I shift slightly in my seat. I’ve been told that before, never as a compliment. “I can be a little—”
“No. If you were sentimental, you would have asked Dave for a diamond. You would have pictures on your desk. You’d be a different person with different potential and I’d want little to do with you.”
The touch of velvet against my skin does little to soften the impact of his words. The things this man likes about me . . . they’re not the right things . . . are they?
“You walked into the Maned Wolf boardroom and told us what you believed we should do,” he says as the chef clears away his plate once again. “You didn’t hold back because you’re not sentimental and because you knew that your job wasn’t in jeopardy. Like a president in his final term, you forged ahead without feeling the need to weigh the political consequences. Now you’ll have that same freedom in every aspect of your job. You’ll move up quickly there, do what needs to be done. There will be casualties. Jobs will be lost, but in the end that firm will owe us both a debt of thanks.”
I push away my champagne. “You make me sound cold,” I whisper.
“No,” he corrects, “I make you sound strong.”
I think back on my day as yet another dish arrives, lamb rib eye, rich decadence delicately served. Mr. Costin had been sentimental about Tom. I’m sure of it. But maybe Robert’s right. Maybe that sentimentality provided cover for a weakness. A lack of creativity, an inability to see the full picture. I had always admired Tom’s business sense, but did I ever imagine him taking the business world by storm as I dream of doing? No.
We finish our meal slowly, ending it with tastes of bitter chocolate and fruity sorbet.
Each course had been small but so perfect. The chefs clean up as we finish off the bottle of champagne. In the end Robert thanks them, pays them, and sends them on their way. I feel lightheaded. I take his hand, bring his palm to my mouth, and place a kiss there.
“It’s just the two of us now.”
“It always is,” he says. “Even when there are others, it’s just the two of us.”
That’s an easy way to look at it, lazy in its inaccuracy but I like the way it sounds. I hold on to his hand, lead him down the stairs to the bedroom. He watches me as I release him, as I walk around to the other side of the bed. I let my own eyes travel the length of him. Even his jacket can’t hide his muscular build. His broad shoulders, his powerful arms, the perfect predator. The maned wolf.
“I want you,” I say quietly. “Every part of you. Your generosity, your savagery, your romance and your pragmatism, even your ruthless ambition.”
“Even my ruthless ambition?”
“Especially your ruthless ambition.” I laugh. But then my tone grows serious. “I want it all. You say you want to be inside my power?” I reach out to him. “Let me put my arms around yours.”
The smile on his lips is almost sad, almost wistful. “Very well,” he says. He takes off his jacket, walks to me, but he stops when he’s two feet away. “You want it all? Take it.”
I step forward, unbutton his shirt, and pull it off of him. Then comes his belt. He lets me strip it all away as he stands there, compliant and willing until he’s completely naked and open. I press the velvet of my dress against his bare skin. I run my fingers through his short hair, pull him into a kiss as his hands move to the small of my back. I feel him grow hard against me. He’s letting me take the lead tonight, letting me flex my newfound strength.
I pull away, cup his cheek in my palm before taking another small step back so I can look at him again, at my leisure. I take his cock in my palm, move my hand up and down until it colors with excitement. “Is that for me?” I whisper.
He smiles again but this time the melancholy is gone. “Always,” he answers.
I let go, raise my hands to his shoulders, and then give him a gentle push, which he gives in to, falling back on the bed. “If it’s mine, then it’s mine to taste.”
I get down on the floor, kneel between his legs as I take him in my mouth. I let my tongue outline the head of his penis, teasing the nerve endings until he moans. My tongue then travels down the length of him slowly, one centimeter at a time as his agitation mounts. My fingers gently stroke the delicate flesh at the base as my mouth continues its journey down and then finally back up again at the same torturous pace before steadily increasing my speed. He moans again, though this time the sound is more guttural, animalistic. When he starts to shake I stop and rise to my feet. He immediately sits up and reaches for me, but I stay just out of his grasp.