Page 8 of Devoted (Love and Burlesque #2)
CHAPTER EIGHT
KNIGHT
Not very first class of you.
A n insufferable week has gone by since the stairwell incident with Vivian. The memory of her curvaceous body in my arms has invaded every free second of my waking hours.
Thankfully, work has kept me occupied enough with a very convenient midweek business trip to another state. I don’t want to say Evelyn can read my mind, but my second-in-command always seems to know when I need a change of view.
Even while surrounding myself with the buzz of an up-and-coming arts district in a bustling city, I’ve been tempted to fly home early every night so I can catch glimpses of Vivian through her windows. It’s the closest I can get to her without being tempted to give in to her absolute pull on me.
The battle was nearly lost when she placed her delicate foot on me and, in a way, took ownership of me without realizing it. But… maybe she did realize it? The way she arched her body and how her eyes burned into mine while she gave commands—I almost couldn’t breathe.
If things had gone further in the back room, I don’t think I could have ever recovered.
It would have been an enormous mistake, I kept telling myself—one I cannot afford to make.
Of course, nothing could cease the tension like me being a bastard and saying something mean before running out of the room like the coward I am.
She owns me, but I cannot have her.
Is it a blessing or a curse to know she reciprocates the pull? Certainly, she does not feel it to the same extent I do. I’m well aware of how intense my feelings for her are, and I know she, in her right mind, doesn’t feel the same.
The reasons to stay away from her seem to grow every day.
1. She is your employee.
2. She is seventeen years younger than you.
3. She is the sister of someone you were previously involved with.
4. She thinks you’re an asshole because you’ve been acting like an asshole.
Despite the growing list, my nagging conscience was suffocated by the need coursing through my body following our encounter.
After rushing home, I stalked toward my bedroom, picked up Vivian’s forgotten plaid shirt, and threw it to the floor. The fabric had lost her scent in the month it had sat on my bed, but simply knowing it was hers was all I needed.
I remember sliding from the force of falling to my knees, the shirt stretching along the floor to accommodate the movement. The echo of my belt being undone boomed in the too empty space of my bedroom. The sharp hiss of my zipper was brief as I was scrambling for some sort of relief.
The feeling of my hand wrapped around my cock wasn’t the sensation I was craving. My hands were too big, calloused, and crude to pretend it was her. I knew it because her hands were on me, wrapped around my neck as I carried her mere hours ago.
I was desperate after having her so close, and my fantasies of her were all I could afford.
In my mind, she was standing in front of me as I kneeled, holding my chin delicately in her palm—a complete contrast to her nails digging into my throat. I imagined her wearing those damn boots of hers, making her tower over me so she had to look down her nose to meet my gaze.
She was telling me I was a good boy and that I’d earned this. She was telling me how fast or slow I could fuck my hand. She was telling me to say my please and thank yous.
Harsh breaths escaped from me as I quickened my pace, eyes shut in an effort to picture Vivian in all of her perfection.
Imagining her gracing me with those words from her deep-red-painted lips was what brought me my release, and I spilled my cum all over the bare floor, ensuring none of it would soil her shirt.
“Sir, we will be landing soon. Please, fasten your seat belt,” a voice, one not belonging in my fantasies, instructs from the aisle of the airplane.
My face flushes red, and I can feel the heat coming off me when I give the steward a brief nod. Cursing at myself, I yank the belt over and buckle it closed with a rough push.
Having a hard-on, pants tenting in a half-asleep state on an airplane, isn’t something a person should do, even in first class.
As the plane begins its descent, I pull a file from my briefcase and begin to flip through it. I’m sure there are laws prohibiting keeping an employee file in your possession, but it’s most likely one of the smaller laws I’ve broken since meeting Vivian.
From her file, I’ve learned her address, phone number, and date of birth, and looked over her emergency contacts.
It didn’t surprise me when her mother or father weren’t listed there.
Through conversations with Alek, I’ve gotten a good idea of how the Delgado parents have treated their family, and it sickens me.
Vivian’s last job listed is working for her father’s company before quitting and coming to our city to pursue her degree in fashion design. I’ve been tempted to outright buy the company, only to ruin it and run it into the ground for how they’ve treated Vivian, Alek, and Thomas.
For now, I’ll keep the option in my back pocket. My morality was tinted with gray a long time ago, and I wouldn’t bat an eye at destroying Antonio Delgado’s legacy if it meant getting justice for the people I’ve grown to care about.
My power and prestige mean nothing to me if I am unable to use them for the betterment of others. It’s why I pick charities so close to my heart, just like the one for tonight’s event, and in combination with Harriett’s efforts, we’ll be able to provide a lot of good for people who deserve it.
In a way, all these events are also a healing effort for what my mother and I have been through.
With a final announcement after a shaky landing, I tuck away my prized file and keep it close as I deboard the plane and prepare to face reality once again.