Bryce continued on the conversation, mischievously smiling and placing kisses down my thighs while continuing to pull his fingers in and out of me. “So, Arthur, how is Geraldine now? On the mend?”
I mouthed the words ‘I hate you’. He shook his head and mouthed the reply, ‘no you don’t.’ Grrr, No, I don’t.
“She is much better, thanks. I have booked a holiday like you suggested...,” Arthur stated. Bryce pushed up from his chair and dragged me toward him. He spun me around and gently pushed me forward so that I was leaning over the table. Oh. Shit. Crap. Balls.
“We will be going to Tasmania in three weeks,” Arthur continued enthusiastically. “Ms. Summers, have you ever been there?” Santa, I’m slightly busy right now.
“Yes, I have. It’s beautiful. Have you been there?” Fuck, Alexis don’t ask him questions. Bryce very quietly unzipped his pants and I felt the unmistakable warmth of his crown push into my now overly wet pussy. Fuck! I’m not a quiet fucker. I moan, and scream, and pant, and howl. Fuck!
“Yes,” Arthur answered. “A few times, but most of those were for business.”
“So how long are you going for, Arthur?” continued Bryce, as he slowly began to push into me. I dropped my head to the desk and placed my arm in my mouth probably resembling a freakin’ dog biting a bone.
Bryce leaned forward, removed my arm from my mouth and pinned both arms to the table as he increased his pace. I hate him...but I love him...Holy shit!
“We are hiring a motorhome and driving around for two weeks. I’m really looking forward to the wineries and dairy farms. Do you suggest we go anywhere in particular, Ms. Summers?”
Please Santa, Shut up! “Strahan,” I mumbled, between subdued pants.
“What? Sorry I didn’t hear that,” Arthur stated.
Bryce let out a chuckle, and I swear I could’ve killed him.
“Strahan, Arthur. Make sure you go to Strahan and take the Gordon River Cruise,” I blurted out as quickly as I could. Seriously, Santa. Fuck off and go and deliver some presents.
“Yes, I’ve heard that is a must do. Thank you. Anyway, back to my original reason for calling, I’ll sign off on the Marquee’s specifics and send you a list of VIP attendants. Are you going to come this year, Bryce?”
He was pounding into me now, and the sheer will power I was desperately clinging onto in order to pacify any sound escaping my mouth was quickly leaving my grasp.
“I don’t know, Arthur. Alexis, do you like the Grand Prix?”
I dropped my head. You’ll pay for this Mr. Fucker Clark. He slammed into me and I couldn’t help but let out a high-pitched “Yes.”
“Have you been before?” Bryce asked, with a satisfied grunt, knowing full well that I had. He slammed into me again.
“Yes.”
“Do you want to come?” Oh, you fucking know I want to come.
“Yes,” I practically screamed, losing it and tipping over the edge, my orgasm rippling through me as I shuddered on top of the conference table.
Bryce followed, tightening his grip on my hands as he found his release. “Yes, Arthur. We’re coming,” he said trying to sound normal and less breathy than he actually was. “I’ll let you know my final numbers later today.”
“Certainly, I’ll wait to hear from you. Now, please continue your lunch. Good day.” Arthur hung up.
I was still slumped over the conference table. “Bryce Edward Clark. I fucking hate you,” I declared, breathlessly.
He leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “No you don’t. You fucking love me.”
I cracked up laughing. “Yes, I do.”
CHAPTER SIX
I pretty much smiled for the rest of the day as memories of Bryce’s and my lunch date floated in and out of my head. God, I hope Santa didn’t hear my arse being ball-slapped by Bryce. I will definitely be on the naughty list if he did. I giggled to myself. The things Bryce had me do were just so wrong, yet so God damn right.
Danny had collected the kids from school as Bryce and I were kept busy with his back-to-back appointments for the rest of the day. Most of them were related to the Grand Prix, including the appointment with Chelsea. Her annoying helicopter piloting skills were once again required for VIP transfers to and from the hotel. The fact she barely made any effort to acknowledge me during her visit to the penthouse office only heightened my dislike and unease for the stuck-up bitch. I had never met anyone quite like her, she just didn’t get it—Bryce was no longer interested in her. I wondered if he had ever spoken to her about setting her straight, like he promised he would. She needed to be set straight once and for all. She needed to know that she had absolutely no chance with him—she needed to be told up close and personal that he loved me and that she was just a friend.