“I’m glad you did,” I say.
His brows furrows.
“I mean, I’m glad it didn’t happen when you didn’t know the truth.” I clarify.
He smiles as he climbs up my body until his cock is nudging against me. “You wanted to make sure I was calling out the right name?”
I laugh. “Exactly.”
“Well,Jess.” He emphasizes the word like it’s a curse. “Will you let me fuck you?”
“Please.” I practically beg.
He slides against me, hard against my slickness. I feel the heat running up my body as he carefully enters me. I’m breathless at the feeling of him inside me. After a few more torturous moments, he pounds into me, hard and deep until my vision goes blurry. I can feel every inch of him as he slides his tip to my entrance, never quite leaving, teasing. My nails claw at his back.
He lifts us farther up the settee until I feel the wooden edges against my back. My hands wrap around the arm, trying to stop the wood from banging against the wall. My legs can’t stay still, so he takes my knees, pinning one to his side and one over his broad shoulder.
“Is everyone still downstairs?” I say in between heavy breaths.
“Why? Looking for a better option than an assistant?” He pants, squeezing the flesh of my thigh.
“No.” I laugh. “I just don’t want you to get in trouble if anyone hears us.”
He slows down, long draws through me, making me clench my legs around his waist. I sit up on my elbows, and he gets the hint immediately, pulling me up until I’m straddling him.“That will only be a problem if you’re planning on making a lot of noise.”
“I think that’s more up to you than me,” I tease.
One hand pressing against my back, he uses the other to stroke my cheek before brushing a strand of my hair back. “You’re perfect, Jess.”
I swallow, struggling to find the right response as the air changes abruptly from frantic into something different as we hold each other, my arms draped across his shoulders. My fingers run through his hair as he moves lazily inside me.
He kisses me hard as his free hand glides between us, pressing light circles on me.
My throat constricts as he draws gasping breaths from me. I put my mouth over his shoulder, pressing my lips into his clavicle to try and muffle the sound of my moans.
“You just can’t help it, can you?” he murmurs, running his hand through my hair and using it to gently pull my head back toward him. The featherlight touch contrasting with the deep thrusts takes my body over the edge. I let out a moan into his mouth, gripping his bottom lip with my teeth as I grind against him. The sensations collide in my center as it builds and builds until I see stars.
I ride the aftershock, shaking and twitching as his pounding increases speed and his moaning matches mine. We collapse in a heap of limbs, both spent from the emotional and physical toll of the past weeks. But after a few minutes of bittersweet silence, Oliver jumps up and runs over to grab his beeping phone.
Wide-eyed, he says, “Shit, they’re announcing the winners.”
“Oh my god.” My mouth goes dry, like someone just took a leaf blower to my postorgasmic haze.
We attempt to wrangle my dress back on and run to a balcony. I would give anything to go down there, but I have no idea where Malcolm is. By the time I have a clear view, Dominic is pulling a piece of paper out of a gold-trimmed envelope.
“I don’t like to mince words, but this company came out of nowhere and impressed me with their tenacity and go-to-market strategy. I see them achieving greatness.”
“Wow, he really doesn’t like to mince words,” I say over my shoulder. Oliver looks just as nervous as I feel. He glances at me, and for a second I hope we don’t place at all, because it makes his role in all this a whole lot stickier.
Dominic clears his throat, projecting into the microphone. “Third place and the prize funding of one hundred thousand dollars goes to... Wyst.”
My heart swells before plummeting to the ground like a dodgy antigravity ride at the fair. Spencer excitedly bounds onto the stage to accept third place at TechRumble. We did it. I don’t know what I wanted the outcome to be, but I know this feeling won’t last for long. Spencer scans the crowd as he’s handed an oversize novelty check for one hundred thousand dollars so large he can barely hold it on his own. He looks happy but confused, like he’s scanning the crowd for... me. The “Radetzky March” begins to play the winners off stage, and the joyous crowd cheers and claps in time.
A hot tear runs down my face as I turn away. I’m a winner, but I still feel like I lost.
When we finally emerge from the study, the downstairs is almost completely cleared out. After the first and second places were announced—a cybersecurity company and a data storagecompression system—most of the companies left to either celebrate or commiserate. Spencer’s also gone. Glassware clinks as it’s loaded into plastic crates by waitstaff dressed in aprons and undone collars. A man in a traditional Viennese velvet frock coat and white curled wig smokes a vape in the corner. Our shoes echo against the floor as we make our way through the empty ballroom.
Oliver places his suit jacket over my shoulders, the soft fabric enveloping me. The jacket is so big I could wear it as a minidress. He looks disheveled in the sexiest way possible as he rolls up his sleeves, his fancy hair messed up, lips swollen, my new favorite smattering of chest hair visible through the unbuttoned shirt.
