Page 20 of Until You’re Breathless (Insatiable #1)

Bowie

I have to rewind it in my head so I know that I heard him right.

Yes, he said that he loves me. I won’t be so obtuse as to ask for clarification on that score, either.

I know what he meant. He didn‘t mean any other kind of love than what I know he meant. And I’ve never felt so confused before in my life.

But I’m not sure how he feels about telling me that.

It’s like it was a deep, dark secret, that he promised he’d never share to anyone, ever.

And the fact that he walked away right after he said it makes me feel like maybe he’s ashamed.

Or scared, maybe. Or maybe he regrets telling me.

All I can think about is why. And then I feel so stupid.

Of course he didn’t want to tell me. This is a huge risk for Lawson Enterprises.

He hired me to add my professionalism to this company, not to add a complication.

He’s probably feeling the same trepidation that I’m feeling, in that I want to put this business first, too.

It’s quiet upstairs, where he is, and I assume that he’s gone to bed.

I have no idea where anything is, but left to my own devices, I find the room where he placed my bag.

Footsteps a few doors down tell me that’s where he is.

After checking my face in my powder compact, making sure that I don’t look like a sickly teenager, having been crying, I walk down the hallway.

His door is open and he’s standing in front of his walk-in closet, naked from the waist up.

I forgot how fucking beautiful he is. He’s even more beautiful given the years that we’ve been apart.

I try to take my eyes off his chest by staring at his eyes, but that’s no better.

Jagger Lawson is the sexiest, most handsome man alive.

My voice cracks as I speak, but this time, it’s not out of emotion.

“So, what do we do? What do we do to keep this company front and center, and not let...anything get in the way of its success?”

His hair is disheveled in the back, from where he removed his shirt. It takes everything in me not to go over and slide my hands through it. I fold my arms over my chest, trying to conceal the fact that my nipples have hardened at the sight of him.

“I thought of that.” He says softly, as he turns around and pulls a shirt out of the closet and hangs it on a metal nub on the wall.

The corded muscle on his biceps makes me want to bite my lip.

His back muscles hug his spine beautifully, like he was chiseled out of stone.

“I thought about changing the company name or at least adding your name to it.”

“That’s not necessary.” I counter. “And that would just add more paperwork. Steal focus. Besides, my name doesn’t need to be on the company for me to take it seriously.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know that’s not what you meant.” I argue kindly. “But what’s really at stake here is...this.” I gesture in front of me, indicating us, or whatever us is now or may be.

He bites his lip, looking at the wall, in thought. “Well, what do you think is the best solution here?”

“I think that what we have is great, Jagger.” I answer honestly. “I don’t want to hurt any of it.”

“Me neither.” He’s looking at me with puppy dog eyes.

I could melt. But all I can think about is his lips.

Those full lips that are begging to be kissed.

My heart is pounding as he stands there in just dress pants.

Tight dress pants that hug his behind perfectly.

God, he’s such a beautiful man. I want him to say, ‘But I can’t stay away from you any longer.

I want to fuck you on every surface of this house and more’, and it’s taking everything in me not to go over there and suck those lips, nip his chest, and stuff his cock so deep down my throat that I forget I have a fucking gag reflex.

His eyes go to the floor. I’ve learned that means that he’s avoiding looking somewhere on me.

I know it’s my chest. My nipples are erect.

I can feel them. They’re pulsing from under my shirt.

I was in just this t-shirt before I left, so I threw on only my jeans, and left.

It comes out before I can stop it. “Look at me, Jagger.”

“I...can’t.” He says, almost painfully.

My voice changes to concerned. “Why not?”

He releases a breath as he drags a hand through his hair. “Fuck...me.” He grunts. “Because you’re not wearing a bra, Bowie. And unless you want me to fuck you right here and now, we’ve got problems.”

My body tells me to act on that statement.

But my sensibilities say otherwise. I want him so bad.

I want him more than anything else in the world, but I’m so fearful that he’s right.

That I’m just using him as a bridge to get over Boston.

I know that deep down it can’t be true, but I’m still scared that it is.

The only thing I love right now is him and his company, and my work that goes along with all of it.

But if he takes one step towards me...if he says one more thing that. ..that tells me how much he wants me...

“I should go to bed.” I say finally, breaking the silence.

He swallows. His gaze away from me is painful. Like me walking away is killing him. I don’t dare look at him below the belt. If I can see the outline of his hardened cock that will be the death of me. “Good night.” He manages, even though his voice is a mere whisper.

I walk away, not trusting my own voice. Just walking, the vibration from my jeans, is wetting me.

I’m already soaked through my panties. The moment I walk away, I hear the water running in the shower, like a cold one is his only solace.

It takes everything in me not to turn around and join him in there.

Wrap my legs around his waist, while he fucks me up against the shower wall.

God, I need a cold shower. But, instead, I do the next best thing.

The thing I did a thousand times over when I was with Boston.

It seems like it’s almost by rote now. I’ve been masturbating for so long, it’s sad.

Back to old times again, and it pains me to think that, but it’s the lesser of two evils here.

My fingers slide inside me easily, gliding along my walls, rubbing my clit.

I come so fast, before the shower even finishes.

And I can’t help but wonder if he pleasured himself, too.

The thought makes me hot again, so I surrender myself a second time, rubbing harder and faster, and my climax is here with little challenge.

Fingers wet with my own arousal, I turn over in bed and try to sleep.

Thoughts of Jagger come to mind, but with a double orgasm behind me, my hormones have calmed, and I think about him lying next to me, holding me tight to him.

...and when I wake up in the morning, he’s already gone.

“Just one bag?” Jagger queries as we prepare to board the plane headed for Heathrow Airport.

“Just one bag.” I confirm, smiling. “I always travel light. I have dresses that smoosh down to nothing.”

“Wow. Your bag is smaller than mine. I sort of feel like a pussy now.”

“You look like one, too.” I wink, teasing him.

Thankfully, we’ve remained completely professional since that night I stayed at his house.

It’s like we’ve moved on. We’re both aware of what happened, but we both respect the fact that until we nail down this European deal, nothing else matters.

We don’t use a private jet, and, in fact, we ride coach.

Neither of us are too delicate for that, and it’s the best for the business, not to jack up travel expenses.

Plus, it’s a great flight, and both of us have a chance to discuss a lot of business, and shockingly, we both sleep.

When I wake up and I’m resting on Jagger’s shoulder, I look up, and see that he’s leaning on my head, slumbering like a baby.

I snuggle into him, enjoying the moment, knowing that if he was awake, that none of this would be happening.

I love the way that his body molds to mine easily.

And how he wraps his arm around me, like they were meant to be there.

When we arrive at Drummond Motors, I’m prepared for a lukewarm response, but Wesley shakes my hand and welcomes us both into the building warmly. “How was your flight?”

I keep quiet and let Jagger respond first.

“Good. Lots of rest and brainstorming.”

Wesley addresses me, surprising me. “And you?”

“Same. Yes. It was a lovely flight.”

He takes us on a tour of the facility, impressing the pants off us both.

He has cutting edge technology and the finest equipment.

Plus, he’s got the smarts that most covet.

I can see why his products are so critically acclaimed.

And just when I think that Jagger’s eyes couldn’t be more popped out of his head, Wesley brings us into his trophy room, but for a car buff, it’s more like his nursery of previously lived automobiles.

Jagger’s jaw drops to the floor when he sees a nineteen-fifty-seven Chevy Bel Air, shiny and in pristine condition. “Oh…wow.” Jagger says in complete awe.

“She’s a beaut, isn’t she?” Wesley says.

“God…damn, that is my all-time favorite car.”

“Mine, too. I bought this one at an auction about ten years ago. I only drive it on special occasions.”

“What would be considered a special occasion?” I ask him.

“It depends.” He answers honestly. “Birthdays…definitely. When my favorite team wins…absolutely.”

“So, basically, any time you damn well can.” I chuckle.

He points at me with a smile. “I like you.”

“Well, thank you, sir. It’s a real honor to be here. I was telling Jagger that I’ve watched every YouTube video circulating about you. You’re sort of…an enigma to me.”

He changes the subject slightly. “If you want the truth, Bowie, I’m glad that you’re no longer with that asshole.”

I’m shocked. “Really, sir?”

He nods once. “Really. I have followed your presence as well. And I looked forward to meeting you, but not with Boston Kruger.”

Jagger interjects. “What didn’t you like about him, sir?”

Wesley licks his lips, leaning on his prized possession. “I have been in this business a long time, Jagger, and I can spot a fake from a mile away. That’s why I stay out of the spotlight. Because so many of them are fake. Boston is no exception.”

Smartly, Jagger just nods.

“I don’t enjoy doing business with phony people, but it’s a lot like politics. You have to vote for someone, despite the fact that all the candidates are monkeys.”

He smiles. “I’ve never looked at it like that, sir.”

He turns to me. “And, you, my dear, are brilliant. I’ve seen many of the projects that Mister Kruger has tried to pass off as his own, but when you take over and charm the pants off the entire room with your knowledge, it’s easy to see that you were the brains behind all that work.”

His phone rings and he lifts a finger. “Pardon me for one moment. I need to take this.”

“Please.” Jagger says kindly as Wesley leaves the room.

Jagger frowns at me but his eyes are dancing. “You sure have him won over.”

“And you thought he was against women.”

“I stand corrected.”

He places his hand over my shoulder. “I have a good feeling about this. How about you?”

“Me, too. I was purposely staying behind, keeping quiet.”

“But it seems like you have a big fan here.”

“You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

He smirks. “I’m not jealous. This makes our lives a lot easier. We can show our chops now without trepidation. This opens up a whole new opportunity for us, Bowie. We can show him who we really are.”

“But aren’t we doing that already?”

“Sort of. Our whole presentation can be tweaked though.” He tells me what things I explain better and what things he does. “If we sit down after we’re finished here, and rework the presentation, I think we’ve got this licked.”

“I think so, too.”

Truthfully, we’ve both worked equally on this project. Neither one of us have held back about anything. This way we can shine, showing Wesley that. And it’ll be received a whole lot better now. Mr. Hopkins returns a few minutes later and immediately says. “Are you two hungry?”

We look at each other and frown. “We could eat.” Jagger says.

“I know a fantastic restaurant. My colleagues will be waiting there shortly. I’ll let you two get back to the hotel and get cleaned up and meet us there in an hour if that suits you?”

“That suits us just fine, sir.” I say.

Mr. Hopkins smiles at me warmly. “Please call me Wesley, sweetheart.”

“Okay.” I smile.

“I’ll send you with a car. That way you don’t need to worry about a cab to the restaurant.”

“Oh, sir, that’s not necessary. I don’t want to put you out.” Jagger argues kindly.

He waves. “Nonsense. You are my guests. I would have invited you to stay at my home…but my wife is having the main kitchen renovated right now.”

“That's fine. We're happy to join you for dinner at a restaurant." I say.

“Good, good. I’ll send for a driver right away.”

Adjoining rooms makes it easier for us to stay professional, even though I know on the other side of that door is Jagger, changing his clothes.

I consider using my battery-operated friend first, before we go, to keep my hormones in check, but I didn’t bring the damn thing.

Okay, I’m not a teenager, let’s just focus!

I hear a knock at the door and Jagger’s voice.

“You ready? The car should be downstairs.”

“I’ll be right out.” I grab my purse and open the door.

Jagger is wearing a suit and he’s freshly showered.

But it’s not his sexy attire that worries me, it’s the look on his face when he sees me.

I’m wearing a little black dress with black heels, and I’ve got my hair tied up in a bun.

The dress is open backed, with a decorative panel to hide my bra. The dress is silk. “Holy....wow.”

I go for cute. “I know.”

“Dang...if we didn’t have the account, which I think we do...it’s in the bag now, if Wesley’s got as much of a crush on you as I think he does.”

I tease him. “Are you using me?”

“Yes.” He smiles.

“Good. Because I’m using you, too. I secretly need you to get to Wesley. I have a penchant for middle-aged married British men.”

“Then you better hope that Mrs. Hopkins doesn’t show tonight, or she’s going to kick your ass.”

I lift my leg, like in a rom-com and he’s kissing me. “With these heels...no contest.”