My dick was still hard. He wasn’t ready yet to pack his balls up and go home.
Samantha propped herself up on her elbow and pointed at my cock that stood, sticking straight out. “Does it ever go down? How the hell do you do that?”
“I told you I was full of magic tricks.” I cupped her chin in my palm and nuzzled her lips with mine.
“Best magic trick ever!” she said, reaching down and grabbing my wand.
Five
Samantha
I rubbed my eyes and stretched, noticing just how messy we had made the room last night. Both beds were disheveled, clothes scattered everywhere, and even the ice bucket was turned over and dripping on the floor. My eyes lit up as I remembered the ice cube he had trailed down between my breasts, stopping to let the water pool at my navel and bringing it down further between my legs before he put his warm mouth on me.
I should have known staying at the hotel was a bad idea for my dignity, but it had been a good idea for my awakening sexual appetite. The moment Victor had seen me last night, he’d smiled so wide that it crinkled the corners of his eyes, and I couldn’t help but smile right back at him. But the second he’d told me how awesome he was at reserving the bar seats, I’d felt that nagging tug of my brain telling me, We don’t want this douche canoe. Still, that hadn’t stopped me. When I had brushed up against his knee and caught the look in his eyes—the same one that he had given me under his phantom mask and in his office—I’d told my brain that I would deal with her later.
I had finally given up on my brain last night. Completely. Victor and I had talked and fucked and talked and fucked and talked again until the wee hours of the morning. By that time, I had been so delirious that I’d told him everything. Everything. I had even told him about the Douche Who Must Not Be Named—aka my ex-husband.
“What did he do to you?” Victor asked after I mentioned never wanting to date a man again after my divorce. He was lying on his side, facing me and entirely in my personal space—and my headspace.
I sat up in the bed and sighed, realizing it had been years since I told anyone or spoke his name aloud.
“His name is William.” I felt the chill creep up my spine and settle in my throat. “We married shortly after meeting in college. The marriage lasted less than a year.” I swallowed.
Victor rubbed his palm up and along my back, as if trying to help me push the words out.
“William was everything I thought I wanted. He was sexy, intelligent, funny, charming. He’d come from a good background, and he was driven in life and motivated, thoughtful and kind. He was all of those things … Mr. Perfect … until we got married.”
I looked over at Victor to see if he was still listening, half-hoping he wasn’t.
“Narcissist.” He shook his head.
“How did you know I was going there? So, you know the type? The alpha-male, grandiose-narcissist, Mr. Perfect asshole?”
“I do. I have worked with them and dated one myself. There are alpha females too, ya know.” He sat up beside me. “So, let me guess. He turned into a big asshole and—”
“Cheated on me—with my best friend. Ex-best friend. She’s not someone I ever speak about either. They didn’t last long—not as long as I’d lasted with him anyway.”
“Yep. A lot of them do that. The narcs, not the best friends. They were probably both narcs—or at least both assholes. I’m sorry you had to go through that. Narcissists are the worst of the worst. I caught my narcissist ex-girlfriend cheating too. It rips out your heart, doesn’t it?”
Victor Beaumont has a heart? I wondered.
“I caught mine cheating on me at a nightclub. It was raining, and he had been drinking when he left the house. William wouldn’t return my calls. He kept bitch-buttoning me. I was worried at first, but then I got pissed. So, I went to check if he was at this club we frequented. I wanted to see just why he was ghosting me—his wife. When I walked in, I saw them from across the room. He was nuzzling her neck, and she had her hand between his legs. I’ll never forget that. It’s like it is ingrained in my brain. Both of these people were important to me, and in a matter of seconds, they both became my worst enemies. I left the club without saying a word. I just went home, loaded my car up in the pouring down rain, and went to a hotel. I filed for divorce and rented an apartment the next day. I holed myself up for a while, just focusing on getting through school and my career. Now … five years later, I’m emerging from my cage. It’s a pretty shitty cage, complete with dumb birds. I’m hoping to expand it to a cave soon. That’s the goal. Homeownership and no more assholes.”
My cheeks grew hot as I realized I’d put my foot in my mouth. Not only had I fucked the asshole-in-chief, but I’d also told him my sob story—and I wasn’t even drunk. Just high on the endorphins from our marathon sex, I guessed.
“That’s a pretty good goal to have, Ms. Independent. But back up a minute. So, you’ve been single for five years? How did you manage that? You’re stunning and smart and the whole package!”
“I wasn’t completely single the whole time. I had a few short-term boyfriends but never got serious with them. They meant nothing. I was too busy with myself to give them enough attention.”
“Good for you for building yourself up like that, Samantha.”
“I don’t know why I told you all of that. I think I’ll hide under these covers now.” I pulled the sheet up and over me and scooted down, somehow ending up right back in his arms.
“Want to feel better?”
“Your dick is hard again? Wow!” I pushed my hips into him.
“No—I mean, yes, it is. But what I’m trying to say is, I can make you feel better about your story.”
“How so?”
“I can tell you mine.” He stroked my hair back and pecked me on the forehead.
“You don’t have to tell me anything. We don’t have to get deep. It’s just business.”
“But it’s not. You know it. I know it. I like you. And plus, maybe you won’t think I’m one of those assholes once you hear what happened to me—and how amazingly I handled it. I might be Victor Beaumont, but I’m not an asshole-in-chief, not all the time anyway. Some days, I have to wear that mask, but it’s not me, and I’m certainly—certainly—not a narcissist.”
“Go on.” I narrowed my eyes.
“My ex was this chick named Kelsey. I met her while I was in Oxford, Mississippi, for a business meeting. She lived with me for a while. We were engaged.”
“Oh? I’m surprised that wasn’t all over the news!”
“That’s because we were only engaged for two days.” He tightened his jaw and growled. “Kelsey wasn’t fucking my best friend. She was fucking my brother.”
I sucked in my breath. Ouch. “Let me guess … Malcolm?”
“Malcolm.”
“Damn. That’s—I’m—fuck. I’m sorry.” I tilted my head in his direction and gave him an awkward pat on the back. I was never good at comforting people.
“It’s okay. She was a narcissist anyway. I had no idea and didn’t know about all of the red flags until after the fact.”