Executive Engagement

Gravity gives way to his touch, and I feel like I’m falling into an ocean of need, an abyss of temptation and entrancement—and I never wanna come out. I want him to touch me all the time, to talk to me all the time, and to ravage me in any way he sees fit.

“I want you, Naomi. And tonight you’ll be mine. Understand?”

Oh, fuck, yes, I understand. I’m dying to quiver underneath his capable hands. I’m dying to feel and to taste that large cock of his that I can see is straining against his pants.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask. And then I joke to lighten the mood, “Your place or mine?”

“Mine,” he growls, and the gravelly sound of his voice sends shivers down my spine.

I feel myself getting wetter by the second.

Paul gets me into the limousine and instructs the driver to go fast.

The entire ride, my heart is beating hard against my chest, and I wonder if he can tell how fucking nervous I am. His commanding presence makes me feel weak, and I ask him for another bourbon to try to gain some liquid courage.

He pours me some in a crystal glass, and I take it down in one gulp, thankful that the liquid burns my throat and does something to offset my focus on him.

He’s my dream guy, and this is my fantasy come true—and yet I can’t help but feel like my world is about to shatter into a million pieces.

We get to his place, and I feel…not ready.

I take his hand and allow him to lead me into his building. I look at The Bradford and think how my home is close, and I’ll be okay. I can handle this. He’s just a guy, after all.

He goes to a private elevator in the building, and once we get inside, his fingers are snaking through my hair, and he’s pulling me in for a kiss. He tastes and smells like bourbon and earthy sandalwood…a masculine scent all his own that I find myself becoming addicted to.

He tugs the hair at the nape of my neck, forcing my mouth to meet his own. And he kisses me there in the elevator. I feel like all the parts of me that have been fragmented are falling into place.

I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

This man is the one.

Is it crazy to say that? I just know. It’s a feeling.

He’s the guy I’ve been dreaming about all these years—and it’s finally coming to fruition. A dull ache of desire forms inside of me as I realize what I’m in for.

“This is me,” he says as the elevator doors open to reveal his extremely nice place.

I walk in and try to take measure of it, but before I know what’s happening, he’s pulling me towards the double doors that lead to his bedroom.

The master suite is bigger than my entire apartment. It’s all grays and blacks, luxe and chic and manly.

He throws me down on the bed and makes good on his promise.

“Let’s get this dress off you,” he says, and he begins to tear the fabric away.

“Not my Valentino!” I find myself objecting.

“Fuck the Valentino,” he says in a measured tone. “You better be focused only on me.”

“Yes, Sir,” I say automatically, and I don’t even know why I say it—except that it seems like the correct way to address his commanding presence.

“Good girl, Naomi. You already know how to play the game.”

Game? Wait a minute, is this a game to him?

Because it’s not to me. I like this guy…a lot. I think I could maybe love him one day.

I’m suddenly afraid that this is all one-sided. Unrequited love and all that.