by Luke Steel
“What about you, Nate? Online poker for the first cool million, and then what?”
“Not online,” I corrected her. “Smoky back rooms and shady guys in sunglasses.”
“And then?”
“Business school straight through, with a concentration in finance. Couple of Fortune 500 internships, some well-placed investments, then I bought my first company.”
“The glory trail of the white man.” She winks, so I guess she’s teasing—halfway, at least.
“What can I say? I didn’t grow up rich, but I worked hard and used what fortune gave me. I’m not going to apologize for going after what I want.” I hold her eyes so she knows I mean her.
“Not asking you to.” She takes another pornographic sip of her drink. “Is that all that gets you going, though? Do you dream of more than making a lot of money?”
I swirl ice cubes in the bottom of my glass. On cue, another round arrives.
Marge knows about my philanthropic work, but no one else. I’ve got a lot of reasons to keep it to myself, but if I want Emma to trust me, giving her a private piece of me will go a long way. She’s the first woman who’s demanded that there be more to me, and I want her to know there is.
“Yeah, actually.” I shrug and look at the brocade wall coverings. “Climate change.”
“You dream of climate change?”
I laugh and relax. “Nightmares, more like. But I mean what gets me going. It would be more accurate to say global problems. I fund a fellowship that includes one year of study and research, and seed money for implementing one invention, social innovation, or other practical, actionable solution. It’s my super secret save the world project.”
“Super secret, huh? I definitely didn’t see anything like that associated with your name in my research.”
“No, you wouldn’t. I wanted this thing independent. It’s small, one or two fellows per year. Surprised?”
“I can safely say everything about tonight was a surprise.” Her eyes glitter in the demi-darkness. “In a good way. You don’t look half bad yourself, by the way. Nice suit.”
“Ah, now you’re sorry you didn’t take me up on dinner, right? You should be. I had something amazing planned.” I bite my tongue over the other things I want to say to her. Dirty things.
“Tell me what I missed behind door number one.” The second drink down, she’s more relaxed, smiling more. I can faintly make out a flush over her cheeks.
“I’ll save it for next time.”
“Are you so sure there will be a next time?”
“You tell me. I can promise with 99 percent probability that I want to see you again. You called this a beta test. Are we gonna go live?”
“Signs point to yes,” she says. “But I’m still gathering data.”
We have a third drink, chatting about SocialTech, kickboxing, and the end of the world, as you do. I love to watch her laugh. Her full lips part and quiver at the corners just before she cuts loose with a full-throated belly laugh. She’s mesmerizing. It becomes a game—how many times can I score that laugh in one sitting?
Sometimes I lean too close, and a knee brushes hers. Or we talk so intensely, our upper bodies lean in, inching forward until one of us realizes how close we are.
She scoots to the edge of her seat an hour later.
“Nate, I’ve had a nice time, but I’m beat. Between the matches and an early flight home tomorrow, I need to get back to the hotel.”
“Wait.” I lay a land on her knee. The easygoing vibe evaporates. As desire floods my senses, heat flares in her eyes. I jerk my hand back and make space between us.
“I promised mixing business and personal interests in a non-offensive way.” I reach inside my jacket and take out the three typed pages, folded longwise, I’d stashed in an inside pocket.
“This is a summary of a revised offer. All I’ll say is look this over, and then let’s see where we are.”
She takes it without looking and slides it into her purse. “I’ll read it over on the flight tomorrow.” Her face reveals nothing.
I settle the drink tab and weave through tables behind her. Outside, the neon-hued Vegas night grates on my nerves after the cozy atmosphere of Mitsuki’s. I hand over my valet ticket and turn to her.
Even the garish lighting makes her glow. Hot pink highlights one side of her face. Four inch heels give her height, but she’s still several inches shorter than I am. If I kissed her now, what would she say? I want to slide my hand around the small of her back, right above the swell of her gorgeous ass, and pull her against me. Her lips part as if she’d welcome it, then she steps away from me.
She raises her hand for a cab.
“Are you kidding? No way,” I protest. “My car’s coming around. Let me take you back to the hotel.”
“Sorry, Nate. Non-negotiable. I’d prefer to ride back alone.”
I’m not going to beg, so I wait silently as the cab pulls alongside the curb. I open the door and help her in, a mostly useless gesture, and lean down when she rolls down the window.
“Good night, Nate. I’ll be in touch.”
“Good night, Emma.”
7
Nate
It’s after one a.m. by the time I press my thumb to the scanner and walk into my penthouse. I call to the voice activated system and turn on the wall sconces, but keep the lights low. I peel off my jacket and tie, and then slip out of my Italian shoes. Behind the bar, I pour myself two fingers of Irish whiskey and pad across the plush carpet on bare feet to the balcony.
I taste the liquor and look over the city, but it doesn’t interest me tonight, because every time I blink, I see her face.
I leave the balcony door open and wander back inside as I unbutton my shirt.
“Play Etta James,” I order the sound system. My apartment isn’t made for comfort, unless you call it comfort to surround myself with beautiful things. The wall of books and blown glass sculpture is painstakingly curated. An interior designer picked out the furniture, with its geometric lines and mid-century modern look. My tech is so good it’s nearly invisible, but if I wanted to watch a movie with the theater experience, I could get close in my own home.
Growing up, I wanted nothing more than a spotlessly clean house. That seemed like the apex of luxury to me. I didn’t start out with a padded trust fund, but I outstripped my business school colleagues who did through sheer smarts. What good are smarts if they won’t get me the woman of my dreams? But half a man’s not good enough for her. Since before I bluffed my way through poker, I had a hard time opening up to people, admitting vulnerability. In telling Emma about my fellowship program, I’ve given her something private. I hope she recognizes the gesture for what it is.
I finish undressing and turn on the shower. My cock is at half-mast, where it’s been since I saw Emma in those skintight black pants and ankle boots. Water washes over me, and I slide a hand down the shaft, bracing the other hand against the shower wall. But after a few strokes I stop. Until I can bury myself in Emma, I’ll wait. I turn the water to cold and stay under it until I’m shivering.
When I cross to my bedroom, I become aware of a persistent chime over the sound of the music. Doorbell.
I half think the building must be burning, so rarely does my doorbell ring unexpectedly. I pull on boxers and a white T-shirt and jog to the door. “Yeah, I’m coming,” I boom, and the knocking stops.
I yank open the door.
I register her eyes first, Emma’s huge, soulful eyes ringed in black. Her jaw is set, and she’s clutching an oversized leather purse.
“Emma?” Her eyes flick up to my wet hair and over the T-shirt and boxers, both clinging slightly to my damp skin.
I know what I hope, but I doubt whether to believe it.
“How did you—how are you here?”
“Pulled some strings to find the address and apartment number,” she replies. “Otherwise, by plane pretty much covers it.” She must have turned the cab around before she even got back
to the hotel and taken a shitty midnight flight to get here so soon after I did.
“Okay, so why?” The only thing that matters in the world right now.
She rummages in the bag and holds up the proposal summary. “Do you mean this?”
I scramble for the right mental footing. Business, not personal. Don’t think about her ass. Definitely don’t touch it.
“Of course I do.” My steady voice shows none of my struggle. “You wouldn’t have it in writing otherwise.”
“You want to increase your original offer by fifty percent and keep me on as CEO? That’s not your MO. People don’t do that. You especially don’t do that. Is this a mistake or a sexual bribe? Are you paying me off?”
“Whoa, back off the accusations. This offer is independent of whatever might happen between us. I’m not going to tell you I don’t want you. But I also listened. You are what makes SocialTech work. Your passion, your instincts, and your genius. I don’t want to just pay for the results of your work. I want your leadership. You were right to insist on having input, but I’ll go further. You should keep the reins.”
Her arms fall to her sides, and her mouth closes. She shifts her eyes from side to side as if processing the information.
A breeze from the open balcony door reminds me that I’m standing here talking to her in my underwear. I resolutely ignore it, hoping she’ll be polite and not mention it. Not for the world would I interrupt this conversation.
“Half.” She finally says.
“Uh, could you be more specific?”
“If you do believe in this business, buy in instead of out. Come in as a 50% silent partner. We’ll still ensure vertical integration with your other interests, and reduce my role to half time. Christine and Nick are more than capable of stepping up to fill my shoes otherwise.”
“So I’ll ask the obvious question again—why?”
“I’ve got other projects and businesses bursting to get a shot at life. I can’t leave SocialTech high and dry. It’s my first company, my first baby. But the fire in my gut keeps telling me there’s more out there. I’ve gotta keep moving. Keep pushing myself.”
Yeah. I get that.
“You drive a hard bargain, Ms. Vance,” I say. My grin has gone full dimple.
“Then we have a deal?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.” I pull the pages from her hand and walk to my desk, where I mark out and write in to make the changes she asked for. We initial them and sign. We’ll do the full version later with lawyers and the full entourage, but I want her to know right now that this is done. Whatever happens in the personal realm, this is binding.
She sticks out her hand. We shake on the deal, but then I can’t quite make myself let go. Her hand turns in mine until I’m cradling it in front of us, like I’m about to bring it to my lips.
Heat spreads up my arm from our clasped hands.
“I feel like we should mark the occasion with more than a handshake,” she says. “Fireworks, maybe, or at least a toast.” Her voice shakes, just enough to give it a breathy quality.
“I’ve got just the thing.”
8
Nate
I transfer her right hand to my left, grab a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses from the bar, and pull her toward the balcony. My shoulder nudges the sliding door the rest of the way open. I finally drop her hand to open the wine. It’s a Spanish cava, a sparkling wine I loved on a trip to the Spanish coast. The cork flies out with a satisfying pop, and I edge closer to her to pour the frothy liquid into our glasses.
“To future endeavors,” I say.
She clinks her glass against mine and echoes “Future endeavors.”
Awareness of her closeness raises the hair on my arms.
We drink, and she steps over to the low concrete wall. She holds the metal rail along the inside and cranes her neck to take in the vista. The city drops off sharply to a view of the Bay Bridge, lit by spotlights and the stream of cars flowing over, even at this hour. Its lights and the moon glint off the water in dazzling patterns. She sighs in appreciation.
“I don’t need to tell you, but this view is amazing, Nate.”
“Mmmhmm.” I set my glass on a square metal table and step close enough for her perfume to waft to me.
She jerks her chin toward me over her shoulder.
“Is that the first contract you’ve signed in your boxers?”
“Ah, and here I’d hoped you didn’t notice.”
“It’s pretty obvious.”
She shivers again, so I move closer. She pushes back into me and sighs.
Fuck me.
My now raging hard on presses into that sexy curve at the base of her spine. Like the first time, she knows it’s there. Her hips settle into me more firmly. She sweeps her hair aside and angles her head to the side, just enough to show a flash of pale skin against the night. I reach around her to take her empty glass, set it beside mine on the table, and turn back to press against her, my hands braced on either side of hers on the rail. I savor the contact, the way my balls tighten in anticipation.
My breath on her skin raises goose bumps on her arms. Her breathing hitches, and I press an open-mouthed, sucking kiss on the side of her neck, just above the delicate gold chain I gave her.
“Nate,” she breathes.
“I love the way you smell, Emma. Your hair”—I nuzzle the soft waves—“your perfume.” My lips hover by her ear as I whisper, “Your pussy.”
I drop kisses in a line from her ear to her shoulder. She shivers, not from cold this time. I slide my left hand up her arm to hook a finger under the neck of her shirt. I drag it to the side with her bra strap, then bathe the silky skin of her shoulder with more kisses.
“Mmmm, like that,” she says.
I press my forearm against her chest, waiting for the blind lust that grips me to settle back into the exquisite pain of anticipation.
“How else, Emma?”
“Slow,” she says. “Until we can’t take it anymore.”
“That’s what I was thinking.” I rock against her. “Guess it’s true what they say about great minds.”
“Less talk. More touch.”
Fuck, it turns me on when she gets bossy. I settle my hands on her waist, and then press them down over the swell of her hips. My fingers dig into the flesh, and I spin her to face me. Her arms twine around my neck and pull my head closer. When our breath mingles, our eyes drift shut and our lips part, skimming over and coming back for a deeper taste. Rather than the explosive power of our first kiss, this one smolders with intensity. The ache of it is so sweet I almost cry out.
Her tongue glides along mine in a slow exploration before she pulls away to suck lightly on my bottom lip. When we part for breath, I follow her curves up with trembling palms, pushing up her loose blouse. I pause at her ribs, just short of her breasts, and kiss her again before I nudge her arms over her head and pull her top over her outstretched arms. I reach around and free her breasts, and drop both garments on the balcony floor.
From cold or arousal, her plump nipples have already hardened into pebbles. I lift her onto the metal table and lower my head to her breast. I suck one nipple into my mouth, earning a soft moan. My tongue flicks over it and I suck harder, letting my teeth graze the sensitive bud. I bathe the other one as well, relishing the clench of her hands in my hair when I move between nipples, alternately sucking and licking. I kiss upward until I’ve straightened enough to take her lips again, and she yanks at my T-shirt. I let her pull it off, and grit my teeth to maintain control as her hands wander over the hard ridges of my muscles.
Then she presses me back and hops off the table. The bounce of her breasts mesmerizes me.
Her hands glide down over my abs and under the waistband of the boxers to grip me.
“I’ve been wanting to get my mouth on you,” she murmurs.
I groan as my dick jumps in her hand. “I might have thought about it once or twice.”
I stumble back until my hands meet
the rail, and then she’s freeing my dick and yanking my shorts down to my ankles. I spread my feet and watch as she sinks to her knees in front of me. Then I think if I watch, I will never last.
The first long sweep of her tongue along the underside of my dick nearly unmakes me. My hands clench on the rail.
At the head, she swirls her tongue around the rim, then pulls me into her mouth with gentle suction. I stare at a break in the clouds, where a crescent moon smiles at our hedonism.
“Ah, fuck. Fuck, Emma, that feels so good.”
One hand cradles my balls and the other wraps around the base of my dick. The hand around my throbbing cock moves along the shaft, pumping in rhythm with the magic of her mouth. Words leave me and I choke out another guttural groan when she adds the pressure of her tongue along the underside as she sucks. Fingers slide back to press against my taint.
Waves of pleasure roll through me as I lose track of what she’s doing in the ecstasy of the combined sensations. I’m barely standing when she grabs my ass with both hands and pulls me to her, ramming my cock into her mouth as far as she can take it with a relentless rhythm.
“Emma—” I choke out.
She pulls way with a soft, wet sound and presses the base of my cock, waiting for it to stop jumping.
Like she knows how dangerously close I am, she stands and steps back out of my reach. A raised finger stops my protest.
She runs a hand through her hair, pushing it away from her face, then lets that hand trail down her neck, over her breast, and down to thumb open the button of her pants. She props one foot on a chair to unzip an ankle-height boot and then the other. She unbuttons and unzips her pants, checking to make sure I’m watching. A nuclear bomb could detonate nearby, and I wouldn’t look at anything except Emma stripping naked on my balcony in the moonlight. It’s the first time I’ve seen all of her, and she takes my breath away. Her rounded hips dip into a tiny waist. Full breasts crowned with perfect nipples jut over the flat plain of her belly.
