“I will give you everything,” he breaths, “everything. And you will take it.”
Outside the strengthening wind beats against the windows as I cry out; it’s animalistic and almost frightening, completely delicious. I grab his arms, overcome with yet another orgasm, even stronger this time. And as the sensation rolls through me I feel him exploding inside of me, letting me absorb his power.
Power enough to conquer the world
Maybe even enough power to conquer him.
CHAPTER 3
I COULD HAVE ASKED him to stay the night. He could have requested it. But we both sensed that space was called for. I need to let the high tides recede to something more manageable, less intense.
Otherwise I’m afraid I’ll drown out the world.
We talked a little. I again argued that Tom shouldn’t be railroaded for a moderate infraction. But Robert cuts through challenges and concerns like they’re paper and he’s scissors.
My sister treated such things with similar disregard. Except she did it with manic adrenaline and chemical vices while Robert does it with confidence, disdain, and sheer strength of will.
But in the end won’t the results be the same? Destruction, loss, broken hearts? Isn’t it possible that worries are like scabs. Ugly but part of healing?
But then, what would I know about healing? I don’t believe I have any scars, just open wounds that I’ve learned to cover loosely with Band-Aids.
Working through the pain and healing are completely different things.
And here it is, morning, and I’m in my bed alone. I had tried to sleep in my French terry gown but the tags and seams that never bothered me before irritated my skin. My entire body is more sensitive now, after his touch. So I took it off, let the softness of my sheets lull me to sleep.
As I stand, naked in front of the mirror, I realize that this is how I’m going to feel all day. Naked, vulnerable, embarrassed. I can think of no reason why Tom would have left quietly. By now what happened between me and Dave will be all over the office. And the focus will undoubtedly be on Mr. Dade’s role in the breakup. Both Robert and my coworker Asha have assured me in their different ways that I will be moved into Tom’s job. My professional achievements have been impressive but not enough to have earned that honor, so it’ll be rightfully assumed that I earned it on my back. Those who are my equals today will report to me tomorrow but they will still see me as a slut who will make herself sexually available to any man who might advance her.
And how many men will test that theory? As long as I’m with Robert, perhaps no one. But without him every executive will feel that he has the right to take his place. They’ll expect me to spread my legs for my career.
And of course there’s Mr. Freeland, the cofounder of the company and Dave’s godfather. Surely I’ve made an enemy of him. He has to tolerate me due to Robert’s influence but for how long? On how many fronts will the attacks be coming from?
I should hate Robert for putting me in this position. But as I roll through the memories of last night, being underneath him, feeling him pulsing inside of me, remembering how he looked afterward, by my side, naked and perfect . . . well, I don’t hate him.
So with shaky hands I pull on a conservative light wool suit in black paired with a white chiffon blouse that ties in a prim bow at the neck. Thin armor for such a battle but it’ll have to do.
When I get to my office, Barbara is ready for me. Reports have been printed onto glossy stationary and held together in deep blue folders. I have a meeting in less than a half hour.
I go through my in-box. There’s a memo announcing Tom Love’s departure. Odd to think that was only yesterday.
The message explains that until Love’s replacement is named (which will be within days) we are all basically being left to our own devices. If any of us have a question that needs an immediate answer or a project that needs the input of management, we are to e-mail Love’s superior, Mr. Costin.
Love’s superior. I can’t help but smile at that. Those words could mean so many things. But my amusement quickly wanes as more pressing issues consume me. So they’ll be naming Tom’s replacement in days. And yet no one has even called me. Maybe Robert, Asha . . . maybe they’re wrong. Maybe Tom’s job will be offered to somebody else.
And if that’s the case . . . I can’t decide if I’d be relieved or profoundly disappointed. I should probably be the former, and if that’s how it goes down, that’s the emotion I’ll show the world.
But deep in my gut? There will be a rage of disappointment. It shouldn’t be that way but I don’t think I’ll be able to help it.