Max
Infuriating female! I clutch my towel back against my nether regions, willing the chub I've had since I exploded in my hand this morning to go away.
Hoping she hasn't seen anything she should not have seen.
The threatening headache was replaced by dreams of Vikki. Dreams of me doing things to her which were completely inappropriate and so damn real. I woke up with a raging hard on, the like of which I can't even remember having in the past, and the second I touched my cock it went off, covering just about everything with cum.
It meant an early shower.
Which was when the real Vikki came knocking on my door.
I growl to myself as I dress, stomping around my wardrobe as I select my suit, replace the shirt Vikki stole, and pick out a watch, watch chain, and tie pin, finishing the outfit off with a linen square.
If I'm to be your girlfriend, it makes sense I've seen the inside of your bedroom.
Vikki"s words ring in my ears. She has absolutely no idea having her in my bedroom is something my body and subconscious mind clearly desires. But why her? Why a tiny female I might break if I mate her? She's surely not robust enough for a rutting troll, given humans are generally fragile.
They're the reason the Lowerworld had gargoyle warriors protecting the realms from the Underworld. The reason trolls, ogres, and orcs all fought side by side to keep the hoards of wraiths and demons at bay in the wars which lasted for centuries.
And cost us all so dearly.
Protection of humans was the reason the veil dropped. If they hadn't been told what they were being protected from, they were about to let all the evil in. It was all the Lowerworld could do to ensure the status quo.
There's the scent of coffee in the air again this morning, like yesterday. Vikki might have had difficulty operating the kitchen, and I don't blame her, but the coffee machine was designed so even a troll like me could operate it.
Vikki is at the kitchen island. There is a cup of coffee in front of her and she's frowning at her new mobile phone.
"Everything okay?" I ask, tossing my suit jacket onto the couch as usual.
I see she's cleared up the debris from our meal too, something I need to change. I can't have her waiting on me like some sort of servant.
"Yeah, fine." She sighs, but any weariness disappears from her when she looks up at me and a bright smile appears instead.
Possibly too bright, but I can't be sure. Plus, she's now wearing my shirt with my belt wound around her middle twice, cinching her in.
I had no idea seeing my shirt on her could cause destruction on my pants, but apparently, it can. I sit down hastily at the island and clear my throat.
Unfortunately Vikki takes it as a cue she needs to serve me, and she pushes a mug across the counter and pours out a cup of steaming coffee from a cafetière.
"Not using the coffee machine?" I query.
"I prefer my coffee made in a cafetière, not mangled up by some machine," Vikki says. "I got some ground coffee yesterday. I hope you don't mind," she adds.
I add some cream and take a sip and find the velvety, dense taste to my liking.
"Good?" she queries.
"Very."
Vikki opens up the oven which whirrs and releases the most delicious smell since I scented her in the club.
"I managed to get this working somehow, this morning," she says, pulling out a tray filled with croissants.
Using tongs, she decants them into a basket and then places them in front of me along with cutlery, a plate, a pat of butter, and a jar of apricot jam. Lastly, she produces a large linen napkin and comes alongside me as she shakes it out.
She's so close, I can scent her over the croissants. Vikki looks me dead in the eye as she gently tucks the napkin into my collar.
"Can't have you getting crumbs everywhere," she says, and it might be my imagination, but is her voice a little hoarse? "That wouldn't be a good look."
"No," I rasp. "You smell amazing." She retreats from me, her brow furrowed. "I mean, these smell amazing," I counter myself, grabbing one of the treats from the basket and ripping it in half, spreading out the butter and the jam.
"I hoped you'd like them." She has gone back to her side of the counter, which annoys me.
"What time has Peter arranged your fitting?" I ask between mouthfuls of buttery, flaky pastry and lashings of jam.
"Ten, I think," Vikki says, checking her watch.
"He'll send a car. You can have anything you want, but he should have arranged for a personal shopper. He has a list of engagements, and they can advise on what you'll need for each," I say, licking my fingers clean.
"Can I get…" Vikki looks at me, clearly trying to decide how she should ask her question.
I hold up a hand. "Get whatever you want or need. It'll all be charged back to my account."
"Okay," she says, but she doesn't sound confident.
I finish off the last croissant, wipe my hands on the napkin, and carefully remove it.
"Not a single crumb," I say with triumph, getting up from my chair.
The intercom chimes.
"That'll be my car." I gaze at her, something making me want to stay here.
But I have no reason to stay. And I have a multi-billion-pound business to run. The intercom crackles again.
"I'll see you later." Vikki starts to clear my plate and the debris from breakfast.
I don't want to leave her.
"Yes." I pick up my suit jacket and slip it on, taking my coat from the cupboard next to the door. "Later."
As I wait for the elevator, I look behind me at the closed doors to my apartment.
I can't stay. I have to go, no matter what my gut tells me.
This is just a business arrangement. Nothing more.