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“Look at me,” I demanded when her eyes started to go heavy. “You think you’re going to win tonight, Reagan?”
“I did,” she grinned, her mouth ajar so she could catch her breath.
“You lost our bet,” I pointed out.
“Fuck you,” she hissed against gritted teeth.
“Fuck you, huh?” I challenged before pushing back from her and slamming home. Once. Twice. Three times. She threw her head back, her hips grinding against mine.
“One more, Reagan,” I called. “One more. One more.” Burying my head against her neck, I kept on fucking her until I could feel the orgasm dancing inside us. “Let go, darling. Fucking let go.”
She thrashed, trying to pull me away as the euphoric release possessed her. But I pulled her down as I continued to move inside her. Another orgasm came, and Reagan was sobbing in pleasure, her entire body shaking.
And I watched her, listened to her helpless whimpers.
“Good girl,” I said, kissing her forehead as she was catching her breath, her walls still pulsing around me.
When she finally calmed down, I pulled myself out of her slowly, and I saw our release dripping onto the floor.
I helped pull Reagan up from the desk, her body limp and heavy. She sat up, her chest still rising and falling a little bit, her messy hair framing the sides of her face.
I put my pants back on, and Reagan only stared at me with tired, happy eyes, a coy smile painted on her lips. Then I pulled her dress and bra back up, helping her with the straps. Once her upper body was covered, I straightened the skirts of her dress once more.
“Are you going to keep my underwear again, you weirdo?”
“I am. Consider it my price.”
I opened my drawer and threw in her lace undergarment alongside the first one I kept. Closing it, I opened another drawer and produced a red velvet box. That got Reagan’s attention.
She watched me silently as I opened the box and picked the diamond ring out of it. It was a Parker heirloom, my mother had said. Passed down from generation. How else was I going to convince my parents that I had a fiancée if I wasn’t going to give her this ring?
I kissed the back of Reagan’s hands twice before I slid the ring on her finger. The thing fit her like it was meant to be in her hands. Like it belonged there. And Reagan lifted her hand in the air, the diamond winking at her against the lights. Then she smiled.
Today, I could say, was a win-win for us both.
Chapter twenty
Reagan
The baby pink dress I was wearing was probably not the best choice for this gala because many of the guests were wearing dark and neutral colors. There was nothing on the invitation about color coding, only formal and black tie optional.
So I went with the pink Atelier Versace lace dress with intricate embellishments and haute couture detailing. Heidi had helped me ship the dress all the way from California two days ago, telling me she wouldn’t let my father know.
I hadn’t worn the dress to an event yet, but I had gotten it personally made for a hefty price as my graduation gift for myself. Thankfully, it still fit me like a glove.
The ring on my finger glinted against the light as I started the second song of the night, Edward Elgar’s Salut d'Amour Op.12. The violinist, Roberta—she insisted on being called Bobby—wore a gray satin dress with a straight neckline, her tanned skin and brunette hair accented by the lights above us. She was three years my senior and was working as a part of the orchestra at Walt Disney World when she got the call from Clair asking if she could perform tonight with me.
We hit it off immediately, and I was so impressed at how well she played the violin and how she was able to do her own spin with the music without overpowering the piano.
She said that she knew Matthew because she already played here for an event once, and she was even more excited tonight because she knew that the piano and violin would go beautifully together. And our rehearsals proved this to be true.
The crowd was busy, and it was impossible to see what was happening in the hall when there was so much light shining down on us. But the ring reminded me that Matthew was in the crowd somewhere watching me. I was disappointed that he wasn’t at the wing tonight, but then again, it would be weird if we eye-fucked each other when Bobby was on the stage, too.
So I played through the night—timeless pieces we had arranged together, mixed with modern ones. We set the ambiance of the gala even if it was almost difficult to see and hear the crowd. Bobby and I were so lost in the music that we didn’t care and we didn’t stop.
We played My Heart at Thy Sweet Voice by Camille Saint-Saëns from the opera Samson and Delilah, and one of my favorites, Pavane, Op. 50 by Gabriel Fauré.
I was so busy enjoying my work tonight that I didn’t hear the auctions or the speeches. I didn’t even notice that we had entirely skipped dinner. But neither one of us complained.
