That had to be it and…the truth pinched a bit.
"Your silence doesn't bode well for me." When she didn't respond immediately, I continued, "Yeah. Okay. Message received. I'll see myself to the door."
I shifted away from her to fetch my jeans and get the fuck out, but she wrapped her hands around my bicep and tugged me back. I returned my hand to its home between her thighs.
"This isn't my side place. I do live here, regardless of whether I could afford more. And I would like to keep you as my slam piece…or something less ridiculous."
I stared down at her. I knew my expression was cooler than anything I felt for her but I was still chilled from opening my eyes to my emotions and waiting for them to be reciprocated. "Oh, would you? Is that how you want it, Miz Malik?"
With a smile, she stroked the nape of my neck. Her touch was generous, affectionate.Heaven. I found myself smiling back in response.
"That's how I want it," she answered. "But I have a question for you, Mr. Guillmand. Why all the birds?"
I gazed at her for a lengthy moment as I shifted between annoyance—she still drove me crazy—and confusion—how did she not know?—and then deep-spiraled adoration—how could I do anything but worship her? "Because you soar, sparrow. Because you're magnificent and free, and I could grow old watching you." I leaned in, dropped a kiss on her lips. "I carved those birds because of you and I carved them for you."
A blush colored her cheeks and she folded her lips together to harness a wild smile. Her restraint was beautiful, somehow bolder and warmer than the grin she attempted to hide.
Then her eyes crinkled at the corners. She ran her teeth over her bottom lip. "Have you ever been to Maine?"
"I haven't. That's—that's the East Coast, yes?"
She bobbed her head once. "Northeast."
"Ah." I sanded my knuckles over my stubbled chin. "Is that where you stable your slam pieces for safekeeping?"
Without batting an eye, she asked, "And if it is?"
"Then I'll pack my bags."
Her brows arched up. "My boss lives in Maine. I fly out there once a month. I'm due to leave in the"—she glanced at the clock, huffed out a quick laugh—"in a few hours. Perhaps you'd like to join me. I imagine you'll enjoy the seaside village where Cole and his husband make their home. Lots of trees to climb."
"You mock me and my process."
"I believe you've mocked my—what did you call it?—polite dictator mode," she replied with a hearty dose of indignation. "But I'm not mocking you at all. I fully support your process, Mr. Guillmand."
"You bust my balls, Miz Malik."
She reached between us, past the erection throbbing on her hip, to roll my sac in her palm. "You love it."
"In a bizarre and twisted way, I do." I didn't know what it was about this woman but—no, I knew exactly what it was. Neera was magic in the cloaks of an executive, an exhibitionist, an evenly matched sparring partner. "And you're taking me to Maine?"
A small smile warmed her lips as her hand shifted to my dick, stroking me in long, leisurely pulls. "If you wish to join me, yes."
"Little sparrow, I can feel your pulse on your clit. You're fucking right I'm joining you. I'm going to Maine. I'm going anywhere you go. That's how it's going to be."
Her brows furrowed. "That's a forthright position, Mr. Guillmand. Announcing how we are to proceed."
We. That gloriouswe. If I allowed myself a moment of wool-gathering, I'd be forced to acknowledge I'd never wanted for thatwe. Never inspected my life and came up with an empty space meant for a woman of Neera's caliber—or curves. Never desired permanence, never ached for possession.
And here I was, wanting, desiring, aching—taking.
With a sharp shove, I sent Neera sprawling on her belly. "Yes ma'am, Miz Malik. That's my position." I settled on my knees behind her and gripped her waist, bringing her luscious backside up where I wanted it. My hand met the heat between her legs. I coated my fingers in her arousal, painted it over her back channel before sliding one finger, then another, inside. "How do you feel about myforthright positionsnow, little sparrow?"
Her hands fisted around the white sheets as she rocked back, meeting each of my lazy thrusts. That sight alone made my cock as rigid as a two-by-four, jutting straight at her as if I needed help finding my way home. "Left side. Middle drawer. Gray bottle, hot pink label."
"Well, well, well," I murmured as I pulled open the nightstand drawer and retrieved the lube. "Prepared for everything, are we?"
"I see your brash attitude doesn't concern itself with logic."
