4. Her Table
four
Her Table
Iris ground to a halt as her eyes took in the entryway.
In every way but one, the space was exactly the same as it had been three years ago.
The walls were still a sleek white. The floors, a sparkling white marble streaked with striking black veins.
The art on the walls remained modern and cold.
But there, placed under a stark black-framed mirror, was a new addition—something she never expected to see again but found herself desperately happy to see.
How long she stood there mute, she would never be sure. Her back heated with the warm presence of the large, muscular man behind her.
"You seemed to be upset at the prospect of parting with it," Nash murmured while placing his hands on her shoulders.
"That's my table," Iris whispered in shock, her eyes fixed on the bright teal and red monstrosity that she loved so very much.
The paint running down the legs, the chip in the sides—all of it was here.
And it sat proudly in the entrance, the first thing anyone coming into the apartment would see. The focal point of this entire room.
As if it was the most important piece of furniture in the entire apartment.
"Yes, it is your table," he answered softly. His heavy sigh caused her to cut her eyes to him. He grimaced slightly, as if he didn't want to say what he was about to say. "I know that the way I brought you here was... unconventional."
At this, Iris scoffed.
He shot her a dark glare but continued nonetheless.
"But it was never my intention to punish you by marrying you. I don’t want your life to be miserable here.
You will be my wife, and I want you to enjoy all the perks that come with that.
" His eyes burned intensely, fueled by some strange inner fire that she had no hope of understanding.
"Perks?" she mumbled, confusion marring her face.
"Yes, the perks," he grumbled, his hands falling to her hips as he pulled her back into him. He rubbed his growing erection against her soft curves with a barely restrained groan. "I am a powerful man, ma fleur. I won’t have my wife missing something that I can easily provide."
"How did you get it here?" she asked, oddly touched by his actions. Why would he do this for her? He was under no obligation to her—not when his blackmail had been so efficient.
"I spoke with your friend Daisy. She wanted you to have it. It was a simple matter of leaving a man behind to transport it here."
Iris cut her eyes at him. His words were simple, as if what he had done was nothing out of the ordinary.
But her mind was stuck on the boring logistics of shipping such a huge item across the country in such a short time.
She opened her mouth to question him, but he swept down and took her lips with his own before she could utter a single syllable.
Her heart swelled with gratitude for him bringing her table with them, and normally, she would have loved nothing more than to succumb to his dark desires, to give herself over to him in any way he wanted.
But the need for answers was too strong.
She broke away from his ardent kiss and met his eyes.
"But how did he get it here? This quickly?" she couldn’t help but ask.
He sighed, his aggravation at her stopping the kiss clear.
"I had a plane chartered for him and that damn table. Happy?" he barked out while his hands glided around her hips until his fingers clasped onto the zipper of her skirt. "He was in the air a mere few hours after us, and that table was placed there under my orders."
Iris’s eyes widened as she realized how much money he must have dropped just to do this for her.
Her skirt fell to her ankles, and she smiled at him—a large, exuberant grin free of any shadows of their past. It was how she used to look at him.
Back before their relationship had collapsed around her.
His eyes seemed to widen when he saw it, and as they stared at each other, it was as if they both stopped breathing.
They stood there, locked in each other's gaze for long, tortured moments.
What he was thinking, she would never know, but she couldn't stop the smile that seemed permanently fixed on her face.
She wanted him to know what this meant to her.
That he had done this for her. Just her.
Bolstering her courage, Iris decided he deserved to know how much she appreciated him.
So, with a smirk, she stepped out of the fabric of her skirt, which lay pooled at her feet like a silken puddle of high-end fabric.
By leaving the skirt where he had dropped it, all that remained was her standing in the racy red thong and thigh-highs she had teased him with earlier in his office.
Her high-necked white sweater made for a stark contrast to the lacy lingerie.
Her skin prickled with a mix of vulnerability and power, the sheer stockings climbing her legs a testament to her seductive intent.
She wanted him to feel good. It didn’t make sense—not really.
After everything he had done in the last twenty-four hours, this one good deed did not wipe the slate clean.
But it didn’t seem to matter. No one had ever done something so thoughtful for her.
No one. She was touched, and the fire he had stoked as they walked off his floor was still burning low inside her.
The air felt electric as she locked eyes with Nash, his presence filling the room like a tangible force.
A smirk played on her lips; she could feel the gratitude bubbling up inside her, a heated geyser ready to erupt in appreciation for the gift he had given her—more than just the table itself.
It was the fact that he had known to get her this table.
That was more than anything she had ever expected from this arrangement.
It gave her a small kernel of hope—that maybe this life could be more than she expected.
Maybe she could turn a blind eye to his other business and enjoy life in ignorance.
"Want to know how much I appreciate you doing this for me?" she purred, each word a deliberate stroke of allure. She had never tried to seduce anyone, but she found it was not something she needed to be taught. It was something innate within her. With Nash, it appeared to be almost second nature.
Nash leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest, exuding a casual authority that only heightened the tension. His eyes, dark and assessing, never left her form. He grunted, his voice low and gravelly, laced with a hint of challenge. "Is there any doubt?"
His response, simple and loaded, hung between them—a gauntlet thrown down, inviting her next move. One she would only be too happy to pick up.
With lust driving her hard, Iris forced a laugh to break the tension. Her laughter echoed softly off the walls, a melodic sound that seemed to dance with the underlying current of desire between them that never seemed to be appeased. What could she give him that he hadn't already had?
Her mind came up blank. She had never held anything back from him.
He had possessed her body in every way imaginable.
But with a spark of brilliance, she remembered something Daisy had said to her late one night when they had stayed up with a bottle of wine, complaining about the few dates either of them had ever gone on.
"Such a cliché, I swear," Daisy had groaned after her date had crashed and burned. "Men only want one thing."
Iris had nodded her head in commiseration. "Yes. Sex." Her words had caused Daisy to laugh, throwing her head back.
"Well, you're half right."
Iris had stared at her in confusion, causing Daisy's drunken chuckles to grow even louder. Much louder, and they would have risked waking Dhalia.
"Blowjobs, Lily, blowjobs. There is nothing men love more than a woman on her knees, acting like their dick is the best thing they have ever had." There had been a bitter tilt to her lips that had prompted a question to grow in Iris. What happened on this date?
Iris shook off the last part of her memory and focused on the all-important first part. He may have had it before, but really, what man would turn that down?
With a playful tilt of her head, she began her descent, her knees inching toward the plush carpet, her gaze never leaving Nash’s. It was a surrender and an offering, all wrapped in one.
But just as her knees brushed the surface, Nash’s hands caught her by the shoulders. His touch was firm, his grip unyielding as he effortlessly guided her back to her feet. The unexpectedness of his intervention jolted her from her seductive performance.
"Easy, ma fleur," Nash’s voice rumbled, a note of command threading through his words. "That’s not what I want. At least, not this time."
He didn't want her mouth? Not this time? His words shocked her.
What could he want then? Because the look in his eyes made it clear he wasn't walking away. He wanted something. He was just keeping it close to his chest for now.
Confusion clouded her eyes, a frown momentarily disrupting the sultry facade she wore so well. She searched Nash's face for clues, her heart pounding against her rib cage. He'd never said no to her before. Not about sex. He'd been insatiable three years ago.
This wasn't part of the script they had played out before; it was new territory, and her instincts were scrambling to keep up.
Determined to reclaim control, Iris straightened up, her red thong a vivid slash against her pale skin, the dark tops of her thigh highs left a stark strip of bare skin that somehow felt more revealing than being fully naked.
Her mind raced, trying to decipher Nash's true intentions.
His thoughts, his plans. As she studied him, she forced her shoulders back.