by Katy Evans
I let him, briefly. Then I pull him up by the hair and straddle and ride him.
He lets me, but still needs more, so he rolls me to my back and bends my legs around his shoulders, and when he drives back in, I contort with pleasure and let out a long mewl of pleasure over being filled like this. Just like this.
All the time he watches me.
All the time I ache, need, want, dance, hum in silent pleasure. His voice is husky and thick when he tells me I make him hot and that he’s never been so fucking happy or wanted anyone or anything as much as he wants me. I tell him how hot he looks and how I never want to be without him.
When he rubs his thumb against my clit and continues pummeling me—watching my breasts bounce and my chest heave—I come, I come in colors, songs, movements, fabrics. I come in all ways and at the same time in no other way but this one. I come for him and because of him, and as if he knows this yet isn’t satisfied in my complete undoing nor in taking me every which way possible, Ian pulls out and takes his cock in his hand, pumping his fist down his hard length as he climaxes with a deep groan and eyes of twilight watching me, watching me as he rains his semen all over my abdomen.
Gasping as the warm drops touch my skin, I pant and watch his muscles ripple, his eyes flash on me, his jaw clench. I lick my lips, drinking him in, weepy, drunk, scared, in love, undone like only my hot Suit makes me. But I know as he’s finished and pulls me roughly, almost violently, to him, that whatever he makes me feel… I’m not alone in this.
Minutes later, I can feel his uneven breathing on my cheek as he holds me to him, the touch of his hand almost unbearable in his tender possessiveness. “Ian… did you mean what you said?” I whisper, tipping my face. “That you lo—”
He wraps his arm around my midriff and shifts me to lie over him, his breath hot and moist against my face, my heart racing when he answers.
“I mean it.”
“Say it again when you’re not drunk, please.”
“I’m not that out of it.” He eases out of bed and heads off to clean up, then comes back and slides into bed with me. “I’ll say it again when we’re both ready to deal with it.”
“What do you mean?”
He pulls me back to his side and looks down at me with eyes that I can easily get lost in. “Questions, questions, kitten.” He smiles at me, pecks my lips, then licks softly into them. “You’ll see. If all goes well, you’ll see very, very soon. Just don’t quit on this opportunity—promise me you won’t.”
“I…” I’m about to tell him I cannot promise this, but the look in his eyes gives me pause. He’s never looked that determined before. “I promise. But I don’t want—”
“She won’t be a part of it,” he assures me.
Ian
We’ve been waiting for twenty-three minutes and I’m clutching the pen like a man too eager to put his signature on something. Though the truth is, I signed the minute I arrived. Click, click, click.
Mattias Wahlberg clears his throat, his eyes on my pen. I smile at him apologetically and place the pen back on the table. Across from us, Cordelia’s lawyer, Aaron Goldberg, is seated, an odd-looking little man but a good lawyer. I hope he knows there’s no way out of this one except to get this over with.
“Is she always this late?” Wahlberg asks me, tapping his watch and sighing.
I shrug. “There’s no ‘always’ or ‘usual’ when it comes to Cordelia.”
I don’t know why it bothers him; I’m paying him by the hour. Unless he has reservations about today’s proceedings.
“I trust we’re all good for today?” I ask him. “This should be it, right?”
He hesitates and the lawyers exchange glances. Goldberg smooths down the sparse amount of hair on his otherwise bald head and readjusts the handkerchief in his jacket pocket.
“One can never be certain about these things,” Mattias finally says, “but we have a good feeling about today. Assuming she turns up, of course.”
Right. I lean back in my chair and take a deep breath. I need to relax.
The door swings open loudly and the three of us glance at the doorway.
Cordelia saunters into the office, taking her sweet time to close the door behind her. She’s wearing an expensive-looking trouser suit, and I notice diamond earrings twinkling through her lavishly coiffed hair.
She’s always spent an obscene amount of money on her appearance, but I was always genuinely happy to give her everything she ever wanted. Her infidelity, however, is a flaw I refuse to overlook.
She takes a seat at the table, offering no word of apology for being late. I’m tempted to say something, but I know better and keep my mouth shut. I can feel her looking at me and I look back in silence.
“Oh, this is what it has come to, has it?” she huffs. “You can’t even acknowledge me?”
I take a deep breath. I’m going to need all the self-control I can muster for this meeting.
“Thank you for finally joining us, Cordelia,” I say. I give Wahlberg a look and he slides the paperwork across the table toward her and Goldberg.
“Mrs. Ford, everything is as previously agreed, but please take your time to read over it again and then sign… here.” He indicates where to sign, and Cordelia purses her lips in anger.
“Mrs. Ford…” she mutters bitterly as she peruses the papers in front of her. “I suppose I’ll have to get used to being called by my maiden name again soon.”
“It’s one of the conditions for granting you all of the assets that we are,” Wahlberg responds indifferently, handing her a pen. “Mr. Ford would like his name back.”
She takes the pen, frowning, the nib hovering inches from the page. She pauses and asks Goldberg if he’s read it already. Goldberg nods at Cordelia, giving her the go-ahead.
But she puts down the pen and sighs, wiping an imaginary tear from her cheek. She looks up at me, her long lashes fluttering and her bottom lip quivering. Once upon a time I would have felt something. But her act no longer fools me.
She reaches out her hand to touch mine, but I pull away before she can.
“Ian,” she whispers, “please. I know you don’t really want this. We’re good together. We can try again. It’ll be different this time.”
“It’s too late, Cordelia. There’s nothing you can say to change my mind.”
“Maybe,” she retorts, regarding me in speculation. “But that doesn’t mean I have to agree to the divorce.”
My gut tightens in frustration and we glare at each other over the table. I knew deep down that she was going to fight until the end, and I just hope that whatever Wahlberg has up his sleeve will finally convince her.
“I know why you want this so much,” she continues, her eyes narrowed to slits of contempt. “It’s what your dumb little floozy wants, isn’t it?”
At the mention of Sara, I can’t help but feel my patience slip. “Leave her out of this,” I warn.
Wahlberg clears his throat loudly. “Let’s keep this civil,” he says to both of us in his usual monotone voice. I’m breathing deeply through my nose, trying to control my rage.
He turns to Cordelia. “If you really want to take this to court, by all means we can,” he says. “However, I can assure you it will be to your detriment, financially speaking. Mr. Ford’s offer is extremely generous, given the circumstances. And we have solid proof of your affair.”
“Proof?” she snorts. Her haughty sneer makes me want to throttle her. “Going through my credit card statements doesn’t prove anything. And if Barry wants to testify, I have ways of discouraging him.”
She’s drumming her long, manicured talons on the table, looking smug, but I know her better than that and I can tell she’s nervous.
“Technically, it’s not your credit card, is it?” Wahlberg cuts in, matter-of-factly. “But that’s irrelevant at this point.”
She raises her eyebrow at me and her voice softens. “Ian, we could forget about all this silliness and go back to how we used to be. Summ
ers in Europe, winters in the Caribbean. You can’t deny what great times we had.”
I shake my head. I have no idea what to say. She just doesn’t get it. We’re past the point of no return. There’s no going back.
Wahlberg retrieves a large brown envelope from his briefcase and hands it to her without a word. We watch her closely as she opens it.
She pulls out the typewritten, signed note inside, then flicks through the pages, her eyes growing wide with horror. Barry provided us with tapes and images of their affair. And it’s all in there.
“How did you…?” she starts, but her voice trails off and I can’t help but feel disgusted.
I hadn’t been keen on getting the written testimony from Barry, my accountant, but Wahlberg convinced me it was necessary. By the look on her face, he may have been right.
She’s glowering at my lawyer, and at me, her face flushed with anger. He goes to take the envelope back from her, but she grabs it from him and starts ripping it to pieces in her fury.
“There’s an additional note in the settlement,” he tells her, pointing to a short paragraph at the bottom of the paperwork. “All copies of Barry’s testimony will be destroyed, along with the video and photographs. As long as you sign.”
“Was this your idea?” she practically spits at me. “I can’t believe it’s come to this, Ian. Really?”
Her eyes are pure thunder as she realizes her circumstances, and even I’m surprised at Wahlberg’s rather bullish methods. But I’m beyond playing nice. I’ve tried that for the last year and it hasn’t gotten us anywhere.
Cordelia glances at Goldberg, who pushes the pen back in her direction, knowing there’s no way out of this.
She picks up the pen. I can hardly breathe as, at last, I watch her sign the goddamn divorce papers with an angry squiggle that almost tears the pages.
I wait for a final outburst from her, some spiteful insult or threat. But she composes herself remarkably quickly, dabbing at her damp cheeks with a tissue. Wahlberg takes out another set of papers. “The paperwork for the purchase of the business, as discussed.”
“You’re really putting what you have left into this?” Cordelia shoots me a shocked glance.
“It’s only money. I started with less than what I have now. I’ll make do.”
“I’m jealous.”
“I know. And I don’t care.”
She signs those papers as well and picks up her handbag, stuffed with shreds of the torn papers and envelope, and storms out of the office, slamming the door as she leaves.
Wahlberg looks at me, a satisfied smile on his face. Even Goldberg looks relieved.
I shake Wahlberg’s hand, thanking him, before I shake Goldberg’s hand and part ways.
And then I breathe. Long and deep, all the stress and anxiety and angst from the last year vanishing. I’m finally taking a good, clean breath again. Finally, free.
I expected to feel weightless. Like celebrating. And yes, there’s relief, a shit ton of it. But a part of me mourns what went down in there. It mourns the girl my ex-wife used to be, the guy I used to be. Because the people who signed the marriage contract years ago were so damn different than the ones who are stepping out of this building.
I tell myself I’m not going to let myself grow apart from the woman I love again. I tell myself I’m going to hang on tight to her and never let go. Because one thing I learned from my marriage is that, even though you think love is enough to feed on, enough to hold a marriage together, it’s not. Communication, understanding, patience, loyalty—that’s the stuff that makes it last.
I regret that I didn’t know this before I let my work consume me, and I let my wife’s ambition consume her.
As I flag down the first cab I see, I smell that familiar perfume once more and turn to face Cordelia. She waited for me. Fuck. It’s typical that she can’t resist a final word, but nothing she says makes any difference now.
“So, you’re going to go and play house with your new little strumpet?” she demands angrily.
“I might, if you hadn’t tainted the word house for me.”
“Fuck you, Ian.”
“Back at you, Cordelia.”
“She doesn’t know what she’s getting into. You’re emotionally unavailable. Even to me, and I’ve known you for years. All you want is to work.”
“Maybe. Because I actually cared about your happiness and your safety. But that’s long gone.”
I open the cab door for her and watch my ex-wife reluctantly board, shooting me a snotty glance that I can’t care less about.
“Goodbye, Cordelia.”
Sara
I’m dreading the appearance of the blonde bitch Ian married, but she’s nowhere in sight as I change into my dancing shoes and stretch out next to my new colleagues on the stage. We’re all waiting to be told what to do.
Everyone is shuffling around, commenting on how excited they are to have landed their respective roles. The sound of doors shutting causes me to raise my eyes to the far end of the auditorium. A tall, dark-haired man in a business suit is walking down the auditorium room steps.
My Suit is here?
I can’t help but stand a little straighter, in an effort to hide the way my heart just went crazy in my chest.
Ian is here…
On his way forward, the directors greet him.
I arch my brows, confused.
“From the top,” Ian calls as he glances up at us, taking a seat that one of the directors vacates for him.
I blink and shoot him a what are you doing? look, but run to take my place at the front of the dancers.
We take it from the top and perform the variation we practiced during audition. When the music stops, Ian whispers to one of the directors. “Take five,” that director calls.
I climb down from the platform and approach while Ian comes to his feet in one fluid motion, the gleam of pride in his eyes making my thighs feel watery.
“Why are they following your orders?” I whisper-ask, coming to stand next to him.
He casually tugs on my ponytail. “I had to make some arrangements to be sure Cordelia was out of the picture—for good. Out of my life, and yours.”
“What?” I swallow, trying to register what he’s saying. I’m about to ask him to clarify, because this cannot mean what I’m thinking it means.
My delicious Workaholic has enough work on his plate with his own documentary and film production company. He couldn’t possibly have bought a Broadway one to boot. Could he have?
I’m shocked—shocked enough that my question comes out as a mere breath. “What did your ex want in exchange for selling you her production company?”
“Not much,” Ian says calmly, laughing silently at my complete astonishment. “She wanted me to let her keep my name.”
“You can’t!” I cry.
He raises one brow, tugging my ponytail one more time before letting it fall behind me.
I can’t help my stupid reaction. I’m so completely taken by this guy. Body, heart, soul. Even my mind he hijacks all the time. It’s inconvenient and impractical. But I’m in love. For the first time in my life. I love everything about this guy, even his name. His name that I one day want to be mine.
“I mean… imagine if you ever married again,” I try to explain to him. “There can’t be two Mrs. Fords, three including your Gran, walking around New York.”
“We can’t have that, can we?” He tsks softly.
A realization dawns on me. My new boss is… Ian? My Yummy Motherfucker?
“You said, Dancer, that you wouldn’t mind who your boss was, whether it was someone you hated or someone you cared for.”
I dip my head forward slowly in agreement, realization that Ian did this for me nearly shattering my brain. I’m mind-blown. I can’t believe someone would do something so huge in order to help me achieve my dreams. Both of them. The one about having a shot on Broadway, and the one of having a relationship with my Dirty Workaholic. “Thank you.”
“Thank you.”
“What for?” I ask.
Ian scrapes his chin as he thinks about it, tilting his head to one side as he regards me. “I suppose a girl I know would say it’s for recovering my… faith in the universe.”
“A girl you know.” A smile begins tugging at the corners of my mouth.
“The girl I’m deeply into.”
My heart somersaults. “How deep?”
“As deep as love goes.” He seizes my chin between his thumb and forefinger, tipping my face back. “The girl I’m in love with.”
My toes curl in my dancing shoes as his burning eyes hold me. My hand curls over his as he continues holding me by the chin. “She loves you, too.”
“She said as much before. But we were both not quite on all five, and I can’t get enough of hearing it anyway.” His low voice rasps over my skin, and the slight twitch of his lips makes me breathless.
I nod frantically up and down. “Hmm. She does. Since she gave you her panties in a little wad in your pocket. She’s so easy.”
“No, she’s not.” His lips curve to shape an utterly sexy smile. “But she’s mine.”
I confirm his words with another jerky nod, and suddenly I can’t breathe beneath the intensity in his eyes.
“I’m free, Sara.”
“You’re free?”
“I’m free.”
I exhale, my whole body shuddering happily. “What’s the first thing you’re going to do now?”
“Take you out to dinner. Then take you home and keep you.”
One second he’s a few feet away. The next he’s lifting my face, kissing me slow, and so, so deep, like today is the end of the world. Or, maybe, the first day of a new one. Hands on my face, tongue invading, tasting. I’m a willing party to this celebration.
“I’m going to get you,” I promise in his ear before I slap a kiss on him. “Don’t you worry about that.” I smile as he sets me to my feet and I head back to the platform, watching Ian discuss the show with the directors before he goes to the door.
