Adrian repeats this process, bringing me to the edge and then stopping me with the freeze of an ice cube. Abruptly, he stops.
“You’re going to give us away,” he warns lowly, his lips at the shell of my ear and his warm breath tickling my neck.
That’s when I realize my fork is fisted in my hand and my eyes were closed tight.
“I know you can do it. My little slut knows how to hide it. Don’t you?”
My breathing is rushed when another piece of ice slips along my skin, and my hand trembles. Adrian watches this with curiosity burning in his eyes.
“Oh my,” I whisper and breathe, my eyes half-lidded.
“I want you to come for me.”
“I don’t think—” With two fingers he enters me, his fingers deft and knowing. As if he’s memorized just how to get me off.
“I know you can. If you must, lay your head down on the table.” The moment he suggests it, I obey, pushing the plate away and resting my head down.
He doesn’t let up, not even when the waiter questions if I’m all right and he orders Dramamine for me.
The second his footsteps disappear, Adrian’s touch becomes merciless and he whispers at my ear, “If you don’t come for me right now, I swear to God I’ll throw you over this table and fuck you until all of Manhattan hears you crying out my name. I couldn’t care less about this deal if I can’t even get my little whore to come on my hand.”
My lips part, my warm breath heating my face still resting against the table and hidden by my arms. That’s what does it. It’s what brings me to the edge. I clench around him thinking of what he’s just described.
The moment I’m granted my release, he removes his hand and it’s only a moment after that his hand rests on my shoulder while rubbing soothing circles. Adrian informs the waiter that I will be fine.
“Take these, sweetheart,” he says clear as day, without a trace of anything that’s just happened in his voice.
“If she needs anything at all, let us know,” the waiter says and I don’t dare lift my head just yet. I’m flushed and shamelessly sated.
It’s only once he’s gone that I dare to peek up.
“Bad girl,” Adrian admonishes me. “You’ll do better for me next time, won’t you?” he teases and I only blush harder.
Setting two small pills down on the napkin, he brings my plate back, placing it in front of me.
“The appetizers were … delicious,” he comments.
“You’re shameless,” I counter, still breathless and gather my fork once again.
“I’m hard is what I am,” he tells me, cutting into his steak.
“Do you want me—”
“No. No, not here.” He considers me for a moment. “I want to make sure you know what you do to me. Watching you come undone for me … that’s all I wanted.”
I don’t know what to make of him. He’s ruthless. Confident. On the side of being arrogant. But the things he does to me make me forget everyone and everything else.
“You look like you want to say something,” he comments, taking another bite. His food is quickly disappearing and mine’s barely been touched.
“I thought you would be different.”
“My reputation is not kind. I’m aware.”
“They say you’re an asshole and I thought it would be easy to hate you.” It’s the truth. And it slips out without censorship. Adrian smirks. “I’ve heard you’re merciless.”
“I am.”
I guide my fork over my plate and lift a bite to my mouth. “Are you an asshole or are you merciless?”
“Both. I can be vicious.” Adrian says this with a casual tone that makes me think he’s telling the truth. Of course, I already know this about him. There’s a reason the entire office is in a furor with him simply being in the building.
“I don’t know what to make of you.”
His eyes meet mine and his gaze lingers as if he’s waiting for me to elaborate. My heart pounds with curiosity and fear that this will go badly and I won’t have an office to go back to.
“There are people who earn big paychecks and then there are the people who write them,” Adrian begins. “I wasn’t born into wealth, but I watched my father work his way up to being one of those people who earned his paycheck. And then it was taken away from him after one wrong deal.”
My body goes as cold as the ice he used to play with me earlier.
“I’ve looked into it since then,” continues Adrian, “and it was a bad deal. He made a mistake. But that was after years of making the right decisions over and over, after working his way up only to be knocked down the second something went wrong. Not because it was deserved, but because he made too much and it would be too easy to give his tasks to someone else. Then the person who wrote the big check could simply make back that money by letting him go.”
This is by far the most Adrian has ever shared with me, and my curiosity is piqued again. I don’t know anything about his father, only what I’ve read about him, which is simple. He buys companies, breaks them apart, moves some departments around and eliminates others. He’s the man writing the checks and doing the firing now.
“That company went under within two years,” Adrian says quietly. Judging from his tone, this is important to him. The measured cadence of his words and the look in his eyes as he speaks.
“Without your father?” I manage to ask.
“Partially because of that. Partially because I bought the competitor. I hired my father. As the stock grew, I invested in other companies, including two crucial to my father’s former employer … And I dismantled them.”
Adrian uses a cool, almost bored tone to tell me this, and I’m even more afraid for my job now. He could do anything he wanted with the company. “Vindictive much?” I say, to cover the nervous pulse in my throat.
“He treated certain things, certain people, as if they were disposable. I showed him exactly what that meant. There are highs and lows in this business. Harsh decisions must be made. But the reasoning behind it is what matters. Is it for efficiency? For the bottom line? For power plays?”
“Why do you do it?”
Adrian’s eyes flash. “Because if there isn’t passion behind it, it shouldn’t exist. It’s a waste of time for everyone involved. It will fail, and the only ones who will benefit are the ones who are willing to sacrifice the purpose of it all.” His deep voice is filled with conviction. Adrian believes what he’s saying, and I imagine it’s why he fired so many of the executives today and sent them all packing. He has a passion for this business, not simply an investment.
“I learned a hard lesson early on: if you can’t beat them with morals and ethics, cut their throats and say that it’s business.”
A chill flows over my skin and numerous questions rest on the tip of my tongue. “I didn’t buy Holt and Hanover to cut anyone’s throat,” he states before I can ask. “The numbers are still being run with slight changes.” His tone is one of comfort, but the conversation is anything but. “When I know anything, you will as well. Do not worry.”
I can only nod as a shiver runs down my shoulders and I realize we’re back at the dock. The water is quieter and the chatter from the others much louder.