The Last Affair--A Hot Billionaire Workplace Romance

by A. C. Arthur

  She shook her head and cleared her throat. “You’re right. I know that.” Giving his hands a light squeeze, she took a deep breath and then stood.

  He stood with her, still holding tight to her hands. “I’m always here to listen whenever you need to talk. That doesn’t change when or if we decide it’s time for this new aspect of our relationship to end.”

  He didn’t wait for her to respond, just released her hands and headed for the door again. She thought he might walk through it and not look back, but he simply waited for her to decide what would happen next.

  She wasn’t running. Never again—that’s what she’d told herself when she’d finally come through the darkness after the breakup. But Maurice wasn’t Gordon, not in looks, demeanor or any other aspect that mattered. It took her a few minutes to save and close her documents, shut down her computer and grab her briefcase and purse.

  “I’m starving. There’s a great restaurant near my house. They have the best spicy seafood pasta. It’s like a British-Jamaican cuisine, but I know you like spicy food.” She talked while she walked to the door to meet him. “I have the menu saved on my phone.”

  He waited until she passed him before replying, “You know me too well. I’ll even trust you to pick something off the menu for me.”

  They chatted amiably about the menu and the Netflix movie his assistant suggested he watch called The Holiday Calendar. By the time she was seat-belted in the passenger seat of his sporty little convertible, her skin irritation had subsided, and that comfort that she normally had with Maurice had returned. They debated whether radio stations should play Christmas music all day so early in the season, and for the first time today, she relaxed and let her mind clear of all worries and doubts. She let herself just be with the man who was steadily becoming an even bigger part of her life.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  DESTA MOANED LONG and deep. Her head fell back against the pillows on her couch, where she’d stretched out, her feet in Maurice’s lap. He repeated the motion that elicited such a pleasing sound from her, pressing his thumb into the ball of her foot.

  The movie had gone off about twenty minutes ago, and they were still stuffed from the delicious dinner. The jerk chicken wings with a side of sweet plantains she’d ordered for him was fantastic, and he’d had her text him the name and number of the restaurant for future use. The local news was on now, and Maurice wasn’t ready to leave.

  “You like that?”

  “Oh. My. Goodness.” She enunciated every word, her eyes still closed as he continued to massage her foot. “Don’t ask silly questions.”

  He grinned, satisfied with the relaxed and appreciative tone of her voice. She’d rebounded from the episode in her office, talking through dinner and watching the movie as if nothing had transpired between them. As if she hadn’t compared him in some way to her ex. Giving himself accolades for taking it so well, he’d continued throughout the evening as if the struggle he’d seen so clearly etched over her face earlier didn’t still bother him. That situation managed to override the blackmail issue he was still dealing with, so maybe he should take it as a partial win.

  “Next,” he said as he moved from one foot to the other.

  “Do you charge for this service? ’Cause, damn, I’m sure you’d make a killin’.” She lifted her head and stared at him from beneath hooded eyes. Lovely. That’s the word he’d use to describe how she looked at this moment.

  When they’d walked into her apartment, the first thing she’d done was take off the heels she’d worn to work. They’d both removed their coats and walked farther into her home. It wasn’t a big place, but the building had been expertly renovated. And she’d made it a comfortable space, filled with things that represented who she was.

  Paintings on the wall, including the one of the jazz musicians she’d won from him last year, statues of angels and a multitude of peach-and cream-colored pillows on her couch. Cultured, feminine, complex—all words he’d use to describe Des.

  “Seriously, though, if you’re doing this to all the women you sleep with, I’m confused as to why they take your end dates so easily.” Running her hands through her hair, he couldn’t help but continue to stare at her. Even when he wanted to ease her feet from his lap, get his coat and go home.

  The problem was, he couldn’t blame her for that comment or others like it that she’d made. A few months ago if she’d said something like that to him, he’d have given some blithe response and gone on his merry way. But something had begun to change in him in these past weeks, even before he’d gone to the ski resort and found out he’d been sending erotic emails to his coworker.

  Looking away from her to stare at the TV screen, he continued rubbing her feet. “Never gave any of them a massage like this.” He’d never even thought about doing it.

  “Oh.” Did she have to sound so shocked?

  “Ask your next question.”

  “How do you know I have another question?” she asked.

  “Because I know you, Des. I think we keep going round and round with that fact. Let’s face it right here and now. I knew you pretty well before I ever sent a Dear Lover email.”

  “I don’t argue that fact. I know you as well as I know my brothers—probably better since I haven’t seen them in a while.” Clearing her throat, she continued. “Okay, I was going to ask why you never did this with them. Actually, no. I want to ask you why you were with so many of them. Did you really think it was necessary to keep your guilt at bay, or was part of it ego?” She was more interested in this part of his life than he would’ve preferred.

  He shook his head. “None of those women meant enough to me to stroke my ego. And for the record, I didn’t sleep with every one of them.” He held up a hand because he knew he hadn’t fully answered her question. “Every woman I’ve ever gone out with intrigued me on some level. Some more than others, and those were the ones I slept with. Dating, socializing, partying as some would say, it was a good distraction. If I was out with them, I wasn’t sitting in my apartment thinking about what happened to India.”

  “Do you still love her?”

  He hadn’t expected that question, but after a few moments, he could understand why it seemed that way. “On the contrary—it’s because I’ve been so afraid of ever feeling that emotion again that I’ve used all those women. I know they like to judge me in the tabloids, and that’s fine. Why shouldn’t they? Even though I’m not doing anything wrong now, I did before.”

  “So destroying your personal reputation, or rather building a false one, is your penance for an accident that you didn’t cause.” She sighed. “That’s just as ridiculous as me blaming myself for what Gordon did to me.”

  He clenched his jaw upon hearing the man’s name, and because her words were partially correct. He didn’t mind the press bashing him, mainly because if his name was in circulation, so was the name of the company. And since the worst they could do was call him a playboy, it didn’t negatively affect RGF. But he didn’t see the life he’d chosen to live as doing penance. He saw it as taking responsibility in a way he’d failed to do so long ago. “I think we’ve already discussed how well-matched that makes us.” Were they really well-matched? If he were on the outside looking in, he wouldn’t have thought so. And now he wondered how that thought made him feel.

  “Well, we’re certainly two of a kind.”

  He looked away when seconds ticked by with neither of them speaking.

  “Maurice?”

  He looked over at her again. “Yeah?”

  “What comes after the foot rub?”

  * * *

  Maurice carried her into the bedroom. Another first for him. He’d responded to her question by turning off the TV and lifting her into his arms. When she looped her arms around his neck and stared at him with a look hot enough to sear his eyeballs, he’d tried like hell not to run in.

  Tonight
, unlike too many of their nights together, he wanted to do things differently. Probably because things between them had begun to feel different, even more than their last night at the ski resort. As if this thing between them was taking steps, moving from one level of involvement to another. If so, what step were they on now?

  It was dark in the room when they entered so when he set her down, she went to the nightstand beside her bed and switched on the lamp. Now that the space was cast in a golden glow, he walked to her, cupping her face in his hands before leaning in to kiss her.

  His lips touched her tonight as if for the first time. The warm connection came as an easy prelude, and he dropped another lingering kiss on her closed mouth. Her hands came up to clasp his biceps, and he took the kiss a step further. This time he swiped his tongue over her lips. She sucked in a breath, the action parting her mouth so he could slip his tongue inside. They played a game with their tongues, delving deep, pulling back, needing the connection again, so going in once more.

  Eventually his hands moved, fingers slipping through the silken strands of her hair. She slid her hands down from his biceps to his waist, gripping his shirt between her fingers as she tilted her head and opened her mouth wider. His body had grown warm all over. Not an instant flash of heat but a slow fever of satisfaction that began at his feet and rose slowly with a tender sweetness.

  When they both needed to take a breath, he pulled back, still gradually, letting his hands fall from her hair and down to the buttons on the pale gray blouse she wore. Undoing one button at a time, he watched the inhale and exhale of her breathing, the rise and fall of her chest. When he was done, he pulled the blouse from where it was tucked into her skirt and pushed it off her shoulders, his gaze rested on the blushing mounds of her cleavage.

  Wait.

  The word was a gentle whisper in his mind. An instruction he was determined to follow. Letting the blouse fall to the floor, he reached around her, pulling her body flush to his. She gasped and wrapped her arms around his waist while he worked the zipper on the back of her skirt down. When he stepped away from her to push it over her hips, she pulled the tail of his shirt up and undid the button and zipper on his pants. The feel of her fingers lightly grazing over his already-stiff erection was pure bliss, and he momentarily closed his eyes to enjoy it.

  She left his pants undone and went to his shirt, unbuttoning it before pushing it down off his shoulders. The undershirt he wore went next, and her hands immediately went to his pectoral muscles to squeeze.

  With her hands on his chest, she pushed him down to the bed where he removed his shoes and socks. As he angled up toward her, she nudged his shoulders again until he was lying back on the bed. She removed his pants and boxer briefs, rubbing her hands along his legs and brushing a kiss over his hard dick. She eased away from him then, going to find his wallet where she retrieved two condom packets that she tossed onto the bed before straddling him.

  “Okay, you can have a bit of control, Ms. Des.”

  She smiled, a slow lifting of lips, a glimpse at straight white teeth and that light he loved to see rising in her eyes. “I like the sound of that.”

  Yeah, he was sure she did. Des was definitely a woman who liked control—he’d known that from the first day he’d met her. Tonight he’d learned that she needed the control to keep from believing she’d lose herself if she didn’t have it.

  Coming partially off the bed, he reached around her back and undid the black bra she wore. All that was left was a slip of lace that was supposed to be her panties—but was more like the bane of his existence at the moment. She reached for a condom packet then and eased off him while tearing it open.

  He knew what was coming next, and still his mind exploded with pleasure as soon as she wrapped a hand around his dick. Expecting her to glide the latex down over his length, he almost passed out when she moved quickly, covering his tip with her mouth instead.

  “Shit!” She had a perfect mouth. There was nothing else he could say about it, and no other words were coming out, anyway. Only the moans and groans that coincided with just how good it felt when her tongue swiped over his slit, then slid down his length like she was enjoying a favorite lollipop.

  “You gotta stop that,” he murmured when it felt like his eyes were going to get stuck as they rolled to the top of his head. “Please, Des. You gotta stop.”

  She pulled her mouth from him with a plopping sound that had him groaning one more time. “Payback’s gonna be a bi—” The word was cut off as she came forward and kissed his mouth.

  This may have been the hottest kiss he’d ever experienced, with full open mouths, twisting tongues, and her hand still wrapped around his dick.

  Wait.

  There was that damn word again. He was getting pretty tired of it right about now. Flipping her over easily, he ran his hands down her torso when she was on her back. Climbing between her legs, which she eagerly spread wide for him, he dipped his head and took each puckered nipple into his mouth for a quick suck. He freed them with a sound reminiscent of the one she just made when she’d released his dick.

  “This is killin’ me,” he grumbled and lifted her legs until her ankles were on his shoulders.

  She didn’t have a chance to respond because in the next second he was burying his dick inside her.

  * * *

  What the hell was she doing?

  Was she falling for him? For Maurice?

  The way he eased in and out of her so excruciatingly slow, his dick hitting every spot deep inside that made her shiver in delight. The way his hands held her legs tightly against him while staring down at her as if he could see straight through to her soul. The way he whispered her name as he circled his hips and continued to dive in, pull out and then dive in again.

  What would happen if he wasn’t falling for her? How would she survive that?

  But then he was spreading her legs wide, easing out of her, and then moving ever so slightly so that when he sank in deep again, it was from a different angle, pressing against a different spot that had her biting her bottom lip with the same urgency. Why was he doing this? Why was he stroking her, spending time with her, understanding her, acting like this was more than just sex?

  And why did him doing all those things feel so good? He was filling a space in her she’d purposely left empty, making her feel alive again in a way she’d sworn she’d never do.

  The urge to give him something he’d never had before filled her with desire. She wanted him to feel what she was feeling. “I want to ride you,” she said. The unexpected push and tug of an unnamed emotion bubbled in her chest. The eerie sense that this was where they both belonged. It was foolish, it had to be. This was exactly what she’d tried not to do again.

  “I want you to ride me.” The raspy growl came just as he began moving their bodies once more.

  When he was on his back and she over him, she went still and just stared down. His muscled body made her bed seem smaller. The splatter of dark hair over his much lighter skin was sexy as hell, especially as it narrowed into a line that disappeared just before his navel. Her mouth watered again as her gaze rested on his dick, thick and long and waiting for her. With a light touch she ran her fingers over the line of hair at his groin, then moved up his abs until she was circling his nipples. He grabbed her wrist then, bringing her fingers to his mouth where he sucked each one. Her legs trembled, her nipples hardened to painful peaks, and she sighed.

  As she angled her hips, positioning herself over his length before he pistoned into her, all she could think of was that this was perfect. This night. This man. This moment. It was absolutely perfect.

  Circling her hips, she began moving over him, lifting her hands to cup her heavy breasts.

  “Lovely.” He was staring up at her. “That’s what you are, Ms. Des. You’re absolutely lovely.”

  That wasn’t a word she heard every day. It wa
sn’t even a word she thought men used, yet the sound of it coming from him had a light flutter rising and settling in the pit of her stomach.

  Leaning forward she flattened her palms on his chest and began to work herself over him, bouncing her ass up and down, until he couldn’t speak any other words except damn, so good and some other indecipherable things.

  Rising, she leveraged herself on her knees this time. Desta continued to stroke him, feeling the fever pitch toward climax mounting with each move. He reached up then and grasped her breasts, kneading them. On a ragged moan he let his hands move down her torso until he was holding her hips, guiding her motions to meet his thrusts.

  “Come for me,” he said, his throat hoarse with desire. “Come for me, Des.”

  She couldn’t speak. She wanted to, but her head had rolled back, her eyes half-closed, and her body was in that place drifting steadily toward release. That was all she could focus on, all she could think of. And when he eased a hand down between her legs, pressing the pad of his finger to her clit and circling it, she screamed. As if all the life drained from her with the blast of pleasure shooting through her body, she screamed his name more times than she could count.

  “That’s my baby. Come all over this dick. Yes.” He made another sound of satisfaction, but all she knew was that she felt as if she were falling apart. Had exploded into a billion pieces and was just fracturing from delight.

  “C’mon, baby, let me get back there.”

  He was moving them again. Her body was so pliant she hardly had to expel any effort to ease off him and remain on her knees. But Maurice was behind her now, grabbing her hips before sinking deep into her once more.

  Now his grunts were loud, with each thrust of his hips his dick pressed harder into her, the sound of their bodies meeting a clapping sound that reverberated throughout the room. Then he stopped moving, holding himself planted fully inside of her, his fingers dug into her hips, and he came.