I remove her hand and hold it in my own. “I’m not a charity case.”
“I know you aren’t, you proud man.” She leans forward and kisses me softly on the lips. When she steps outside my apartment, she adds, “Wear a tuxedo.”
I watch her get on the elevator before I close the door. Walking to my window, I see a black limousine waiting outside my building. Smiling, but it feels more like a sneer, I don’t have to guess who it’s waiting for. I see a man dressed in a uniform get out of the car and open the door for Rachel as soon as she steps out onto the street.
Well, isn’t life fucking funny?
Blaire
“WILL YOU NEED ME TONIGHT?” I ask Lawrence as I come to stand behind him, observing how he gets ready for the day. I place my arms on his wide shoulders and feel the way his muscles flex under the expensive material of his suit as he knots his tie, his Piaget watch glinting in the sunlight.
His green gaze meets mine in the mirror. I lean in and trace the outline of his ear with my lips. “Do you want me to fuck you again, Mr. Rothschild?” I ask, snaking my hand down until I reach the front of his pants and caress the outline of his cock, its heat burning my palm. What is it about Lawrence that makes me want him constantly? Whenever I’m with him, a visceral need takes over me, and nothing but his tongue on my skin and his cock moving inside of me will do.
I observe the mouth that tortured my body with anguishing pleasure and skill just a couple of hours ago curve in a way that I find both menacing and sinfully sexy. “Trying to lure me to my death with your siren song so early in the morning?”
“You know, some writers thought that Sirens were cannibals.”
Lawrence turns to face me, placing his hands on my shoulders. “How fitting, my beautiful man-eater. But as tempting as your song may be, I can’t. I have an important meeting this morning.”
I pout sadly, making him chuckle. “Brat,” he says.
“And of the worst kind, too.”
His eyes shine with amusement as they travel the length of my naked body. “I won’t need you tonight, but stay if you want. I’ll give you a call in the next few days.” He flicks the tip of my nose, smiling ruefully. “Until then, my wicked siren.”
After Lawrence walks out of the bedroom, I begin getting ready to meet the real estate agent to the stars and start the search of an apartment. I wasn’t sure that I was going to get him, and I said so to Lawrence. He laughed and told me to leave it up to him. Apparently, Lawrence’s assistant placed one call, and this man cleared up his schedule for the entire day and fit me in. I’m not surprised, though. Who could say no to Lawrence?
Putting my earrings on, I watch my reflection in the mirror. I notice the black bags under my eyes from a sleepless night and the tiny frown on my forehead. Great. Black bags and premature wrinkles. This is just what I need today. Frustrated, I lean forward until my breath fogs the mirror and try smoothing the lines marring my forehead. It doesn’t work. They are still there, taunting me with my imperfections, reminding me of the reason why they are there in the first place.
Why did I call him last night?
I know why. As I lay there after having sex with Lawrence, I was suddenly consumed by a drowning need to hear Ronan’s voice, to talk to him. I wasn’t even sure what I was going to say. All I knew was that I needed to hear his voice one last time. I’d grabbed my phone and walked to the bathroom. I looked behind me, focusing on the man sleeping on the bed, and I couldn’t bring myself to care. So I gave Ronan a call, half dreading he would answer, half dreading he wouldn’t.
He didn’t.
Enough. Get your act together, Blaire. Regrets are for the weak, and they have no room in my life—he has no room in my life. I give my head a tiny shake and finish getting ready. I leave Lawrence’s room once satisfied with my outfit that comprises of ripped jeans, a Marvel Superhero fitted tee, a black blazer, and Oxfords.
“I know you aren’t, you proud man.” She leans forward and kisses me softly on the lips. When she steps outside my apartment, she adds, “Wear a tuxedo.”
I watch her get on the elevator before I close the door. Walking to my window, I see a black limousine waiting outside my building. Smiling, but it feels more like a sneer, I don’t have to guess who it’s waiting for. I see a man dressed in a uniform get out of the car and open the door for Rachel as soon as she steps out onto the street.
Well, isn’t life fucking funny?
Blaire
“WILL YOU NEED ME TONIGHT?” I ask Lawrence as I come to stand behind him, observing how he gets ready for the day. I place my arms on his wide shoulders and feel the way his muscles flex under the expensive material of his suit as he knots his tie, his Piaget watch glinting in the sunlight.
His green gaze meets mine in the mirror. I lean in and trace the outline of his ear with my lips. “Do you want me to fuck you again, Mr. Rothschild?” I ask, snaking my hand down until I reach the front of his pants and caress the outline of his cock, its heat burning my palm. What is it about Lawrence that makes me want him constantly? Whenever I’m with him, a visceral need takes over me, and nothing but his tongue on my skin and his cock moving inside of me will do.
I observe the mouth that tortured my body with anguishing pleasure and skill just a couple of hours ago curve in a way that I find both menacing and sinfully sexy. “Trying to lure me to my death with your siren song so early in the morning?”
“You know, some writers thought that Sirens were cannibals.”
Lawrence turns to face me, placing his hands on my shoulders. “How fitting, my beautiful man-eater. But as tempting as your song may be, I can’t. I have an important meeting this morning.”
I pout sadly, making him chuckle. “Brat,” he says.
“And of the worst kind, too.”
His eyes shine with amusement as they travel the length of my naked body. “I won’t need you tonight, but stay if you want. I’ll give you a call in the next few days.” He flicks the tip of my nose, smiling ruefully. “Until then, my wicked siren.”
After Lawrence walks out of the bedroom, I begin getting ready to meet the real estate agent to the stars and start the search of an apartment. I wasn’t sure that I was going to get him, and I said so to Lawrence. He laughed and told me to leave it up to him. Apparently, Lawrence’s assistant placed one call, and this man cleared up his schedule for the entire day and fit me in. I’m not surprised, though. Who could say no to Lawrence?
Putting my earrings on, I watch my reflection in the mirror. I notice the black bags under my eyes from a sleepless night and the tiny frown on my forehead. Great. Black bags and premature wrinkles. This is just what I need today. Frustrated, I lean forward until my breath fogs the mirror and try smoothing the lines marring my forehead. It doesn’t work. They are still there, taunting me with my imperfections, reminding me of the reason why they are there in the first place.
Why did I call him last night?
I know why. As I lay there after having sex with Lawrence, I was suddenly consumed by a drowning need to hear Ronan’s voice, to talk to him. I wasn’t even sure what I was going to say. All I knew was that I needed to hear his voice one last time. I’d grabbed my phone and walked to the bathroom. I looked behind me, focusing on the man sleeping on the bed, and I couldn’t bring myself to care. So I gave Ronan a call, half dreading he would answer, half dreading he wouldn’t.
He didn’t.
Enough. Get your act together, Blaire. Regrets are for the weak, and they have no room in my life—he has no room in my life. I give my head a tiny shake and finish getting ready. I leave Lawrence’s room once satisfied with my outfit that comprises of ripped jeans, a Marvel Superhero fitted tee, a black blazer, and Oxfords.
