When he’s finally done, he lets the thong fall from his fingers and kisses me.
“What the fuck are we doing?” he asks, more to himself than to me. I say nothing and just look into his eyes; I’m wondering the same.
What the fuck are we doing?
11
Mason
I can hardly believe what transpired between Becca and I … in my office no less. Now I'm in my apartment, leaning back into the leather of my couch and looking out across the city. Cityscapes have a way of calming my nerves. The skyscrapers are a testament to human achievement, power, and determination. The hum of traffic, people, and hustle is music to my ears.
One of the reasons why I chose this apartment was for the view. Floor to ceiling windows on the 40th floor… the view is unparalleled. I pick up my glass of scotch from the nearby table and listen as the ice clinks against each other. I swirl it around for a moment with quick flicks of my wrist before bringing it to my lips.
The heat of the liquid burns a comforting trail down my throat and I close my eyes. I need to figure out what's going on … with Becca and Lorna. Lorna seems hell bent on destroying the company I've worked so hard to build up. I don't understand why she'd urge us to embark on such a risky investment. No, risky isn't the right word … it's downright suicide.
And Becca … what can I say? She drives me wild. The way she walked into my office … determined, knowing exactly what she wanted … I couldn't help myself. I knew I needed her as much as she needed me. There was a hunger in her movements … and in mine. But I know it's wrong.
There's a knock on my door and I stand up to answer it, but I must've left it unlocked because the door opens without me, and before I can react, in walks Lorna.
"Hello, dear," she says, placing one hand on my arm and giving it an affectionate squeeze. She then walks past me, throwing her leather purse on top of the dining room table.
Her touch makes me want to shrink away, and when she calls me 'dear,' I try not to lose my stomach. Instead, I walk away and pour myself another glass of scotch without saying a word. I think the expression is speaking volumes to her right now. It's a mixture of disgust, exhaustion, and frustration, and she's trying to ignore the fact that I want nothing to do with her.
At least the scotch should help … I hope.
She approaches me from behind and rakes her fingers through my hair.
"You're not still mad about earlier, are you?" she asks.
I lift her fingers off of my hair and take a few steps away from her.
"I don't know if mad is the right word, but—"
She cuts me off. "Good, because I have an idea," she purrs, walking to me and placing her hands on my chest. She reaches for my tie and starts loosening the knot. "I think I know of the perfect way to let off a little steam."
She pulls my tie from my shirt collar and moves to the buttons, slowing unhooking them. I bring my scotch to my lips and take a big gulp.
What can I do? This snake of a woman has the power to ruin me, and Kane Price, the company I've worked so hard to build up.
Do I force her out and risk her backlash?
Do I walk out, and leave her standing here, wondering?
As I'm trying to figure out how I can get out of this, I realize Lorna has my shirt completely open.
"Mason, you're even more … impressive than I had imagined," she says, using her cold fingers to trace the contours of my muscular chest.
Great. The last thing I want to do is impress this woman.
"Look out there," she says, pointing to the glittering cityscape of New York City. "Together, you and I will rule this city."
"Not if I have anything to do with it," I mutter. "There is no 'we.' There's just 'I.' And we'd certainly never rule anything …let alone the whole of New York City by making bad investments."
"Oh come on now," Lorna laughs. "Are we going to talk about that again? I thought we've moved past that. Let's have a little fun, shall we?"
She hooks her fingers under my belt loops and slowly unbuckles my belt. I can hear the clink of the metal buckle unfastening and I shift uncomfortably, my pulse increasing.
"I can't do this," I say, pushing her hands off my belt.
She isn't listening. "Of course you can," she purrs, "and you will. We're married, remember? This is what husbands and wives do." She renews her efforts, shoving her fingers under the waistband of my boxers.
My stomach lurches at her touch and at the thought of Lorna as my wife. She's one of the most heartless people I've ever encountered in my life—and I've encountered a lot of despicable people on Wall Street. There's no upside to being with a woman like her.
I push her off me again, and this time I stand up from the couch. It's a bold move and Lorna isn't happy. Her eyes are as cold and unpredictable as a brewing storm.