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Will catches me wincing, kisses my brow, and whispers that he’ll start off slow to help me get used to it. But that once he gets started, he says, “not sure whether I’m gonna be able to stop. To fuck any other way than I want to fuck you, Bridget. And it isn’t tender and quiet and soft. Not now. That’s not what I want now.” He pauses to kiss my temple, inching just half an inch more. “Maybe later, when I’ve calmed down. When I don’t feel as wild as I do now. Okay?”
Eyes squeezed shut, I nod helplessly, my body feeling too empty, needing him more than I’ve ever needed anything. He kisses me once more, on the lips this time. Will takes a deep breath and tells me he’s going to fuck me now right before he pushes in to the hilt, making me cry out in surprise, pain, and of course, pleasure.
It’s a tight fit—just like it was the last time. But it feels incredible in an overwhelming, life-altering, joyous way.
Will moves over me, his hips delivering on his promise—a ruthless, steady rhythm that has me pulling my legs up to my sides to give him more room, wrapping around his waist and scratching at his back as my nails seek for purchase. I try to keep my eyes open, to watch him over me, to memorize every detail of this moment, but it’s impossible—I’m too overwhelmed by it all. The way he kisses my neck, the words he speaks in my ear, how he fills me inside, our combined scents filling my lungs, the taste of his sweat on my lips, and the knowledge that this is happening with Will—again—is almost too much to bear. I fear for one moment that I’m a second away from actual combustion—but the way things are going, it doesn’t sound as horrible a death, really.
When one of his hands comes up to rest at the base of my throat, I can’t stave it off any longer, losing all sense of control. Will’s name bounces off my apartment’s walls when it leaves my lips in a loud moan. Once he feels me begin to pulse, I know he’s at the end of his line, too. Will’s movements grow choppier and faster, he grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes in concentration.
He growls and tells me how many times he’s thought about this in the last few weeks: “At least once every half hour, Bridge. At least that.” His breathing grows ragged, his words no longer make any sense, and when he finally presses in as hard as he can with his hips, I feel him empty himself inside me, gasping for air as he does.
WILL
It’s fucked up, really. Downright diabolical.
Will thought karma had found him by way of this awful job—this purgatory where he had agreed to suffer until he didn’t have to anymore. He didn’t know this purgatory was just setting the scene for the actual payback the universe had planned for him: meeting her, falling for her, which would all lead to the inevitability of losing her.
The pain of that was bound to be destructive.
It doesn’t matter to him, though. Not really. Not as long as he gets to experience the good parts first. Surely the memories and experiences will end up outweighing the costs. Til then, he’s in, very much along for the ride, in any capacity she’ll take him for.
23
MY NAME IS BOND. JAMIE BOND
Lena calls me into her office a few weeks later, the urgency in her voice apparent. “Now. I need you in this office now.”
I run after her, phone and notebook in hand, my heart racing a little. It’s been a while since we’ve addressed the giant Prada bag in the room—Jenna’s betrayal—and I wonder if whatever it is she wants to talk about is related to this. Did she finally find a way to give me the recognition I deserve? Did she find a way to make Jenna pay? Or are we just generally screwed?
“Shut the door and take a seat,” she says, motioning for the chair in front of her desks. When we’re both seated and calmer, she finally speaks. “I’ve managed to receive a last minute invite to a work event tonight, and I need you to come with me. I know it’s Friday and you probably have plans, but you need to cancel them.”
I frown, confused. “Okay?”
“Okay? What do you meanokay?”
“I—Well, I thought you were going to tell me there’s been some progress with the whole Jenna thing. That you’d figured out a way to…”
“To what, Bridget?” She raises a brow, her eyes shooting icy daggers at me.
“I… don’t know, honestly.” I sigh, because Idon’tknow. What is there to do? I just kind of hoped she would know.
“I told you to leave it to me. And tonight is part of that. I found a way to get invited to Stevenson’s anniversary party. It’s always this huge gala, and this year it’s going to be at the New York Public Library. Dinner, dancing—the works. They’re going to be honoring their new CFO. I want to use that opportunity to talk to our clients and yes, maybe undercut Jenna by giving them more attention than she ever could. She doesn’t know anything about the account, she doesn’t know the ins and outs, and she sure as hell isn’t coming up with the golden ideas. But she’s recycling everything we say, which means the client thinks she’s so devoted to them. I want to go to this party and show up for them, make nice with the buyers and the higher ups, show our faces so they can begin to associate us with this project and not Jenna—or even Sartoria for that matter.”
I blink at her, processing her words. “I don’t understand.”
She sighs and blushes, like she knows her answer will be embarrassing. “I want us to be the girl you can’t avoid. I want to make ourselves unavoidable and constantly available. And while that would sound kind of pathetic in the dating world, I don’t think standard dating rules apply here. When it comes to sales, I think the opposite is almost always true: playing hard to get becomes a problem, and making yourself constantly available is how you succeed.”
I shake my head. “I’m confused. We already signed this deal. We just need to finish it. What are you talking about making ourselves—?” Realization hits me in the chest with the full force of a train. “You meanusas inyou and me?” Did she mean eventually cutting out Sartoria & Co. altogether?
She swallows once. “We just need them to associate this project withus—Lena and Bridget—and no one else. Thatwemanage the account. But all while staying hungry; not thirsty.” She brings her index finger to her lips in a silentshh, looking around in every direction as if there were cameras all around us. “Later.”
I nod. “So what’s the plan?” I ask in a whisper.
“The plan is we go to this party tonight. We schmooze. And we pull their attention to us. I want to get more info on what Jenna’s been feeding them. And I want you to try and find her assistant and bond with her, too. It’ll be just you and me—I checked with Jenna’s assistant, and she said she was otherwise engaged tonight, so it’s a perfect time.”
“Okay. Done.”
“Do you need a dress for tonight? We might have some black tie dress samples in your size in the closet you could borrow.”
