“Ah-ah,” he says. “Eyes on me, baby. We’re gonna do this together.”
I open my eyes slowly, and the sight of him looking down at me, sweat on his chest, his hand wrapped around my leg while the other works my pussy, suddenly makes me feel locked in.
“That’s it, honey,” he says. “Just look at me. Feel me. Nothing else. Just me.”
And I do.
And as his thumb picks up speed to match his cock, I feel the orgasm building in my belly. I feel that familiar explosion, and then I hear myself squirting all over him. And then he lets out a visceral groan, his grip on my ankle tightening as his other hand smacks down on the mattress next to me.
And it feels like the wildest encounter of my life.
He collapses on top of me for a few moments, and I let my fingers drag lazily across his back as I breathe him in. After a few more moments, he slides out and off me, walking into his bathroom. He comes back after a moment, condomless and witha towel, then gently cleans me up. He lays another towel on top of the big wet spot on the bed as I bashfully cover my eyes.
“I’m sorry about that,” I tell him, but he reaches out and pulls my hand down.
“Don’t you ever apologize for that. Ever.” Then he tugs at my arms, pulling me in and flipping me around so that he’s spooning me. I feel him trailing my spine with his fingertips, his other hand resting gently down my side. Just as I’m about to slip into a blissful, post-sex sleep, I hear the grinding noise of his phone vibrating on his nightstand.
He clicks it off, and we lie in silence a little longer, looking out over Manhattan. Right now, there is no Cato Everett. There is no scandal, no horrific crime, no job interview, no fear of what tomorrow brings. There is just me and him and the city.
But then his phone rings again. He sighs, leaning over to click it off again.
And then five minutes later, it rings again, and so does his intercom.
“What?” he answers it.
“Sorry, Mr. Everett,” an older woman’s voice says from over the speaker, “but Carolyn called. She said she will be here in an hour, and you better be ready.”
He sighs.
“Thanks, Barb,” he says.
“Busy night?” I ask, rolling over and tugging the covers up around me. I suddenly feel very aware that I’m in a billionaire’s bed. A very popular, very famous billionaire. Whose life obviously doesn’t—and can’t—revolve around me or the sex we just had.
No matter how magnificent.
Because he has sex like this all the time, I remind myself.With a lot of women, I remind myself, more begrudgingly this time.
He swipes his hand down his face.
“There’s a gala tonight downtown. Carolyn is my assistant, but she’s more of a glorified babysitter that my dad hired to make sure I show up to things I’m supposed to show up to. She isn’t happy with me because of this morning.”
I nod slowly, the hazy dream of falling asleep in his arms slipping further and further away.
I sit up slowly.
It’s time for me to go.
I need to leave before I’m asked to. Because being asked to leave right after I let him in my pants feels cheap. It feels like rejection. It feels like something I couldn’t handle.
“Sounds like you’ve got your night full,” I say, walking across the room and grabbing my robe—well, his robe. A robe for a woman that he already had in his apartment. I shudder at the thought. How many women have already worn this?
Gross.
Suddenly, the whole night feels different. I wrap the robe around myself, walking out of the room, down the hall, and down the stairs. I scurry across his stupid huge apartment to the spa room, snagging my clothes off the chair and pulling them on quickly.
“Wren,” I hear him call, but I ignore him. I just tie my shoes and keep moving. “Wren,” he says again, following me around his apartment in nothing but his boxers.
“It’s fine. I have some stuff to do, anyway,” I say, walking toward the elevator and pulling my hair up into a messy bun. I press the elevator button as he stands there, watching me get on. “Have fun tonight,” I say just as the doors close in front of me. And just before the first tear falls from my eye.
