Page 35 of Boardroom Ties
I nod frantically.
“Of course you do. Nobody’s ever seen the real you, have they?”
I shake my head.
“I see you, Cassandra.” His mouth drags along the hinge of my jaw, the only part of my face he’s allowed to touch. “I see the real you, and I’ve decided she’smine.”
I clench around him so hard that he curses in Russian and has to stop moving for a second, forehead pressed to my collarbone, shoulders heaving.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathes. “Alright. Alright.”
He lifts his head. His dark hair has flopped down in his eyes. There’s a flush high on his pale cheekbones that I don’t think anyone else in this hospital or maybe even this planet has ever been lucky enough to see.
“You’re going to cum on my cock now,” he informs me. “And then you’re going to clench around me again until I fill you all the way up. Nod if you understand.”
I nod so hard my stitches groan under the stress.
He drops a hand between us. His thumb finds my clit. He doesn’t rub so much as press, firm and circular, while he fucks me at a pace that is not remotely sustainable for anyone involved.
“Come on,dikarka. Give it to me. Come on, pretty girl. Pretty, brave, perfect, reckless girl. Come for me.”
All of those words are perfect and any one of them might be responsible for the fireworks that follow. Whichever culprit did the trick becomes irrelevant, though, as my body locks up and my eyes fix on his and I shatter around him with the silk clamped between my teeth, his name moaned breathlessly behind it.
He fucks me through every pulse until I’m boneless and drooling. Then, when the flutters of my orgasm make me clench around him, he does exactly as he promised: slams into me until we’re flush hip-to-hip and unleashes everything he has.
I don’t know how long we stay like that. Him buried in me, me soaked through under him, both of us breathing hard around the silk tie still wedged between my teeth.
Eventually, he eases out of me. “I know,” he croons when he sees me wince. “I feel it, too.”
He works the tie out from between my teeth and sets it on the little wheeled table. My jaw aches. He notices that, too, and presses his thumb gently against the hinge of it, rubbing small circles until it loosens up.
Then he grabs a handful of paper towels from the dispenser by the sink. He runs them under warm water and tests the temperature on the inside of his own wrist before he brings them to me.
Kneeling, he cleans me up between my legs. Then he tugs my gown back down over my knees and pulls the blanket up to my waist.
When I’m back the way he found me—I mean, more or less—he bends and brushes his lips across my forehead above the stitches. “I’ll see you soon, Cassandra.”
I start to ask how, when,What does that mean?—
But the curtain is already rustling shut behind him.
10
CASS
TWO WEEKS LATER
Sarabeth’s is packed to the damn rafters. I don’t know why we keep coming here, except that Dani loves the lemon ricotta pancakes enough to commit multiple felonies for them, and I love Dani enough to sit through a forty-minute wait in a cramped waiting area chock-full of yap-happy stroller moms and tourists in matchingI <3 NYhoodies.
“You look good,” Dani says once we’re seated and eating, poking her fork at me from across the little two-top. “Is that a new serum?”
“It’s called ‘My Husband Hasn’t Hit Me In Two Weeks.’ It’s sold exclusively at Duane Reade, you wouldn’t know it.”
She is unpleased. “Cass.”
“What? You asked.”
Dani sets the fork down. “I hate when you do the joke thing.”
