by Xavier Neal
“Perfect!” He lets his eyes drift to Renee’s and casually suggests, “Shall you return to showing me the private donations items that are in back?”
Renee’s blush is apparent, but neither of us comments on it.
They’re barely out of ear shot before I am squealing, “I can’t believe you did that!”
He sweetly smiles. “Baby, it’s the least I could do. It’s bad enough I wouldn’t let you be there for me, but I wasn’t there for you when you needed me the most. Restoring a fraction of your happiness is definitely something you deserve. I can stand in your face all day and express my apologies for not being there or I can prove it to you. After all, actions speak louder than words.” Without waiting for me to retort, he returns to ushering me towards the dance floor. “Now, let me prove to you I am a much better dancer than you’re implying.”
Once we’re there Wes instantly winds his arms around my lower back, and I drape mine around his neck. The two of us saunter around our carved out space tightly embraced. Occasionally, he grows brave and poorly executes a twirl or dip, but after I nearly fall one too many times for his liking, he abandons his avid attempt to prove me wrong.
The music shifts from upbeat jazz to a softer, slower song. My head leans against his body, ear pressed firmly to his heart. Wes’ hold tightens, and I helplessly get lost to the eurhythmic cadence echoing from his chest.
It’s been way too fucking long since we were this close…this connected. Since I felt like I wasn’t so fucking alone. I know there are still things to fix and issues that need some work, but I’m grateful it’s not a lost cause. Being right here in his arms, I know that. I know that just like I know this is the man I am meant to spend forever with.
Wes leans his lips down to my ear. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you?”
A wicked smirk slips onto my lips. “With or without my clothes on?”
He groans and the feeling of his cock stirring against me has me whimpering.
Peering up at him, I taunt, “I think there’s a bit more begging you need to do for my forgiveness.” Before it can be mistaken for something else, I add, “Particularly on your knees.”
Hunger instantly thrums through his expression.
“For at least…an hour?”
Wes wets his lips slowly. “Any more requests?”
“Coming until I can’t remember what my own name is.”
This groan is louder. Devilish. More urgent. “I’m gonna make sure you don’t ever forget mine.”
Our parted mouths rush towards one another when a mousy voice squeaks, “Excuse me?”
In unison we grumble and turn to the interruption.
My snip is instant, “What do you want H&R Cock Block?”
“I hate to bother you,” Jenni nervously stutters. “But I think we have a problem.”
“Whatever it is, it can wait. I need to get my fiancée home and do something I haven’t done in an entire month.”
“Repeatedly,” I slyly add. “You. Will. Do. It. Repeatedly.”
I expect his face to redden but when it doesn’t, the unabashed behavior dampens my thong.
Jenni briefly presses her lips together. “Just…really quick.”
“What?” He nearly barks.
“Isn’t that Brynley’s boss over there?”
Our eyes glance behind us the direction she tosses her nod.
“So?” I sigh, irritation blossoming. “She’s supposed to be here. Pretty sure it’s mandatory.”
“Mmhm,” Jenni brushes off, “but the woman she’s talking to. That’s Stephanie Danish. Monica Simmons’ assistant.”
My eyes zoom in at the sight and an epiphany instantly backhands me. “Well. Fuck. Me.”
Before either have the chance to stop me, I storm through the crowd, straight for their location. Ignoring my name being called and efforts being made by Wes to slow me down, I march right up to the pair, startling them both.
Raquel’s forced grin indicates everything my intuition is currently screaming. “Bryn-”
“You manipulative bitch,” I growl, disdain dripping from my voice.
“Excu-”
“It’s you.” Moving in a bit closer to her I snap, “You’re the one responsible for pumping Global Laundry with bullshit and personal information!”
“Your voice,” Jenni quietly reminds me.
Alarm fills her expression, yet she denies, “I would never-”
“It’s why they only seem to know the shit I’ve told Calen.”
“Then it must be-”
“Don’t you even fucking think about blaming him or I swear to God I will bitch slap you hard enough to make your ovaries hurt!”
Jenni’s voice whines again, “Bryn-”
“Hush,” Wes commands. Immediately afterward he asks, “Is it true? Are you the one leaking private information to the media?”
Raquel continues to deny, “Absolutely not. I-”
“You’re always suspiciously just around the corner or just about to enter the room we were in. Calen’s always rambling on about you expressing ‘concern’ for me in your little one on one sessions, but really you’re just trying to pump him for more information without him knowing.”
This time she doesn’t argue.
“According to employee logs, she is also the only one who is always working at the same time you both are,” Jenni quietly informs.
“It’s why Global Laundry thinks we’re having an affair. You cultivated that story and then kept feeding them just enough information to make it look like it was true. But what I really wanna know is how the fuck you knew I was pregnant. Did you fucking bribe the doctor or get them to?”
“I wanna know why,” Wes inserts. “Are you not being paid enough by the institute?”
Jenni busies herself with shooing away the onlookers. She casually insists it’s a debate that’s just a little loud and no one should be alarmed.
Except they should. I’m am not above knocking my boss the fuck out and blaming it on a pregnancy mood swings to skip the assault charges.
Evie’s second in command adds on a giggle about how she’s completely on the dolphin side of the argument, which finally seems to convince a few of the stragglers this conversation truly is harmless.
“Answer,” Wes firmly commands. “Now.”
Raquel looks at Stephanie with a pleading expression.
The strawberry blonde simply shrugs at the obvious defeat.
“My daughter has some very high medical bills-”
“And you didn’t think to ask for help rather than sell false information to the press?” The ire in Wes’ voice fills me with excitement. Adoration. Love. His instinctual nature to protect me, to protect his family, doesn’t just linger in private. It reigns in public.
“I swear, I didn’t know they were going to lie about everything. I only told them what I knew with the exception of Brynley being pregnant. That was more of a guess. I was on the phone with Calen and overheard the doctor start to the say the word. I merely assumed the rest.”
Wes secures me to his side and coldly states, “Your biggest mistake wasn’t in betraying the institute or my fiancée, Raquel. It was in betraying me.”
Dread fills the eyes of what I assume is about to be my ex-boss.
One way or another. Either I’m gonna drown her or Wes is going to have her ex-communicated from the country like he did the last woman who fucked with us.
After glancing around at the curious attendees, he sneers, “I suggest you get out of my sight and pray for my mercy.”
Raquel speedily darts towards the nearest exit.
“And you,” I glare at Monica’s assistant. “I suggest you and your bottom feeding boss find other waters to fucking fish in. These are now under extreme protection laws or would you like my fiancé to further demonstrate that?”
Stephanie curtly nods and quickly struts off the same direction Raquel did.
Jenni mumbles, “This could’ve gone better.”
Wes pins her with an authoritative glare. “Find Renee Drake now. Tell her she can be expecting my call within the half hour.”
Evie’s clone promptly nods through her increasing panic.
“She’s tall. Dark hair. Got a slightly weasel shaped face. She’s most likely still being diddled in the back by the hot older, British guy-”
“Doctenn,” Wes corrects.
“They’re like the same thing.”
He shakes his head. “They’re not.”
Jenni interrupts what is the beginning of an unnecessary argument. “Got it. I will go…inform her now. And then inform Evie of what happened here.”
“Please make Evie aware we will not be taking any calls this evening. Anything she needs to discuss can wait until the late morning if she misses her window of discussion during our drive home.”
The promise of a long, secluded night threatens to release a whimper.
Impressed with not only his calm dominant nature over this situation, but his dedication to keep the promise of sexual satisfaction, I press myself slightly harder against him. He steals a glimpse of my growing arousal, wets his lips, and leads us towards Lurch and FrankenNoFun.
During the short drive back to the penthouse, Wes keeps his ear wedged to the phone and his arm wound around me. Surprisingly enough there’s no yelling. No threats. Just orders given like he’s some sort of King they’re afraid will remove their heads for even considering the idea of opposing his decrees. Every conversation is short. Crisp.
By the time we’re walking into the penthouse, Wes has handled more issues than I was aware came from having a sneaky bitch for a boss. HR has been contacted as well as lawyers in multiple directions, for a multitude of reasons. Evie’s been given strict instructions on what photos he wants posted in the press, by which press, and what wording should be included to keep the focus on the event rather than the dramatic moment we engaged in.
I head towards our bedroom, but Wes’ movements distract me. He turns off his phone and leaves it on the coffee table. He kicks off his shoes, shrugs out of his jacket, and carefully rolls up his sleeves.
When he’s finished, he lifts his eyes to mine and states, “This night is about you. No one else.”
Flutters fill the pit of my stomach.
With intensity, he slowly approaches, giving me time to change my mind if I feel inclined.
But I don’t.
We need this. He needs to be given the chance to prove his love and loyalty, and I need to know I’m not just worth fighting with, but for. I’ve fought like hell more than once to get him to talk to me, to open up, to let me be there when it was clear he was suffering alone. He needs to fight too, and what a better battleground to start on than our oversized bed.
The moment we’re in our room and I start to undress, he immediately stops me. He removes my hands and takes over the process. I’m escorted to the edge of the bed where I’m requested to sit. Once I’m there, he lowers himself back to his knees and begins undoing the very heels he put on. It’s proceeded with gentle foot rubs that eventually fade into calf rubs. When his firm touch drags to my inner thighs they thoughtlessly drift apart more than willing to accommodate space for his hands.
I catch a cocky smirk between head lulls.
Despite my desire for his hands to apply a bit of that pressure to my clit, he relocates his efforts to removing the dress. My pout is cut short courtesy of his mouth latched onto the crook of my neck. Wes’ tongue languorously laps at the area like the last feast of a dying man, while his hands busy themselves with banishing my bra. His kisses are blistering. Heavy. Hungry. He drags his teeth along my collarbone to the other side where he repeats the lecherous torture. My fingers anchor themselves into the sheets as my body begins heaving with so much force I’m being knocked backwards. Wes’ wet lips wander towards mine, and I pounce without vacillation. Our tongues chaotically collide, losing more and more control with every push. The light caresses of my overly sensitive nipples increase the frantic movements of my mouth. His groans feed the greedy fiend inside of me just enough to make it ravenous.
Pulling back, I demand, “Prove you missed me.”
Wes nips at my bottom lip. “On my knees, right?”
I return the gesture with a smirk. “With your cock.”
There’s no reluctance to follow the request. Wes promptly gets us both naked, positions me on the edge of the bed, and places himself exactly where he belongs. The initial pierce through the swelling heat of my pussy bows my entire body off the bed. We share a synced sigh of satisfaction that reverberates off the walls with a vengeance. He drags his dick all the way out to repeat the movement. Receiving the same result merely encourages him to continue the blissful torment.
I attempt to shut my eyes, which is when Wes commands, “Keep ‘em open, baby. I need you to see it’s me who’s worshiping you.”
The words are gifted a loud moan.
Gradually, he increases the speed of the appetizing action until his dick can longer resist staying buried deep inside. My pussy contracts to reiterate the wise decision, and Wes growls behind gnashed teeth. With his fingers tethered to my thick thighs, he savagely begins to thrust. Each pump pushes his cock to the hilt and rewrites the promises he proclaimed just hours ago. In every piston of his hips there’s a pledge of affection. Allegiance. Attachment that will last at least a thousand lifetimes.
Desperation to come creeps along my spine and causes my muscles to constrict in warning.
Wes groans, relinquishes the grip on one of my legs, and rapidly rubs his thumb against my clit.
On a carnal cry of his name I’m rocketed straight into oblivion with no intention of ever returning. Tumultuous trembles tear through me as my pussy pleads with Wes’ cock to join it in surrender. His body shakes, strains, does everything it can to push through the temptation of coming undone, but is powerless when another sensual sigh falls from my lips. The feeling of his balls tightening in tandem with his dick causes me to detonate all over again, this time taking him with me. Warm gushes are submerged at the brink as if sealing the last of Wes’ vows of a better relationship.
Sex doesn’t fix everything, but it damn sure can help. This was the perfect way for us to start the healing process and remind one another of just how united we truly are. Hopefully, a divide never happens again and we manage to move on from all of this. If not for our sake, then at least for the little thing growing inside of me. He or she deserves parents on the same side. I’ll fight like hell to ensure that, and after the way Wes came back to me, I have a good feeling he will too.
I can’t believe this is really happening today. I can’t believe I set myself up for this. And it truly is all my fault. I was the one who got arrogant. Who was stubborn. Who refused to be cautious when clearly it was needed. This is my fault, and I will deal with the pending consequences on public fucking television.
Adjusting the sleeve to my jacket, I ask, “And how did the board take it?”
J.T. hums and leans against the hotel room wall. “They understand any shift of shares will be coming from the portion that was bestowed on you from your family and that any negative press will be directed at you, Weston Wilcox the billionaire philanthropist, not Wilcox Enterprises. Aside from that there seemed to be a collective agreement they really don’t give a shit as long you keep making them richer.”
I shake my head and mumble under my breath, “The rich get richer and the poor are still barely being helped.”
“Not true,” Brynley argues from beside me. “Thanks to people like you, they are getting help. Plus, you’re also backing smaller companies with big dreams, leading them to great things.”
“And making the rich, once again, richer in the process.”
She glares at my comment yet J.T. chuckles, “It’s the circle of life, Simba.”
“If he’s Simba then that makes you Timon.”
“You two are not actually having this conversation,” Evie fusses from the dining room chair.
<
br /> I lightly laugh. “Oh…but they are.”
All of sudden, Brynley gasps, “Holy shit! You know what I just realized? Monica’s basically like our own fucked up female version of Khan.”
J.T. snaps his finger at her and points. “Yes!”
“I don’t remember a Khan in The Lion King,” Evie mumbles her confusion.
“This is now a Star Trek thing.”
Brynley’s hand strokes my thigh. “You have no idea how fucking sexy it is that you know that.”
Our eyes lock, and I helplessly smirk at the compliment.
