Page 48 of Making It While Faking It
Yes!
I vaguely recall tossing and turning as more wind slammed against the window. Then, I rolled several times until we were touching, and now I’m in his arms. And yes, pressed against my ass is a humongous boner.
Then it all happens so fast.
Achilles moans as he lodges his erection deep into the crack of my ass. His prod is so vigorous.
“Mm…” he moans as his hand moves under my blousy nightshirt, and I sigh when his palm makes contact with my skin. Up his hand travels, and I am quivering, squeezing my thighs to relieve the tickling sensation in my lady parts.
Achilles cups my breast, compressing my roundness, indulgently and gradually working his way to the nipples, and squeezes.
“Ooh…” I sigh.
His hand freezes. I feel his body tighten against me.
“Shit,” he mutters. And just as soon as he says, “I’m sorry,” his body abandons mine.
I don’t move a muscle as I listen to his feet pounce against the hardwood floor. Then he’s in the bathroom. He closes the door.
I touch myself. I’m so very wet. He wanted me. I want him. I can stay in bed and let him have me. But he stopped himself when he could’ve just taken me. Achilles is not a timid man who waits for opportunities to come to him. He takes what he wants. This I know. I can sense. He is that man. But he didn’t take me.
Hercules had told Paisley that he thought his brother was in love with a woman. He went right to my lady parts—her lady parts.
I slide out of his bed, regretting ever asking him to let me sleep in his bed. Because now I know Achilles Lord has been intimate with a woman. So much so that he has sexual moves he uses on her to get her hot and wet and ready for morning sex with him. Oh, what a lucky girl.
Friend-Zoning?
TREASURE GROVE
Icollapse on my bed, my body reeling from what just happened. How did that happen? How did I end up in his arms without realizing it? Usually, when I’m that close to a man, his body heat makes me sweat. He must’ve taken hold of me not long before I woke up.
I make myself very still as I listen out for any sound. I hear nothing. This place is so big and well-built, it’s hard to hear if anybody is in the condo unless they’re in the room with me. Regardless of how I feel about what just happened between me and Achilles, I’m so relieved that the rain and wind have vanished. I’m not hungry after eating Barbara’s dinner last night and then Achilles’s omelet, which for some reason, even though it wasn’t half as tasty as Barbara’s dishes, I’d eat a million times over.
“I like him.” I confess to the tepid air sitting around me.
I yawn and then absentmindedly crawl under the luxurious sheets and duvet. I cuddle up with the bedsheets, reliving how it felt to have Achilles’s hands on me. Before long, and after one last yawn, I fall asleep.
I wake up a lot later.I have no idea where Achilles is in the house. I’m too nervous to go looking for him. I mean, he felt me up this morning, and I wanted him to go all the way. I shouldn’t want that. I can’t have that. But it’s late in the afternoon, and I’m hungry. I don’t want to risk running into him in the kitchen, so I call room service. I order a seafood Cobb salad and work from bed today. It’s still raining out, but the weather isn’t as bad as it was last night.
Nya and I narrow down the menu. It’s too large and expensive. It takes us hours to complete the task. Nya has favorite dishes she refuses to stop cooking because they are her signatures. I couldn’t talk her out of doing her cracked noodle beef Bolognese. It’s not very popular. The cracked noodle has great flavor but not so pleasant a texture. But it’s one of Nya’s favorites, so it stays. We’ll soon see if the items we’ve cut will cut some expenses. I hope so.
Next, I call Lolly, who complains about not being included in the call with Nya.
“She knows how to work you, Treasure. She gets you all excited about her fucking expensive menu.”
I feel rattled by what Lolly points out because she’s right on the money. She says it’s the same old script. Nya takes from one dish and adds to another. She’s a spoiled chef who doesn’t know how to edit. And maybe a flavor explosion in the mouth isn’t always preferable. The more I listen to Lolly, the more I’m willing to concede that I’m terrible when it comes to running a business.
We decide to table menu planning until tomorrow. We have more pressing issues with two popular celebrity parties that are on the horizon. Two A-listers are throwing their soirées this weekend, one on Friday and the other on Saturday. My presence has been requested. There’s nothing like having a real-life billionaire heiress slinking through the room, greeting invitees, taking selfies with them, making them feel important, because apparently, I’m supposed to be important.
We return to our prior conversation about the cost of their events versus what they’re paying.
“Did you go back and ask for more money?” I ask.
“Not yet. We’re still working on shaving costs. Give me a few days.”
This is ridiculous. As soon as Lolly and I hang up, I saunter to the kitchen to figure out the cappuccino maker. I need caffeine. It’ll help me get up the nerve to call Princess Vanessa and Charla Hinkley. I’m going to demand that they pay what they owe. Screw them. I know how to play hard-bitch. I’ve learned from the best—Max, Xander, and Leo. I gasp inaudibly when I see Achilles at the island, reading papers that look like work documents.
“I put steaks in the oven for us,” he says. “If you’re hungry. Also”—he checks his watch—“we might want to move back up to the main penthouse in the next two hours. House cleaning will be in tonight.”
