Page 7 of Always Alchemy

That’s a lot of tasks, it turns out. And I’m relieved beyond belief that he’s taken that stance. I’m a grafter, and my instinct is to get stuck into the hard work, like packing up our hundreds of paper patterns and orchestrating the physical move to Wright’s headquarters in Victoria.

But no. Adam has insisted that that shit isn’t a good use of my time, and he’s right, of course. Even before his investment in Gossamer was completed, he had his central HR function send me a pile of CVs, because one of our first priorities is increasing our team. For good measure, he’s had employees from other brands within the Wright ecosystem get stuck in and help Gail, Evan and Carrie with the logistical side of things.

Instead, I’ve found myself in meeting after meeting, and I’ve bloody loved it. My brain hasn’t stopped spinning for a good ten weeks now, but in a really great way. Adam wants me workingonmy business, notinmy business, as much as possible, so I’ve met with PR companies and branding experts and artistic directors and management consultants. Neither has he wasted any time getting me in front of Omar Vega and his production team to collaborate on a concrete sustainability plan for that brand.

The sheer volume of incredible information available to me has me drunk on dopamine. Every neuron in my brain is firing on all cylinders twenty-four-seven, and I’m finding it impossible to turn off the switch. To know when enough is enough. The past few weeks, our evenings have consisted of shop talk over supper at the kitchen island or in front of the fire in the library, a warm bath or a handful of orgasms our preferred way to decompress before bed.

But Adam has quite rightly pointed out that running our businesses together requires not only serious boundaries but serious, intentional preservation of our non-work time. Otherwise, we could both quite easily do nothing but work.

This evening is an intervention of sorts. I’ve told myself I won’t relax until next week’s huge launch party is out of the way, but I’m self-aware enough to know I’ll hurtle straight onto the next challenge without pausing for breath. Tonight, we’ve come to Alchemy to see our friends and to spend intimate, important time together away from the constant bewitchment of our laptops.

When Adam Wright tells you he has a sure-fire way to clear your mind, you’d damn well better believe him.

I feel instantly more settledwhen he closes the door to the private room behind us.

Room Eight.

The room where he first seduced me. Where I pretended to hate every second, when really, I was a quivering, needy mess at his hands.

He always requests this room.

My boyfriend is a true romantic.

I tell myself that, anyhow, as I gaze up into those eyes ofhis, the black pit of his pupils swallowing up those pale blue rings. He’s already shifted into Spanky Dom mode, and suddenly the prospect of emptying my head of its to-do list and putting my body and soul into his hands feels easy. Logical.

There’s breath work, and yoga, and meditation—and there’s Adam.

He looks so damn gorgeous tonight, as always. So tall. So commanding. He’s in a black fitted shirt, top two buttons undone, sleeves rolled neatly to mid-forearm. It’s tucked neatly into his custom Tom Ford trousers, showcasing the enviable flatness of his stomach. The brushed silver buckle of his belt glints subtly, and let me tell you that his arse is a thing of such beauty in these trousers that I half wish I could compose a song to immortalise it.

He’s a walking men’s fragrance campaign, but it’s his face that gets me. Always his face. The sensitive mouth. The pale eyes. Thelookin those eyes as he surveys me, like he’s wondering idly what to do with me—tome, first. Boy, do I want to feel that immaculate beard scratch softly against my most sensitive body parts. I want it roughing up my nipples, abrading my pussy.

I smirk.

‘What?’ he asks softly, sliding his hand around my neck. My hair is up tonight in one of the sleek ponytails he loves. I’ve tied a black velvet ribbon around the top for a girlishly chic touch.

I shake my head. ‘Just remembering that first time in here.’

His mouth twists as his eyes soften. ‘Hard to forget.’

‘Mmm-hmm.’ I hook a coquettish finger into his waistband.

‘Let’s hope you’re a little more compliant this time, eh?’

‘I think you’ll find me very compliant tonight,’ I purr. He grins wolfishly as the hand on my neck slides upwards to grab my ponytail.

‘This ribbon is very sweet. So innocent. Makes me want to come all over your face. I’ve been fantasising about it all evening.’

My jaw drops open before I spit out a shocked laugh. ‘Oh my God. I feel quite violated. But knock yourself out.’

‘Remember you told me I couldn’t come on your face or in your hair?’ he murmurs, eyes narrowed. ‘Well, I’m not sure you’re going to be in a position to refuse me tonight.’

My pulse quickens at the thought of him overpowering me. ‘Is that so?’

‘Yeah.’ He twists my ponytail more tightly around his fist. ‘Now, let me help you out of this dress, sweetheart. I’m going to need you very, very naked for the next part.’

‘On one condition.’ I may as well voice my wishes while I still have my autonomy. ‘I want you naked, too.’

‘Why?’ he asks with a grin.

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