Chapter Thirty

I shouldn't be surprisedthat Jake managed to make anal such a pleasurable and binding experience. I feel tied to him more than ever, as if the moment propelled us into even higher spheres.

His concern for me, how sweet and soft he was throughout, will be forever embedded in my mind. That man puts me first—my needs, my comfort, my pleasure—and it's a novelty for me. No one ever cared for me this much, aside from Vicky, and it makes me feel worthy and alive.

Because Jake will be away for nearly a week, we spend as much time as we can together. The weekend following our incredible date is spent in his apartment with Mulli. Then, he comes to spend the night at my place on Monday and Tuesday. I temporarily give him Eddie's old key so that he can let himself in on Wednesday to prepare things for our celebrations. I leave work earlier than I usually would to make the most of it.

When I arrive, the whole place smells divine, and he welcomes me with a flute of champagne. Later that night, after a delicious Boeuf Bourguignon, the rest of the bottle goes down in a less traditional way. He has fun pouring cold streams that make goosebumps erupt on my skin, the prickly bubbles igniting shivers before he has time to lick up the wet paths. I find my own way to drive him mad, blowing him with champagne in my mouth, giving him a go at his own teasing.

On Thursday morning, he's gone before I wake up, which saddens me. But the note he left on the kitchen island cheers me up a little.

I'll be back before you know it, red. It's too small to match, but think of me every time you use the purple vibrator in your nightstand, yeah?

PS: I stole that sexy black thong you wore yesterday. A token to remember home while I'm away.

Your wombat

I'm grinning so hard that my cheeks ache. This man is so corny sometimes, but I wouldn't have him any other way. I walk up to the fridge and pin his note with a magnet. Then I grab my phone, edit his name, and send him a text.

Me

Maybe I should invest in a bigger vibrator. This one will leave me wanting more.

My Wombat

It's perfect this way. I'm the only ‘more' you need, love.

Me

Are you at the airport already?

My Wombat

Just arrived. I'll call you as soon as I'm through the TSA.

I excitedly fetch my AirPods and set them up. I'm making scrambled eggs when his call arrives. While I get ready, we talk about nothing and everything. Even if our interests don't always match, there's a genuine desire from both parties to listen and learn.

When I casually mention that I'm undressing for my shower, he brazenly asks for a picture. I make him work for it a little and then send him a shot of my reflection in the mirror, tastefully angled so he can see part of my behind and the side of my breast. Maybe I should be more cautious of such things, but I know he would never share my body with strangers. He's too greedy and possessive for that. The approving grunt he lets out as he receives the photo makes the risk worth it.

He waits while I quickly clean off the remnants of our night together, and he's still on the call when I come out. I'm done with my makeup and am getting dressed when he sighs heavily.

"Alright, sweetheart, they are doing the last calls. I have to go."

"Oh, they started boarding?"

"Twenty minutes ago. I wanted to wait until the last moment to get on, and this is it."

"Ah, I see. Have a safe flight, wombat. And let me know when you land."

"I will. Thanks for the picture, red. I'll put it to good use."

He's all the way to the boarding desk when we hang up after some quick goodbyes.

In the days that follow, those little phone calls become our norm. Whenever we're both free, we spend it together like this, using video when our surroundings allow it. It's not easy, given our busy schedules and the three-hour time difference, but we make it work. In the end, I miss our physical proximity, but I don't miss him as much as I thought I would. We actually spend even more time together than we normally do because I often have a Bluetooth earbud nested in my ear—even at work, hidden by my hair.

Neither of us cares if it's ridiculous. We're needy like that, and we embrace it. I wasn't even this clingy as a teenager, but there's nothing rational about the effect this man has on me, so I stopped questioning it.

His trip to LA, as I understand it, is focused on an international tattoo convention that invited him as a speaker. Adding to that, he is supposed to stay in town as a guest artist in one of the parlors that sponsors the convention. This means he works a lot, mainly in the afternoons and evenings. Jake makes sure to be available around my bedtime, and I fall asleep while on a call more than once.

To our shared surprise, we're not having as much phone sex as we expected. It's hard to find the right moment for it when I'm at work by the time he wakes up, and his day ends when I'm already asleep. During the weekend, though, we indulge when he finds a moment to isolate himself.

On Monday morning, I'm all giddy and happy. Jake's coming back the day after tomorrow, and I can't wait to hold him in my arms again and feel the softness of his lips on mine, his weight on me, the stubble of his jaw on the smooth skin of my inner thighs… Ah, how I miss my wombat.

I'm grinning like a lunatic, alone in my office, thinking of our reunion on Wednesday. I have planned a fun date for us, which will end in my bed. I'm even getting off work early again to get him at the airport myself.

An enamored smile is still on my face when someone knocks on my door. My assistant is on the other side of the glass, and I invite her in.

"Miss Kensington," she starts, coming in to set a pile of documents on the corner of my desk. "You have a meeting in ten minutes in the blue conference room."

Ah, right. This will be another one of those time-wasting meetings where all the executives on this floor and the one below have to listen to Mr. Sinclair talk for an hour to say something that could very well fit in an email. I'm too busy for this, but if I start skipping my boss's vanity gatherings, I can kiss my promotion goodbye.

In a few minutes, I finish up and rise from my chair. Just as I'm about to head out, my phone dings on my desk. Given the hour, I know exactly who it is, which is why I eagerly pick it up.

My Wombat

Are you free?

Jake just woke up on the other side of the country, and, as usual, he texts me right away.

Me

I'm about to head into a boring meeting, so I won't be able to talk.

My Wombat

I can do the talking if you want. I'll make it less boring.

This actually sounds like a great idea, so I take my AirPods from the drawer and head off to the conference room. I'm just done setting up our call when I reach my destination, people still filtering in. As discreetly as I can, I slip the earbud in and adjust my hair in an inconspicuous way.

"Good morning, red," his voice pours in, all sleepy and low. I'm about to answer when a colleague greets me as she enters the room. "Don't talk," Jake commands.

It's safer this way, so I don't say a thing and join the others around the massive oval table. Ralf is already in there, talking to Mr. Sinclair with his usual ass-licking tone.

"Ah, there's Genevieve," my boss says, gesturing toward me. "Everyone's in, so we can start."

"Genevieve… how formal," Jake murmurs, audibly smiling. "Does he also call you that when you've been a bad girl?" Heat spreads on my cheeks as I find an empty chair between two people from the overseas division. "No, I bet you've been such a good girl while I was away. Except yesterday, when we had our little fun."

Images of what we did flash before my eyes. We had a video call, and he coaxed me into getting my vibrator out and using it while he pleasured himself. He demanded no less than three orgasms out of me, and I fell asleep soon after to the lulling sound of his voice recounting his day.

"I was dreaming of you when I woke up, and my cock is still fucking hard. There's a family-sized tent over here."

My cheeks are officially hot, and I consider hanging up. This might be a bad idea, after all. Mr. Sinclair makes it impossible, though. "Alright, let's get on with it. This one's important, so I better not see a single phone out," he demands with authority.

I'm doing my best to focus on the presentation when Jake lets out a falsely discontented mumble. "This one won't go away. I'm afraid I have to take care of it."

My eyes widen with shock, and I can't help but look around at my colleagues. What if some of them guess what's happening? But I can barely believe it myself, so I doubt it.

The low, raspy moan Jake releases has me pressing my knees together under the table. "I can't wait to be back with you, red," he says, his voice altered by lust. I can already hear the metal of his thick bracelet as he pumps his erection. "I miss the soft touch of your hands, the deft grazes of your tongue, and the tightness of your pussy. You have the best cunt I've ever had, you know?"

Yes, I know. He's been very vocal about it in the past and never fails to remind me.

Mr. Sinclair keeps blabbering about whatever expansion he has in the works, but I can't register any of it for the life of me. Not when I have Jake in my ear, letting out small grunts and moans, his breath heavy and his voice tense as he pours lustful promises into my ear. "We'll be doing that sexathon when I get back, red. I'll fuck you for—What was it? Twenty-six hours and some minutes?"

I nod, even though he can't see me.

"Your pussy can't take that much of me, though, can it? I'll have to give it some breaks and fuck your throat instead. And your arse, too. Best fucking arse I've ever had as well, by the way. Jesus fuck, I can't wait to ram into that tight hole again and make you scream my name. I'll pull your hair the way you like it and make you take my whole cock. Maybe we could try it with the piercings too. I bet you'd like them rippling in and out of that little pink hole of yours."

I know he's using those words to fuel his own fantasies as he masturbates, but they work on me too well. I'm wet and aching, my clit throbbing at the prospect of him doing all those things to me.

This is insane. I'm stuck with two dozen of my colleagues and my rambling boss, and in my ear, Jake is spewing the lewdest, dirtiest promises I've ever heard. If anyone looks my way, they'll notice how flushed I am and how I can't stop rubbing my knees together.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, the clinking of his bracelet speeding up as he jerks off faster. I can even hear the fleshy sound of his urgent tugging. "I wish I could put this load inside you. Nothing's more beautiful than your cunt when it's been fucked raw. It looks so pretty, drenched in your juices while my thick cum seeps out of you. And I know you fucking love it when I pump you full of it. You clench around me like a proper little cum whore, and it drives me fucking insane."

My insides clench as if following his directions, and I realize I'm breathing too hard. I'm trying to focus on it, to contain myself, when he adds, "It's all yours, red. All of it is for you. Will you take it? Will you swallow it every time I come down your throat, keep it inside you when I nut in your arse, and stuff it back in your pussy when it overflows?"

"Yes," I breathe out, my voice so quiet only the man to my left hears it, turning around with a questioning glance. I dismiss him with a brief shake of my hand, too absorbed by Jake to come up with an excuse.

"Here it is," Jake grunts in a way that I know all too well. "Here's my cum for you, red. It's all for—Ah, fuck!" he roars.

I sit there, the most aroused I've ever been at work—if not ever—while Jake comes all over his hand on the other side of the continent. My clit pulses in unison with his moans and grunts. If I could sneak a hand between my legs, it would only take a few rolls of my fingers to follow him in bliss.

The rare brain cells that aren't devoted to this auditory masterpiece are used to keep my composure, sitting perfectly immobile when all I want to do is find the nearest bathroom stall to seek my own release.

"Jesus fuck, red," he whimpers. "Just knowing you're there makes wanking phenomenal." I can hear the relief and fulfillment in his voice, which was so rough moments prior. Contrary to him, everything in me is still tense and needy. "Fucking hell, I ruined the sheets with this one."

There's nothing but his heavy breath for a moment. "I bet you're so fucking wet right now," he says with pride, "sitting with all these arseholes, wearing your perfectly tailored suit like you're one of them. But I know you're so damn horny you wish I could be there to fuck you. We'd show those cunts how it's done, wouldn't we? I'd hoist you up on whatever table is there and eat you out like you're my whole lunch, red. I'd make you shatter on my tongue, maybe fucking your pussy with a finger or two as I do. Then I'd probably turn you around so you can see them watch you as you get fucked from behind. I'd make it so good, love… I'd make it so damn good you can't help yourself but come hard all over my cock. And every single guy in the room would wish they were me, getting to fuck you this good. But they could never, could they? Only I could make you come so hard you see stars."

His dirty words and raspy voice have me nearly toppling over the edge. I can see so clearly how shocked they would all be, realizing I'm not, after all, a block of ice with a hole in it.

As if I'm getting punished for the scandalous thought, the woman on my right taps my shoulder, pulling me out of my fantasies and ripping me from Jake's invisible hold. I jolt back into the present at once, and the scene before me might as well be right out of a nightmare.

Everyone's focus is on me.

Did I accidentally moan or something?

It becomes clear that Mr. Sinclair, on the other side of the table, is waiting for me to say something.

"Ex-Excuse me?" I ask, my voice a trembling mess.

"Oh no, I hope I didn't get you in trouble," Jake says in my ear.

"I was asking if you could share the advances we've made regarding the merger," my boss repeats.

Shoot, I'm so not ready for this. As I push back to rise from my chair, I accidentally knock down my neighbor's pen, which falls to the floor. Seeing this as a perfect opportunity, I lower myself halfway under the table and remove the earbud. I discreetly place it in my jacket pocket and grab the pen to hand it to my colleague.

"Are you alright, Genevieve?" Mr. Sinclair asks. "You look unwell."

"Sorry, I'm feeling a little hot, is all."

"A bit early for menopause, isn't it?" A few people laugh at his joke, all men, and he waves his hand in a dismissive way. "Ralf will handle it. Don't worry, dear."

Part of me is relieved that I won't have to talk right now, but another is seething. The condescending tone and the patronizing attitude rub me the wrong way, and they instantly make my arousal fade away. The rest of the meeting unfolds without incident while my phone vibrates in my jacket now and then.

As soon as it's done, I rush out of the room and fish it out.

My Wombat

Sorry, I didn't realize it was the sort of meeting where you're expected to participate.

Damn, your boss is a cunt. I'll menopause his arse. How do you put up with him?

This is the Ralf guy? He sounds like a twat.

I'm sorry again, red. It wasn't supposed to cause you any trouble.

It looks like Jake is still on the call, but I can't handle this right now. Not without cooling down first. I hang up, return the loose AirPod to its box, and head to the closest restroom, needing some alone time. I find a stall and lock it behind me before pressing my back against the door.

The phone vibrates in my hand, and when I check, it's Jake again.

My Wombat

Gen, talk to me. I'm sorry.

As embarrassed as I am, it's not his fault. I could have removed the AirPod, discreetly passing a hand in my hair and shoving it in my pocket. I was the one who kept it in because it was too hot to miss. This might have been one of the most erotic experiences of my life, and the only thing that tarnished it was my misogynistic boss.

Me

It's okay, I'm just a little shaken up. But it's not you, wombat. That was so fucking hot.

My Wombat

You can get revenge tonight if you want and call me while I'm tattooing some poor bloke. I'll work bricked up and mess his shit up, but oh, well.

I giggle, which didn't feel possible moments ago.

Me

Maybe I'll do that. I'm getting used to the vibrator, and I might keep using it after you come back.

My Wombat

No. Your pussy's mine when I'm around to take care of it.

Me

We'll see.

My Wombat

Don't "we'll see" me, Genevieve. The purple usurper returns to the drawer when I get back.

I bite down my lower lip in a failed attempt to contain my smile as I type the next text.

Me

We'll see.

I hastily return the phone to my pocket, planning on letting him simmer for a while, and exit the stall. I'm still grinning when I come out of the restrooms, my mood greatly improved.

I'm restless on Wednesdaybecause I'm hours from seeing Jake again. His plane lands at JFK a little after six, and I'll be there to collect him like a much-awaited gift. I have a hard time focusing, constantly checking my phone for a message from him or something. We're nearing noon, meaning he should be at LAX. But so far, I haven't received a single text from him.

A few more minutes pass until I give in and send him one.

Me

Everything alright?

My Wombat

Brilliant.

I'm confused when his reply comes right away. Why didn't he text me sooner if he was already up?

Me

Are you at the airport?

My Wombat

No.

Now, I'm beyond confused. I'm worried. The one-word replies aren't like him at all. Maybe he's in a rush and doesn't have time to talk. That would make sense, given how LA is a nightmare when it comes to traffic.

I still haven't accomplished anything around twenty minutes later because of the anxiousness twisting my insides. I need to know what's up before he gets on a five-and-a-half-hour flight, or the rest of my day will be ruined.

My unsteady fingers are typing when I get a text from him.

My Wombat

That color looks incredible on you.

The first reflex I have is to look down at my peacock-blue dress, frowning. Then my brain clicks and my head whips up to scan what's beyond the glass of my office.

My heart skips a beat, then a few others, when I spot a tall, charming, and dashing man smirking at me from the middle of the open floor. He looks very smug and proud, his T-shirt stretched over his chest, his muscular and tattooed arms crossed over it.

He looks so out of place among those assiduous and somber-looking people that I wonder if he is a hallucination. Have I gone mad from the withdrawal?

But if he's a figment of my imagination, then why is everyone else peering and glancing at him?

It's him. It's really him. That sneaky man got a much earlier flight to surprise me.

The pure elation I feel upon understanding turns into something sour when I notice Isabel whisper something in her colleague's ear. Larry is out there too, looking as shocked as the rest of them.

Oh, no… More gossip is the last thing I need right now.