Page 45 of Unstitch

I fuck her through it, the hot, pure glow of pleasure coursing through my veins and dancing across my nerve endings as I follow her over the edge with strangled curses and jagged thrusts. Then I’m stilling as deep as I can inside her as I shudder through my own spectacular climax, a tsunami that subsumes me, leaving my body limp and my head clear.

As it ebbs away, I bend and gather her up in my arms, pulling her sated body flush against mine.

‘I think we’ve worked up a sufficient appetite,’ I tell her as she emerges from my office’s ensuite bathroom, swinging her oversized bag. She’s back in her dress, having brushed her glorious just-fucked mane of hair into submission and wiped the mascara smudges from under her eyes.

She’s glowing and beautiful.

‘For what?’ she asks.

‘Lunch.’

She looks at me like I’ve just grown an extra head.

‘You didn’t think I’d make you come over here for sex and then turf you out, did you?’ I ask.

‘That’s exactly what I thought.’ She tugs the handbag onto one shoulder.

‘Well, that’s hurtful,’ I say chidingly, moving closer so I can tug her against me. ‘One, I’d like to think I’ve been brought up better than that. Two, and far more importantly, you’ve been the unmitigated bright spot in my day so far and I’m not in a hurry to get back to work.’

‘I’d be pretty offended if it wasn’t, and I’m not sure eating lunch with me will live up to what we just did,’ she retorts.

‘Of course it will. Your conversational skills aren’t that bad. Come on.’

I take her around the corner to Nobu in Berkeley Square, my hand firmly in hers. I haven’t booked, but that’s never an issue.

‘A sandwich will be fine,’ she gasps as I usher her through their heavy doors. ‘We could just go to Pret.’

‘I don’t do fine,’ I tell her. ‘Nor do I do bread, especially processed bread. This is healthy if you order sensibly, and it’s delicious.’ I lean in and whisper in her ear as we approach the front desk. ‘That was a Nobu-level fuck, not a Pret-level fuck. Don’t sell yourself short.’

The maître d’ greets me by name and promptly shows us to my favourite table. I follow Darcy up the shallow staircase, my hand light on the small of her back. It’s the usual business lunch crowd—fewer gold diggers and more dealmakers. Anonymous guys in the Mayfair hedge fund uniform of open-necked shirt, no tie, and suit trousers.

I consult with Darcy on her preferences—my experience watching her devour China Tang’s best tells me she eats everything—and order a selection for us to share, going heavy on the veg and sashimi. I don’t need to be in a food coma for the afternoon—I’m still sex drunk as it is. While I love nothing more than a good fuck, it takes the edge off my… edge. Which is not ideal when you’re at the helm of a business the size of the fucking Titanic.

Bad analogy. Wolff Holdings is in excellent health.

Anyway, I’ll take this lunch for what it is—an hour to enjoy myself in all my post-sex mellow bliss with the enchanting woman responsible before I reengage Corporate Mode.

Said enchanting woman is currently fiddling with the strap of her sundress. I wave our server away and pour out our bottle of Pellegrino myself. ‘You okay?’ I ask her.

‘If I’d known I was coming here, I would’ve dressed up,’ she says, wriggling in her seat.

‘You’re the most beautiful woman in this room,’ I tell her sternly, ‘so it’s good that you’re dressed down. Showing the rest of them up any more would have been plain rude.’

She smiles at me and I grin back at her with genuine pleasure.

‘If you say so,’ she says.

‘I do. You have precisely as much right to be here as everyone else. More, because you’re with me. Okay?’ I take a sip of my water.

‘Okay. But you’ll be sorry at the end of the meal, because I’m getting so stuck in it’s not funny.’ She wiggles her shoulders happily, and I cock my head as I survey her.

‘What?’

‘You’re very… refreshing.’

She rolls her eyes. ‘Refreshing like a wet wipe?’

‘A lot more. You’re a bit of a novelty for me, you know.’

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