“We won’t.” I stood up. “Trust me. I have a two-hundred-million-dollar case and a partnership on the line. I’m not going to throw it all away for a fuck, no matter how fun and dirty.”
But now that I’d said it out loud, the weight of the stupidity of this act pressed against my sternum. That made Arya perk up instantly. She shot up to her feet too. Perhaps the sheer possibility of my screwing up my career cheered her up.
“Sounds like a challenge to me.”
Yeah. No perhaps about it. Definitely.
We walked around the building until I found the door I was looking for, turned the key in its hole, and pushed it open. It was pitch black inside. The warmth of the library paired with the scent of old pages, worn leather, and oak slammed into both of us. Arya’s hand found mine. I squeezed her hard and led her into the study room.
“You know, I’ve lived in this city my whole life, and I’ve never visited the rare book division,” I heard Arya say behind my back. I couldn’t show it to her today, since we needed a key for that, too, but it was on the tip of my tongue to tell her that I’d make it happen. That I’d take her there. Only I couldn’t take her there. Being seen with her in public in broad daylight would be disastrous. The kiss of death to our careers—not to mention her nearly nonexistent relationship with her family. We could only exist in the dark, two thieves of pleasure.
The study room was never ending. All the table lamps were turned off. In the dark, it looked almost like a deserted factory. Of ideas and dreams and potential. I tugged at Arya’s hand to come inside, feeling fourteen again.
“Please don’t tell me you hid my book somewhere in here.” She glanced around the room, which was framed with shelves laden with books.
I let out a metallic laugh. “I’m not that sadistic.”
“Debatable.” She walked over to one of the shelves, checking out the books. I watched her. I always watched her. Her hair—the only untamed thing about her appearance—curled around her face like an angel’s. I wondered if she’d taste as sweet, as sinful, as lovely, if I had her openly. If I could parade her around. Take her to company events. If her belly swelled with my offspring inside it. I wondered if my obsession with her stemmed from pure vengeance or something more. A sense of entitlement, of ownership, after everything she’d put me through.
“Christian?” she asked, and I realized that in my stupor, I hadn’t noticed she was talking to me. I shook my head slightly. It always disoriented me when she called me that.
“Yes?”
“Did you listen to anything I said?” She smiled, hugging a book to her chest as she advanced toward me, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“Not one word,” I admitted. “I was preoccupied.”
“With what?”
“Envisioning my hands on your ass as I take you from behind right on this table.”
She sashayed to me, one hand lazily caressing the long wooden table by her side. When she reached me, she handed me a book.
“Open it randomly and read me a paragraph.”
“Why?”
“Because I asked.”
“That’s your selling point? Because you asked?”
She gave me a blank stare.
I laughed. “Okay, then.”
For the first time—I had this feeling she was onto me. That she knew who I was. Because fourteen-year-old Arya had known damn well that fourteen-year-old Nicholai would do anything within his power at her order. I took the book, flipping the pages, my eyes still holding hers. Very well. We were going to play it like that. I stopped at a random page, my eyes gliding over the text that stuck out to me. I read it out loud. It was about women being poisonous.
I turned the book around. First Love by Ivan Turgenev.
“Why did you pick this book?” I asked.
“Why did you pick this paragraph?” she quipped back, not missing a beat.
“I didn’t.”
“Neither did I.” She smiled. “I just wanted to see if you’d play my games too.”
I put the book aside, gliding toward her. She took a step back.
“I always seem to be in the market for whatever the hell you’re offering.”
She took another step back. Only a few feet from one of the tables. “Why is that, Christian? You don’t strike me as a big romantic.”
I took a step forward. “I’m not.”
“Why, then?” She retreated one last time, the backs of her legs hitting the table, and stopped. I grinned, eating the space between us with one final step.
“Because, unfortunately, Ms. Roth, no one else will do.”
Pinning her to the table by pressing my hands on either side of her thighs, I lowered my head to hers, my mouth pressing against her warm lips. She opened for me, tasting of powdered sugar and Nutella and peppermint tea. Of poison and destruction and inevitability. She pressed one hand against my chest, the other one circling my shoulder, her nails scraping at my hair. I groaned into our kiss, thinking she might pull me away, when her hand descended my abs, down to the button of my dress pants. My erection was impossible to manage, my cock standing to attention between us, waiting to be acknowledged.
Her hand slid down to cup it through my pants. I could no longer kiss her and concentrate at the same time, so I dropped my head to the side of her neck, covering every inch of it with lazy kisses. My body wrenched and spasmed to see what she’d do next.
Arya grabbed me by the dick—and balls—and jerked me forward, until there was no more space between us. I almost came on impact. And then she was gone, the space where her neck had been just a moment ago cold. I looked left and right, confused. I found her on her knees in front of me, undoing my button and zipper.
Okay. Okay.
I smoothed away her wild hair from her face. Not affectionately, I told myself, but so that I could get a better view of her lips wrapped around my dick. Said dick sprang free just as I managed to lean forward, lighting one of the lamps on the table behind her back.
Arya didn’t look up at me shyly, or even seductively, the way women did a second before taking your cock in their mouths. She grabbed me, then gave my cock a thorough lick, base to tip, rolling her tongue around the crown for good measure. I let out a low hiss, looking away. It was too much. The sight of her pleasuring me.
As if reading my mind, Arya chose that moment to try and take most of me in. She grabbed the part she couldn’t get to, closer to the root, in her hand and began pumping. I was willing to sign over the remainder of my life to her and everything I valued, including Arsène and Riggs, if it meant making her never stop.
“Arya.” I thrust my hand into her hair, caressing her, unable to stop myself from looking at her. “This feels so good.”
She didn’t answer, not even with a small moan, and now I craved her words even more than I did my dick inside her mouth. Also, I was pretty sure I was going to come like a fourteen-year-old if she continued for twenty more seconds, and I wanted to spare myself from that particular form of humiliation. With that in mind, I used the collar of her dress to tug her back up to her feet, filling her mouth with my tongue in a messy, hot kiss.
“We’re such a train wreck.” Her breath tickled my chin, my tongue, as she roamed my body with her hands. Clutching my ass. Rolling her fingers over my back, my shoulders, my collarbone. “This is going to end badly.”
I grabbed her by the waist, turned her around, and flipped up her dress. Again, while Arya was all Sex and the City, her underwear was definitely Jane the Virgin.
“Maternity undies again?” I tugged them aside, not even bothering with sliding them down. Life was too short and so forth.
“I’ll have you know it’s one hundred percent cotton and very good for my pH balance.”
The laugh this elicited in me made my bones rattle. “Arya, you are fantastic.”
“And you’re not wearing a condom. Make it happen.”
I dutifully put one on as she waited for me in a perfect r position, drumming her fingernails on the table.
With that, I pressed home, the side of her undies’ elastics pressing against my cock.
This is how I want to die.
Watching Arya’s back as she took me from behind was enough to kill me. Yet I pulled out, then in again, thrusting inside her. It was good and deep, but I managed to last longer than last time. Because I didn’t have Arya’s face right in front of me, reminding me who I was doing this with. I circled my arm around her waist and played with her clit, licking the shell of her ear. She let out little pants of pleasure that made me forget my names. Previous and current.
“I’m going to come.” She sucked in a breath. I had no time to shower her with words of encouragement. She broke into shivers, tightening around me as she let out a hiss, every muscle in her body clenching against me. I pumped faster, harder, seeking my own release. I found it seconds later and stayed deep inside her, relishing every moment before it was gone.
“Well, that was certainly what the doctor ordered.” Arya straightened, rearranging her panties and pushing her dress down. “Now, Christian, it’s time to give me my book.” She reapplied her lipstick in front of a small mirror, all business again. I threw away the condom and tucked my dick back in my pants, still sporting a semi. Maybe that was how it was always going to play out with Arya and me, until the trial was over.
“Absolutely. How about you come pick it up tomorrow night? I can’t promise you waffles—I still need to get into my suits—but I can make my famous chicken breast and quinoa. Maybe even throw in a glass of wine, if you’ll be nice.”
I was expecting violence from her, no less. After all, I was still holding her book hostage. But instead of calling me all the things I deserved to be called—a scammer, a liar, and a fuckboy—she simply smiled.
“Know what? You can keep it for as long as we entertain each other. What’s a few more weeks in the grand scheme of things? As long as we have certain rules.”
“Lay ’em out for me.” I smoothed my jacket, leaning against the opposite desk from her. She dropped the little mirror and lipstick back into her bag.
“Number one—no going anywhere in public together. Too risky. Number two—no meeting each other’s families, friends, and colleagues, keeping everything completely separate.”
“Agreed. Number three—no L words. Either of them,” I added.
“There are two of them?”
“Like is a word too.”
She nodded, her expression matter of fact. “And number four—if one of us meets someone else, the other will step aside without any guilt trips or trying to convince the other to change their mind. This is supposed to be temporary, after all.”
I felt like I wanted to punch something, preferably the faceless asshole who was going to steal my precious moments with her. Nevertheless, I conceded. “Fair. Anything else?”
“Yes, in fact.” Arya cleared her throat. “On the day the trial ends, so will our relationship. We will not have an official breakup conversation. Those are messy and entirely unnecessary. I will simply expect to see my precious hard copy of Atonement back in my mailbox, carefully wrapped, whole and safe.”
She offered me her hand. We shook on it. That gave me at least two more weeks of Arya.
And that was all I needed.