Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
We stay like that, our bodies pressed together. Neither of us speaks. We would only spoil it with our snipping and bickering. I can feel the warmth of his skin against mine, the way his fingers trace patterns on my back. I close my eyes and pretend we are not what we are. We are real lovers. For once, I don’t want to think about what comes next.
I just want to savor this perfectly beautiful thing that happened in a magical forest in the middle of New York City.
Chapter Thirty-Three
IVAN
Heading back to the office after the time I spent with Lara at my home feels strange. Something happened in that conservatory. Every step I take is heavy as if I left a part of myself behind with her. I can't stop thinking about her—no matter how hard I try.
It’s distracting, maddening even.
The way she looked at me, the way she trembled, her lips on my skin. She lingers in my mind, refusing to go, like a shadow that follows no matter where I turn. I've had much more experienced partners but none of them managed to get under my skin like she has. She’s there, embedded in my thoughts, and I find myself unable to focus on anything else.
When I finally reach my office, I sit behind my desk, staring blankly at the paperwork piled in front of me. I should be diving into the day’s agenda. The New York Stock Exchange opened hours ago and I have a couple of risky open trades that I should monitor, but all I can think about is her.
I keep replaying everything in my head, trying to make sense of my obsession with her. They circle in my mind like a whirlwind. Round and round. It doesn’t make sense. This won’t do. This is meant to be a purely sexual escapade. I try to force myself to focus, but all I see is her pale body stretched out on the stone floor, her pussy open like the most beautiful pink flower imaginable. My cock starts to stir.
I'm lost in those thoughts when there's a knock on my door.
Greta strides into my office, her sharp heels echoing off the hardwood floor. The sight of her cold beauty snaps me back to reality, away from thoughts of Lara’s vulnerable innocence. Greta is professional as always, holding her folder to her chest. Her expression is neutral, carefully composed. There’s no hint of what she thinks about the way I have bought and paid for Lara—just business.
Her voice is crisp and professional as she walks over to my desk. She flips open the folder. “I’ve made the necessary adjustments following your changes this morning.”
I lean back in my chair, nodding, trying to appear like I’m paying full attention, but she looks alien to me. Everything feels wrong. In my head Lara’s gorgeous eyes are looking up at me from the stone floor.
I’m fucking hooked. It’s an addiction I never saw coming. I thought I was buying her! Ha, ha, what a joke. The joke’s on me.
“Your breakfast meeting at the Four Seasons has been rescheduled to Le Bernardin’s drinks bar,” she continues, her tone detached, almost clinical. “The appointment is confirmed for 7:30 p.m.”
Le Bernardin. It’s a perfect place for closing deals with its quiet elegance and impeccable service.
“Good,” I reply. Even my voice sounds different. I tap my fingers on the desk. “Make a reservation for two at the restaurant afterwards.”
Her pen pauses over her notepad, and I can sense her curiosity. “For another business matter, Sir?”
“No, not business.”
She tries to hide it, but there’s a flicker of something. Displeasure, maybe. She doesn’t like Lara. Greta is superefficient, capable, and loyal, but she can’t understand why I’m behaving this way with Lara. Why I am willing to pay so much just for a woman? She’s probably already decided Lara is temporary, just another woman passing through. She doesn’t know what’s really going on in my head, she doesn’t know about the way Lara lingers even when she’s not around.
“Understood,” she says. “I’ll make sure to get the best table for Miss Fitzpatrick and you.”
She’s holding back, I can tell. There’s an edge to her tone, as if she disapproves but knows better than to say anything. Her job is to manage my life and keep it running smoothly, not to interfere in it in any way.
“Is there anything else, Greta?”
She flips with unnecessary violence to another page in her folder. “Your mother called regarding the charity gala tomorrow evening. She wanted confirmation that you will be attending. What shall I tell her?”
I think of that carefully staged social nightmare, of all the eyes and conversations I’ll have to navigate. It’s always a carefully staged dance.
“Yeah, tell her I’ll be there.”
“Do you need me to arrange anything for the occasion?”