Page 32 of Wicked S.O.B.

“We’ll talk about it later.” I want nothing to fuck up my sublime mood.

She bites her lip, and I know she wants to press the issue. “Quinn…”

“Later, Elyse.”

I reach the east wall in my office and key in a code. The door springs open and we go through a short corridor.

“Where are you taking me?” she asks.

“You’ll see.”

The executive apartment is small by Blackwood standards, but it has a shower and bedroom and, more importantly, a change of clothes.

“Wow,anotherapartment?”

I carry her into the shower cubicle and set her down. We both moan as we disengage. She bites her lip again, and I hope it’s because she misses me inside her. My cock is already protesting the separation. I leave her to turn on the shower as I step out and undress. Through the glass, I watch the woman who owns every single piece of me.

When the decision arrives, it’s so fatalistically easy that I wonder how I’ve spent the better part of a year fighting it.

It’s time to stop dicking around. I might hate my surname because of the fucked-up things my father did, but I can’t deny the dominant, survivalist blood that runs through my veins. For as long as Elyse wants me, wantsus, I will make this work.

When I step back into the shower, she glances up, and her eyes widen.

“What?”

“You look…scarily determined.”

I slide one hand around her waist and one into her hair. “Good, you need to be scared, because I’m fucking determined to spend every minute from now on making you crazy-happy.”

“Oh my God.”

“Save that awe for when I’m inside you again, baby. You’re going to need it.”

*

Elyse

I walk out of Quinn’s office almost two hours after I arrived, wearing his long-sleeved black shirt that thankfully falls to midthigh. It’s cinched at the waist with one of his sleek black leather belts, and underneath I have on a pair of his boxers. He refused to return my bra and panties, but he grudgingly allowed me to put the tights back on. With my lipstick kissed off and my hair slightly damp from our antics in the shower, I look exactly how I feel—a woman thoroughly pounded and set aside wet.

But after what we did on his dining table and in his shower, I’m too happily drained for mortification to register at my attire. Well, almost. Thankfully, we pass only one person in the corridor, and they’re circumspect enough to avert their eyes when they spot their boss’s girlfriend wearing what looks like his clothes. And also, being who he is, of course Quinn has his own private express elevator, which lessens the risk of running into other employees. He pushes me inside, stabs a finger for the basement, and even before the doors slide shut, he’s sinking his fingers into my hair and devouring my lips. His eyes are less haunted, and I can’t help but hope he’s a little less tortured about us. And with his agreement to see Dr. Freeman, I’m even daring to believe we’re turning a corner.

We kiss until the doors slide back open. But still he doesn’t let me go.

“It’s been a privilege and an honor to fuck Elly the Waitress.”

The happiness and laughter that’s been swishing around in my heart since his announcement in the shower breaks free. “I wasn’t just a waitress, you know. I also washed plates and glasses,” I state with mock hauteur.

“Hmm, even sexier. You, mysterious and alluring and flushed, shrouded in all that steam.”

“Ha, only you would think like that.”

He kisses the corner of my mouth. “Can’t help it. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. There’s no scenario I can imagine you in that you’re not completely captivating.”

“Keep talking like that and I’ll do something drastic and make you miss your meeting.”

“Keep looking at me like that and I probably won’t make it anyway.” He wraps his arms around me and we stay like that, breathing each other in, listening to each other’s heartbeats, while the elevator doors patiently stay open.

When the beep of a text message sounds, he sighs but keeps holding me. After a minute, it beeps again.