Page 17 of Mahogany 2
He licked his lips with a smile. “We can resume tomorrow morning, if you’d like.”
I squeezed my thighs together at the feel of that familiar pulsating. My pussy spoke whenever he was around. My pussy… she wanted to lead. Wanted me to risk it all because hello… she’d wanted him for years.We’dwanted him for years. So not only was I in a fight for my marriage, I was in a fight with morals too.
Which would win?
In which war would I lose?
And… if I lost in either… would itactuallybe a loss?
I waved him off. “Are you insinuating that I can’t handle a couple of mimosas, Mr. Carter?”
“That’s exactly what I’m insinuating,” he said with a laugh before holding his hands up. “No judgment here, baby. I’m talking about floorplans, you talking about tattoos. Seem like Mahogany the interior designing mogul is a little off her game.”
I took a deep breath and brushed my hand down the back of my head. “Just a little. Who serves alcohol at eleven in the morning?”
“Who drinks at a business meeting?” he asked with a smirk.
Squinting, I said, “Oop! You just said you weren’t judging. And don’t act like you didn’t order the second one like I asked for it.”
He leaned back against his chair and crossed his arms over his broad chest. For a second or so, he studied me. Eyed me up and down with this smirk on his face. “You needed it. This is the most relaxed you’ve been since we met, Ms. Mills.”
“How many mimosas did you have? You keep calling me Ms. Mills as if you don’t know my name isMrs. Mahogany Mills-Morris.”
With a laugh he said, “Zero. The Mrs. And Morris part be slipping my mind. My bad.”
“Disrespectful,” I said, shaking my head.
“To forget?”
I scrunched my lips up as to say, ‘yeah okay’. “To disregard. You don’t strike me as a man who forgets. Not easily, at least.”
“What type of man do I strike you for?” He boldly asked, sitting up.
We were going back and forth. Again. Happened a little earlier. The conversation seemed to just… flow. Rebuttals seemed to just roll off my tongue with ease. There was no hesitation between either of us. From the outside looking in, you’d think we were long time associates having brunch. Or hell, maybe even lovers, the way his eyes danced all over me.
“I don’t know, Mr. Carter. As a man who doesn’t forget… like I said,” I told him with a shrug. “So, sending me the blueprints shouldn’t be hard… should it?”
I had to end the meeting. I couldn’t focus. I wasn’t sure if Crescent and I would be having many face-to-face meetings because clearly I couldn’t handle them. And well, he couldn’t handle them neither. Flirting, calling me Ms. Mills as if he didn’t know my name. He was flirtatious as hell. I couldn’t see usgetting much work done like this. We’d have to do a lot of talking over the phone. But… see… I didn’t work that way and didn’t want to start just because I was working with him. Something needed to shake. Hell.. me. I needed to shake back. Into place. For sure!
“Nope. I got you,” he told me with a deep breath. “You didn’t eat.”
“Neither did you,” I told him, nodding toward his omelet.
We were too busy talking to eat. I’d only ordered a muffin and oatmeal since I ate before I left the house and even that was untouched. I didn’t think about eating—just drinking. Like a fucking alcoholic. I needed it. He was right. I fucking needed it. I had to take the edge off. Otherwise, I would have sat there a giggling, hair twiddling mess the whole meeting. Wasn’t like what I had been doing was that much of a step up. I trusted that this was only the beginning. I was only shy because it was him and I’d toyed with my pussy, squirting more times than I could count, at the thought of him. Crescent didn’t know how many nights I spent fantasizing about doing some of the freakiest things to him. Could you have kept your composure? Could you have been yourself? Sitting across from a man you’d wanted for five years? He smelled good. Looked good. And every inch of him told me he tasted good too. Tongue, mouth, dick, cum. Everything. I wanted to drink him. I wanted to swallow him. I wanted to eat him. Damn a fucking meal. I wanted him on the table, on his knees, in front of me, feeding me dick. I wanted him to shove it down my throat. To tickle my tonsils with it. I just?—
Yeah, it was time to go.
“Wasn’t really hungry for anything on the menu, for real,” He stated, his eyes centered on mine again.
He was flirting. Always flirting. So much so, that I wondered… hell,didhe remember me? Or was he justthatfucking bold?
With raised brows, I went for my glass again and was pissed to see it was empty. Just that quick. I was throwing them back. Wished I could throwitback. My God, I was tripping.
With a polite smile, I asked, “Could you excuse me? I have to use the restroom.”
He nodded, relaxed against his chair and said, “For sure. Take your time.”
With that, I grabbed my Birkin and stood to walk off. As I made my way to the restroom, I could feel his eyes piercing through me. Not just on my ass—all over me like before. Except, it was a slow sweep. Intense. Pulling. So much so that I couldn’t even do my usual twist of the hips. I didn’t have my ‘bad bitch’ walk on. Couldn’t. His energy was too drawing. Too intimidating to put on a show. Crescent made me think too much. Made me self-conscious in a way that I did not like. I was worried about silly shit like tripping over my feet or missing a step. So, I just walked.
