Page 17 of Seven Nights

A different pain uncoils inside me as victory flashes in the ice blue eyes.

“Lean back,” he orders.

I obey and grip the sides of the marble surface. He draws my legs up, keeps them spread wide with my heels resting on the table’s beams. His gaze locks on my pussy. It tracks the pulse running through my clit and seems to savor the way his cock emerges slick with cream.

Every breath is a moan. My grip on the table tightens. My thighs flex. I lift my ass, feel my entire cunt knotting and throbbing around his dick. He looks at my face, his expression fierce as his tempo intensifies.

His fingers dig into my thighs, holding me like a vise as he pounds into my tender, swollen tissues, his gaze never leaving my face. There is a fleeting tic to his left eye the heartbeat before my climax slams into me, and a second one as I reach the apex of my release. He chooses this moment to come with me, his teeth indenting his bottom lip as the first thick, sticky jet of relief leaves him.

Slowly, he brings me down. His cock eases from me in small increments, stopping again and again to tease a new pleasure point inside me until my hips twitch and my breasts quiver with fresh need. He pushes and pulls on my thighs, guiding my pussy in small circles round and round his cock until a miniature quake rolls through me hard and fast and I collapse against his chest.

Griffin wraps his arms around me but does not kiss me.

Now is when I need his kiss the most.

He does not completely abandon me—not immediately. He holds me until my breathing returns to normal. Then he pulls out, jerks the pants up over his lean hips and rids himself of the condom before zipping up. His gaze seems to land everywhere but on my sweat-sheened skin as he retrieves his shirt.

Just before he puts it back on, he gestures toward the door.

“I want you naked, in bed, at nine. Until then…get lost."

* * *

A minute later,my appearance still in disarray, I stand outside Montgomery’s office door glowering at its wooden surface. No doubt the gallery has a camera, same as the bedroom, but I doubt he is watching. Just as before, he has divorced himself from me, turning his lust—and tenderness—off like a spigot.

Waiting outside the door for hours would do no good. So I spin on my heels, march through the house and back to the bedroom, this trip down the long hall feeling no less shameful than the first.

Storming past the dresser, I spot an envelope that wasn’t there when I left the room earlier. I snatch it up, kick off the high heels and throw myself onto the bed. A single thick sheet is inside, covered front and back with masculine strokes that match Montgomery’s signature on the contract.

Filled with basic housekeeping notes, the strong curves and heavy ink that shape the letters are more interesting than the words. Directions to the dining room and kitchen, no staff between nine at night and five in the morning. Don’t use the outside pool, directions to the indoor lap pool. In fact, no going outside absent a fire or specific permission.

With a growl, I fling the note onto the floor and try not to think about other people being on the estate while I parade around with my tits, ass—or both—flashing. Real people with real jobs, doing real work—not fuck dolls brought in for a week.

Sighing, I wrap the mink throw around my exhausted body as I curl into a ball. Montgomery is in his office, busy rearranging pieces of his empire like pawns on a chessboard without a single thought in my direction. It takes me a long time to drag myself away from the reality that I mean nothing to the man who just gave me the most mind-shattering sexual experience of my life. But, eventually, sleep gifts me with a brief respite.

Griffin

The iPadon my desk plays the live feed of my bedroom. My gaze has barely left the device since Katelyn laid down. I have ignored calls and texts from my senior executives. They all know that if they must interrupt me, if my empire is about to implode, then they should call Philip or Devyn. Since that’s not happening, I sit and watch, refusing to acknowledge lesser intrusions.

That I have not grown bored watching Katelyn sleep surprises me. Maybe because she is restless. A roll to one side, a leg appearing just as she draws an exposed arm close to her body beneath her blanket. Minutes later, on her back, thighs parted, one knee bent.

A toss, a somnambulistic tease, stomach down, bottom up, the flesh lush and bare.

My computer flashes with a message from the legal department. It’s the fourth one this morning. Merger agreements, production releases, some damn transfer pricing adjustment the IRS is trying to shove down my throat. I don’t care. My gaze returns to the bedroom’s feed.

I haven’t had a real vacation in two years. I intend to have one now. One week, one woman. No phones, no computers, just soft moans and softer lips.

My muscles relax as Katelyn finally reaches a deeper sleep. Her body no longer twists along the bed. My limbs grow just as motionless and I slowly drift to sleep.

Two hours later, I wake to a screen showing an empty bed.

Heart knocking around my chest, I tap through the camera displays until I find her sitting at the kitchen island. Harriet, Philip’s wife and my full-time housekeeper, has made one of her famously large sandwiches for Katelyn. They seem to be talking, although it’s mostly Harriet’s mouth moving. Katelyn is too reserved to offer any real details about her life, so I keep the sound off.

I already know more about Katelyn than she will ever tell me, starting with the reason she quit Team USA. That had taken quite a bit of digging, and the answer only made me want her more. The kind of loyalty she showed in leaving the team is so rare, I could go a lifetime without finding someone able and willing to offer me half as much.

Not that Katelyn will offer me loyalty. She has no reason to trust me or even like me. But she wants me, and that is all I really need.

Stretching, I get up and head for a room just off my study. There is a long leather couch, then another door that leads to a bathroom. A week's worth of clothes hang on a makeshift rack, the rest of them shuttled off to some remote room in the house. The bedroom Katelyn will sleep in is mine, but I don’t want her to know.

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