I need this. I need his arms around me as he ruts out his own orgasm. “Good girl. Such a good girl. She knows exactly what to do with that body,” he whispers.
“Only when it comes to you.” Again, not a lie.
Slowing, Davis runs his hand along my bare spine, his fingertips going only as low as the upper curve of my ass before he raises them back up again to tickle a spot between my shoulder blades. We stay like that, even as I feel him lose his hardness inside of me.
With each passing second, the embrace grows less carnal and more tender. I don’t put a stop to it, and neither does Davis. We simply continue to hold each other with me atop Davis’s lap, and him slowly running his big hands over my body.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, speaking into my shoulder, which he has been kissing for a minute.
“What for?”
Davis pulls back so that he can look at me, and I’m struck by the look on his face. He looks soft for once. His jaw is relaxed and his eyes look serene and almost admiring as he scans my own face.
“Why are you sorry?” I press again.
Seconds pass before he says, “For this. For entangling you in my life.”
“I don’t understand.”
He swallows hard. “I could have let you be. When Lana told me that she hired you, I should have recommended that you work with a different executive—”
“You didn’t know?” I interject, feeling my stomach drop at this revelation.
Casually, Davis shakes his head. “That you got the internship? I had no idea until Lana emailed me your resume. By then, you had accepted the offer and she was already raving about you to people.”
“Shit,” I murmur.
“What’s wrong?”
My stupid brain, that’s what. For the past six weeks, I’ve been agonizing over my place at the company—and for what? “I thought you convinced her to hire me because you wanted to fuck with me—and fuck me.”
His expression passes through so many phases in a matter of moments that I can’t even take stock of the kaleidoscope of emotions that Davis must be going through. “Holy shit, no.” He kisses me hard on the lips.“You earned that job without me.”
I earned that job.
I slap him lightly on the shoulder. “Do you have any idea how this has been torturing me? I’ve been dealing with imposter syndrome for the last six weeks.”
“And I hate that,” he declares. “Because let me be clear: If anyone ever questioned your abilities, I would destroy them, Olivia. You need to stop questioning yourself.”
“It’s not that simple. You have no clue what it’s like,” I protest.
“Don’t I?”
“It’s different. I’m—”
“No,” he interrupts, tone stern. “Whatever you’re about to say, you’re wrong. You deserve this job as much as I deserve mine.”
I scoff. “Davis, you’re a bona fide star at the company.”
“And I have to remind myself of that every damn day.”
Surprised, I raise both eyebrows. Eight years ago, he was uncertain and unsure, but I was convinced he had moved well past that.
Silently, he raises a shoulder, and I’m immediately reminded of him sitting outside of a café in Amsterdam. Fake it until you make it.
I finally break eye contact with him to glance downwards. “Look, as much as I love talking about professional development with you, we’re both completely naked and you’re actually still inside of me, so…”
Davis lifts me off of him and maneuvers me until I’m lying next to him on the bed. When we’re both facing each other, he reaches up and tucks my hair behind my ear before he rests his hand on the side of my abdomen.
“I let this get so complicated,” he murmurs as he surveys me.
“What do you mean?”
He inhales and exhales through his nose before he shakes his head. “Nothing.”
It’s an obvious lie, but I don’t push him on it. I wish that this could just be a normal post-coital pillow talk session between two people who happen to like each other—and have utterly sizzling sexual chemistry. Nothing is normal with us though.
“Come with me to London,” he says after a beat, breaking the silence.
“What?” I pose the question with a laugh, thinking that he must be joking.
“Come with me.” Davis pulls me close, and I know I’m a goner. The feeling of his hands on my bare skin leave me tingling, yearning for more of him. “The company will pay for it. You’ll get to meet with the CEO of whichever company we visit. It’ll be the kind of experience that not even a trust fund could have gotten you.”
“But I’m an intern,” I remind him—as if either of us could ever forget that.
Skepticism overtakes his face. “You do realize that the body of work assigned to you for this internship is this. Lana isn’t going to protest if you join me.”
He’s right: The past six weeks of research and review have all contributed to Davis’s trip to London. To actually join those meetings in-person would add some invaluable context to the experience.
“Unless you don’t want to go with me. That’s fine too,” he mentions, glancing down as he says it like he doesn’t want to look me in the eye when he makes the suggestion. His sudden earnestness comes out of nowhere—a blast from the past, almost.
“Can you ask Lana? Don’t tell her that I know. I don’t want her to think I came up with the idea.”
“Well, you didn’t—and I wouldn’t give you credit for it. That’s number twenty-three in the Ridgeway Guide to Success.”
My eyes nearly bug out when he mentions that deep cut. “Is this that weird book that your father wrote for you?”
“Yeah,” he replies. “But ask me about it another time. Right now, I want to hear you say that you want to come to London.”
“I want to go to London.”
“Then I’ll make that happen.”