countless impossible contracts with the toughest clients.
"You can have the entire walk-in," I respond without hesitation. The concession costs me nothing, in fact, the image of her surrounded by her meticulously organized power suits and designer shoes, all that controlled chaos that mirrors her mind, appeals to something primal in me.
She shifts slightly, her dark eyes narrowing as she calculates her next move. It's endearing, really, watching her negotiate our domestic future with the same fierce intensity she brings to quarterly earnings reports.
"Joint decisions on furniture," she continues, pressing her advantage while she has my attention. Her fingers still their tracing, settling against me as if anchoring herself to the conversation.
I consider this, running my thumb along the curve of her spine. "As long as I can veto anything beige. I have standards, Romee."
"And..." She pauses, her expression shifting into something more serious. "I want you to promise me that you'll tell me if I ever get too controlling or pushy about your business. I don't want to become like my old boss."
I stare down at her, something warm and fierce expanding in me. Even now, even after everything, she's worried about being fair. About maintaining boundaries. About making sure we stay equals.
"You could never be like him," I tell her firmly, lowering my head to brush my lips against hers. "You're demanding because you care about excellence. He was demanding because he was insecure and small. There's a difference."
"You'll still tell me?"
"I'll tell you." I kiss her properly this time, slow and deep and thorough. "And you'll tell me when I'm being a high-handed Orc who needs to be reminded that you're not one of my employees."
"Deal."
"Good." I roll off her reluctantly, my body immediately protesting the loss of her warmth pressed against mine.
The cool air of the bedroom feels like a betrayal after the heat we've generated, and I have to resist the urge to pull her right back into my arms. "Now get some sleep.
You have a business to run tomorrow, and I'm not going to be responsible for you being exhausted because you were too busy negotiating the finer points of our cohabitation agreement. "
She shifts slightly, already burrowing deeper into the pillows, and I can't help but watch the way the moonlight catches the curve of her shoulder.
"What about you?" she asks, her voice already growing drowsy, the sharp edge of her usual precision dulled by the encroaching weight of sleep.
"I'm going to lie here and watch you sleep like a creepy, territorial Orc." I pull her back against me, tucking her head under my chin and wrapping both arms around her. "And plan exactly how I'm going to rearrange my penthouse to fit your desk."
She laughs sleepily, already starting to drift off. "You're ridiculous."
"You love me."
"I really do," she murmurs, her breathing evening out as exhaustion finally claims her.
I hold her close, breathing in the scent of her citrus perfume mixed with the heavier musk of sex and satisfaction. Mine. The word echoes through my head again, but it's softer now, less desperate. She agreed. She's moving in. She's mine.
And I'm completely, irrevocably hers.
Six Months Later
The backstage area of the Horde Tech Global Summit is controlled chaos, but I can still pick out Romee's voice immediately through the din of setup crew and AV techs and stressed catering staff.
"No, we discussed this three times in the planning meetings. The investor presentation goes on the main stage, not the breakout room. I don't care if someone moved the furniture around, move it back."
I lean against the wall near the stage entrance, watching her command the space with the same terrifying efficiency she brought to that disastrous wellness retreat.
She's wearing a sharp grey suit that I know for a fact cost more than most people's monthly rent, her hair pulled into a flawless chignon that somehow makes her look both devastatingly professional and like I want to mess it up immediately.
Which I will. Later. After the summit.