Dakota: I kind of like it when you’re bossy. Just don’t get used to it.
The photo arrives. Okay. This was a mistake.
Heat goes straight to my cock. I go rock-hard in what must be record time. Her back is arched in the picture, looking over her shoulder at the camera. The thick globes of her ass shape the fabric.
Jack: I chose that material because it’s light. I knew it would settle like that on your curvy, flawless figure. I’m getting hard right now, Dakota, in the middle of the expo.
Dakota: It won’t be long until you see me in person, baby. My limo has arrived!
Jack: See you soon, beautiful.
Once I send the text, I feel someone hovering over me. It’s Pete. He’s got a frown on his face, and his eyes look huge through his horn-rimmed glasses. I get the feeling he’s analyzing me.
“Are you drunk?” he asks after a moment.
“I’ve had half a beer,” I tell him.
“You’re smiling.”
I roll my eyes. “Is that a cause for concern?”
“You’re normally stressing worried that the event won’t go well.”
“The event will go well, or it won’t,” I say. “Everything is in place. Stressing won’t make a difference now.”
“Very enlightened,” Pete mutters.
“Ease up on the sarcasm,” I say, standing. “Today is a good day, and that’s all there is to it. Not everything has to be a meltdown.”
I feel barely here as I speak to the CEO of the biggest graphics card manufacturer in the world. We’ve got a good rapport and always have productive discussions, and I do my best. But I’ve got one eye on the door, looking past the circulating waiters, the streamers, the business types, waiting for her to arrive.
When she finally walks in, I let out a croaking sound. I mutter, “Holy shit.” Bryan, the CEO, tilts his head at me.
“Just had an idea,” I say quickly. “Sorry. Do you mind if I write it down?”
He grins. That’s my get-out-of-jail-free card anytime I want to wind a conversation down. I play the tortured creative, head brimming with ideas, desperate to get them down before they fly away. It helps that, a lot of the time, it’s true.
Dakota takes a glass of champagne from a waiter and looks around the room. Her hair is alive in glistening curls. The dress hugs her in all the right places, the emerald green reflecting the light. She’s like a beacon.
I type on my phone.
Jack: Look at the Emerald Cove booth.
She checks her phone—knowing we were going to text. I made sure the dress had a pocket—then looks up. Her face creases into a smile that makes the whole world brighter. Like I’m a long-lost friend and we’re finally reunited.
Dakota: Are you aware you’re ogling me, Mr. Cross?
I smirk, looking at her again with a shrug.
Jack: You’re right. I need to be more subtle. Let’s ‘meet by accident’ at the dungeon booth in five.
Dakota: Sounds like a plan.
I do my best to act normally as I circulate for ten minutes. Everybody wants my attention, to show me this or that, to sell me that and this. I nod in all the right places, making the right noises of affirmation. But always, I’ve got one eye straying, searching. Whenever I catch a glimpse of Dakota, her glorious smile, or hear her magnetic laugh, I want to charge right at her and sweep her into my arms.
Finally, the ten minutes are over. I walk up next to her, my shoulder lightly brushing hers. She looks up at me, cheeks flushing. She chews her lip, then turns back to the big screen.
“Hello,” I say. “Ms. Elf.”
