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“I want to see you. You never told me about your previous girlfriends, but you’ve mentioned Zoe five times in the last few minutes.”
I did? I didn’t even notice. “I’ll talk to her, but I could introduce you through a video call.”
“Nothing replaces a hug. I know you, son. You’ve lived longer than I’d like hopping from one woman to another, and if you’re claiming this girl as your own, there’s a lot more to it than simply taking care of a model who’s just signed a contract with one of your companies and then had a horrible accident.”
I haven’t told her I met Zoe years ago, because the story isn’t just mine to share. However, Mom is not naive. She knows that Zoe means something to me just because she’s staying with me during a lockdown.
“You’re right. That’s not why I asked her to stay with me; it’s because what we have is special.” I simplify and change the subject. “We’ll keep in touch and follow the news. I think the best solution would be for me to drive there.”
“It will be a whole thing. With the number of bodyguards following you, the trip will look like a motorcade.”
We chat for a few more minutes until she says my father is waiting for her to take a stroll with him around the property. They try to stay in shape, even with the lockdown, and that’s the only exercise they’ve been doing.
Thank God the house I’m in has a gym. I have too much pent-up energy inside my body. Even with the sex marathons of the last few days, I still feel agitated a lot of the time.
I reflect on what my mother said about me never having a woman this close to me.
It’s not that I had the idea of a perfect relationship in my mind; it’s just that I’d never met anyone special before Zoe, and that made me want something more permanent.
My parents’ relationship is based on compatibility, that kind of love that the world knows is forever. A love I never thought I’d have. But now Zoe and I have finally given up resisting each other, I wonder if I didn’t find it two years ago.
I’m a skeptic by nature. I believe in lust, in physical attraction, and somehow, I’ve always separated it from love. From the outside, my parents seemed more like friends than lovers, but maybe I was just attacking the issue the wrong way.
When I imagined myself in the future, I thought I would end my days with someone who, more or less, followed the family model I witnessed growing up. Now, however, I’m beginning to understand that love doesn’t have a mold into which a relationship must fit but that each couple’s story is what shapes love, making it unique to them.
As if she can guess that she is in my current thoughts, Zoe knocks on the door and, without waiting for an answer, enters.
Zoe has changed. She’s more confident about what she wants, and although shyness is an important part of her nature, she no longer bows her head to life.
“I don’t know if you’re working, and I didn’t want to interrupt, but I just got a call from the hospital. Bia is awake.”
“Great news,” I say, holding out my hand to her. I’ve set up an office very similar to the ones I have in other countries.
She walks over to the table, hesitating. I don’t think she’s being shy. She can’t be, not after what we’ve done in the last week. I can say with certainty that I have never known a woman’s body as I know hers now.
Zoe is wild in bed. More and more, she shows me what she likes, and I’m committed to finding out all about her needs, learning what makes her moan for more or scream with lust.
My body reacts to the memories of what we’ve done in the last few days, and she notices when I pull her to sit on my lap.
She looks at me, and I know she’s turned on, too. We can’t stay dressed around each other for long, but as much as I want to sit her at my table and eat her for breakfast, I don’t want her to think that all I want from her is sex.
I already made a fucking mess in our first round together back in Barcelona. This time, I intend to change the script.
“Did they say when she will be discharged?” I ask, brushing the hair away from her neck and kissing the exact spot where a vein throbs.
“I can’t concentrate with you doing that,” she confesses, squirming in my lap. “It’s very nice.”
“Sorry,” I say, not at all sorry.
She turns and straddles me. “For a CEO, you are a terrible liar, Mr. Lykaios.”
“You already knew that. Accused me of being brutally honest once.”
“I prefer it that way. I hate liars.”
I know she’s talking about her ex-husband, but I don’t want to walk down that road right now. What I had to say to her about the bastard, I’ve already said. Now, the problem is between me and Mike Howard.
“I want to talk to Bia on the phone. You think they’ll let me?”
