Page 130 of The Rival's Obsession
“Careful opening your mouth like that, bug. I’ll take it as an invitation for my cock.”
He chokes on a laugh. His entire face turns the prettiest shade of red.
I leave him like that—wrecked and grinning—as I cross to Eve. She’s just finished pouring the mimosas, her back arched slightly as she reaches for the chilled champagne. I slide up behind her, arm curling low around her hips. My lips press to her bare shoulder, warm and damp from the shower.
“Go sit,” I murmur against her skin. “I’ll finish up.”
She hums and lets me take the last glass from her hand. I drop a single raspberry into each flute, the crimson fruit sinking with a tiny fizz.
Then I join them at the table, lifting my glass.
“To firsts,” I say. “And seconds.”
Grant meets my eyes across the rim of his flute.
His smile is small.
But it’s real.
We eat.
We talk.
We laugh.
It’s easy. Too easy, maybe. The kind of easy that only comes after good sex and better company. The air between us feels softened—like the fight is gone, like we’ve wrung it out of ourselves one orgasm at a time.
Eve makes a joke about a client who once tried to pay her in rare books, and Grant laughs so hard he nearly chokes on his mimosa. He wipes his mouth, shoots a bashful glance my way—and I catch it. Just like I’ve caught all the others.
Sneaky little fucker.
He keeps glancing. I keep letting him.
Because we both know we need more out of tonight than our cocks. We’ve both danced around it long enough—whatever this is. Whatever it’s becoming.
And it’s coming. The moment. The reckoning.
The meal winds down. The plates empty. The bottle of champagne? Bone dry. Eve drains the last of her glass and tilts her head, locking eyes with me.
I see the message written clear across her face.
I’m overstaying.
It’s time.
I nod once. Nothing more. No need for words between us.
I rise and take the plates, scraping them quietly into the sink. The water runs hot. I rinse, wash, focus on the sound of it—the scrape of ceramic, the rinse of silverware. The hum of something shifting between the three of us.
I hear the gentle scrape of her chair. Don’t have to look. But I do.
Just in time to see her hand on Grant’s cheek. Her lips on his.
“You don’t need me anymore tonight,” she whispers.
Then she’s beside me, brushing her lips against my cheek. Warm. Affectionate.
“I’ll be out on a personal assignment, so…” She pushes a stray lock of hair away from my eyes. “See you Friday at the board decision?”
