Page 18 of Silver Fox's Christmas Scandal
The man who commanded boardrooms and closed million-dollar deals was spending his Sunday evening texting his assistant, and I was feeling a puddle grow between my legs just thinking of it.
So I purposefully did not message back for a few minutes. I wanted to let my body calm down. And in the process, I tried to steer it back toward a safer topic.
Tessa 4:28 PM: Is this your way of asking about quarterly projections?
Lucian 4:28 PM: You know it's not.
The directness of his response sent heat boiling through my veins. I reached for my wine again, needing the liquid courage to continue this conversation.
Tessa 4:28 PM: Then what are you asking?
I hit send but instantly regretted it. Nothing about this felt right, but everything about it was exciting and arousing.
My future was supposed to be well planned and set in stone. I was going to continue my education while I did a course or two of IVF. I'd have a baby, or maybe twins if the procedure took a little too well, and then after maternity leave, I'd finish the degree.
I'd carve my own path forward and I wouldn't have to deal with any messy relationships or drama or extra people to worry about. Just me, my little one, and my career.
But the dopamine rush I got from this banter was too addicting. I stared at the screen with my heart thudding against my ribs, waiting for him to respond.
The typing indicator appeared and disappeared several times before his response came through.
Lucian 4:30 PM: I'm asking if you've thought about what I said… How I could make you feel.
My heart hammered harder. Four weeks ago, as he pinned me against his door and stole breathless kisses from me, he had whispered about wanting more than one night.
I had dismissed it as post-orgasmic sentiment, the type of promise men made in heated moments but never intended to keep.
Tessa 4:31 PM: Lucian, we both know that was a unique situation.
Lucian 4:31 PM: Was it? Because I've been thinking about you every day since then.
The confession made a zing of arousal shoot to my already aching core, and I stood and walked to my kitchen window, looking out at the Brooklyn street below.
A few pedestrians hurried past, bundled against the January cold, their breath visible in small clouds. This was insane. I was nuts for even entertaining this.
It could be considered sexual harassment… But I didn't think it was. Not yet, at least. I hadn’t directly told him to stop, so maybe he would stop if I put my foot down. But did I really want him to?
Tessa 4:34 PM: You're my boss. You're twice my age. This is complicated.
Before I could set my phone down, it began ringing. His name appeared on the screen, and my pulse quickened.
Answering would cross another line, move us further from the professional relationship we were supposed to maintain and closer to something wildly inappropriate that would jeopardize my entire plan.
But I answered anyway with, "Lucian," except it came out as a whine of reluctant protest.
"Tessa." His voice was warm, intimate too.
"I thought we were texting."
"Texting has its limitations. I wanted to hear your voice." He paused. "Like the way you moaned my name that night."
Heat flooded my cheeks at the memory of how his hands had mapped my body, the sound he had made when I touched him, the way he had looked at me afterward as if I had surprised him. Just hearing that he wanted to hear my voice did that to me. What would seeing him do?
"That was…" I struggled for words that wouldn't diminish what had happened but also wouldn't give it more weight than I could handle.
"Incredible," he finished. "That was incredible. And the fact that you haven't told me to stop messaging you tells me you thought so too."
The observation was accurate and uncomfortable. I could have blocked his number and made it clear that personal contact was unwelcome. But I hadn't.
