Page 12 of The Last Affair
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Why don’t you go home to be with your family?” Because for the last few years she’d been at his family’s house celebrating Thanksgiving with them.
“I’m busy. They’re busy.” She shrugged.
Her clipped responses told him she didn’t want to talk about that subject anymore, and he was happy to oblige. She already knew about his family, and still, if she’d started asking about them while they were lying partially naked in this nice warm bed on a Saturday morning, he wouldn’t want to discuss them, either.
Deciding she wasn’t going to pause checking work emails to look at the schedule, he rolled over to his side of the bed and grabbed his phone off its charger. Scrolling to the welcome email and agenda only took a few seconds.
“Morning Sex Mania,” he announced, unable to hide the rise in excitement from his voice. “That’s what we missed. Damn, we could’ve gotten some tips on great morning sex.”
She didn’t budge. “I don’t need any tips on good morning sex. All you need is the morning and a great partner. Boom. Done.”
With that said, he dropped his phone, rolled over again and scooted his very hard dick up against her ass, which was barely covered by those black lace panties.
“Well, we might as well get started.”
It had been Desta’s idea to forego the morning sex. This time she did need to go to her own room, for a shower, clean clothes and a breather. He’d been right about why she’d overslept, even though she’d never in a billion years admit that to him.
The sex had been great. That orgasm had clearly knocked her ass out for more than ten hours. She rarely ever slept that many hours straight. And then there was waking to the touch of his lips on her shoulder. That had felt too good. And too intimate, which was why she’d bolted up out of bed on her partially exaggerated quest to figure out the time. This weekend wasn’t about intimacy, it was about sex. Very good sex, if last night was any indication.
After showering and slipping into fitted gray pants and a matching turtleneck, Desta pulled on black knee-length boots. Working in the fashion industry had obviously worn off on her, because she was at the mirror applying makeup and styling her hair for the next twenty-five minutes. Diamond-stud earrings she’d purchased for herself as a birthday gift last year were quick to affix, as were the three silver charm bracelets she favored with her casual attire. A spritz of perfume and she was walking across the room to grab her phone and Dear Lover ID badge. Her cell buzzed as soon as she picked it up.
Meet me at the elevator in 5 min. We don’t want to miss Make-Up and Mimosas!
Initially, she grinned at Maurice’s text—he couldn’t be that anxious to get free mimosas. But then her body tensed in an all-too-familiar way as she stared at the text and the directive he’d given. Gordon used to give concise directions and expected them to be followed without hesitation. How many times had her snappy comebacks, honed from growing up with bossy brothers, led to heated arguments with her ex and him tossing out her favorite perfume or cutting her nice blouses into shreds? Too many to count. She didn’t want to recall any of that right now. With a shake of her head, she decided she was being foolish. She slipped her phone into one back pocket and the ID and room key card into the other, then headed for the door.
“Right on time,” Maurice said, tapping his watch when she approached the set of elevators on the far end of the floor.
“We could’ve taken the stairs.” Ignoring another ping of distress, she tried to keep things light. That was the key to this weekend, light and simple. Just the way their email exchanges had gone. If she didn’t let all the reasons they shouldn’t be doing this together flood her mind, these next couple days would go smoothly. The incessant pricks from her past were another matter, but she’d been able to push them aside for years so far. This weekend wasn’t going to test her.
“Let’s skip the stairs. I like the R&B station they have playing in the elevators.” He winked as the door opened, and waved a hand for her to step inside the car before him.
She did, giving him a playful jab to his gut as she passed by. “You’re at the gym every day. Don’t slack just because it’s the weekend.”
“Not all of us are as diligent as you, Des. I go to the gym every morning because there’s one in our building. When I travel, I cut back on workouts.” He stood right next to her in the elevator, which wasn’t necessary since they were in the car alone.
He smelled good. It was the same fragrance with hints of sandalwood she always smelled on him, but today it seemed more prominent, more alluring. His boots today were chocolate brown, pants a shade lighter, and his button-front white shirt showed the RGF emblem on the right-hand side of his chest.
“You’re not going for anonymity, huh?”
When he stared at her quizzically, she nodded to his shirt. “Your face is familiar enough, but you could always lie if someone called you out. Wearing an RGF shirt so openly just connects more of the dots.”
He glanced down at his shirt and then back up to her when the elevator door opened. Again, he signaled for her to walk ahead of him before stepping out to join her in the bustling lobby.
“The key to not alerting people to who you are is to mingle like you don’t care. Besides, as you might recall, every guest attending this weekend was required to sign that nondisclosure agreement.” With that he looped his arm in hers and led them through the crowd of people either dressed to hit the slopes or heading to the resort’s restaurant for breakfast. A sign next to the front desk showed the Dear Lover logo—a white pen in hand centered inside a gray heart—and the wordsMorning Sessionsright next to an arrow.
“We’re this way,” he told her and led them in that direction.
Five minutes later they were inside another room with wall-to-wall windows and a breathtaking view of the mountains lined with snow. There were crimson-colored beanbag chairs in pairs around the room. On one wall was a long dark wood table filled with mimosas. At the center of the room was a podium and microphone, and behind that was a projector screen.
“Badges?” a petite woman asked before they could fully enter the space.
Maurice pulled his from his pocket and held it up, while Desta was so busy looking around the room, he had to nudge her before she reached into her back pocket to show her own. He’d been right to remind her about the NDA they’d signed. It was part of the registration process, and she’d read it a couple times before affixing her signature. She thought it was a good extra layer of privacy offered by Dear Lover. Of course, it hadn’t occurred to her that someone as notable as Maurice would be a client. Not considering millionaires, celebrities or other well-known people would be searching for companionship may have been naïve on her part. At any rate, this weekend was a private event, so in essence whatever happened in the Finger Lakes stayed in the Finger Lakes. Still, while that form was meant to be reassuring to all Dear Lover’s clients, she knew firsthand that rules were often overlooked for the sake of a good story.
They were directed to the side of the room closest to the windows to find a seat. “You okay?” he asked, pointing to an empty set of beanbags.
“Yeah. This is, uh, not what I expected.”
