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Grinning, I grab a small lace thong and a matching bra, and then pick a tight short dress. I know she’ll find it too revealing, but that’s exactly what I want. What? I’m a fucking asshole; you know that.
“There you go,” I tell her as I hand her the neatly folded clothes. She takes them in her hands, and then looks into my eyes, waiting.
“Can you turn around?” she asks me, the sheet still covering her naked body.
“Do you have to?” I grin at her. Seriously? I can’t fucking believe she doesn’t want me to see her naked… I mean, I did more than just see her naked moments ago. But I turn around all the same, patiently waiting as she dresses.
“Okay, let’s go,” she says as she walks past me and into the corridor, already wearing the dress, the fabric hugging her curves so tightly I almost salivate. “We’re late and there’s lots to do.” I follow after her, but then she stops, turns on her heels and looks at me with a frown. “Connor… God… Could you please put some clothes on?”
“I’m wearing my best suit, love,” I tell her with a grin, and I can notice her struggling to keep her eyes focused on mine. Inevitably, she steals a glance at my tattoos and naked muscles, her face reddening again as she finds my hard cock.
“Please,” she repeats sternly. Sighing, I grab a pair of boxer briefs and pants from the wardrobe, and I put them on. By the time I get to the living room, still shirtless, she already has her laptop propped up on her knees, the hem of her dress revealing her toned legs. Fuck, isn’t she beautiful?
I sit right by her side and lean back against the couch as she looks up at me, a shy smile on her lips. “Ready?” she asks me, and I nod with a grin. I’m always fucking ready, maybe not for work, but definitely for more interesting matters. “Okay, so… As you know, your public image has taken a few hits over the years. There’s the drinking, the partying, the diplomatic carelessness, and… and…”
“All the fucking I do,” I complete her sentence.
“The womanizing,” she corrects me, frowning again. “So, I think that we should start by holding a press conference where you admit your failures and vow to do better. Then, we can venture into some public and visible volunteer kind of work, so that people start seeing another side of you.”
“What about the drinking? And the partying? And the… womanizing?” I ask her, grinning like the fucking bastard that I am.
“You’ll have to cut it off. All of it,” she tells me, “especially the womanizing,” she adds as an afterthought, and I’m not entirely sure if she’s talking from the perspective as the woman I’ve just fucked, or as Natalie, the PR consultant.
“Oh, sounds fantastic; I can’t fucking wait,” I start, irony dripping out of my words. “Is that all?” She looks down at her folders, then at her laptop and back to her folders.
“That’s all.”
“You sure came a lot earlier just to tell me that…” I tease her, looking straight into her eyes. She purses her lips, sighs, and then looks back at me.
“You know… I had much more than this planned, but after… after the sex… It’s not like I can remember all of it.” Even though she’s talking in a slightly awkward way about what happened earlier in the morning, there’s a slight smile on her face. A fucking good omen, at last.
“Sex amnesia?” I chuckle. “Let’s hope that won’t happen the next time,” I tell her, and I can see the gears turning inside her head as she tries to decode my words. Next time as in next meeting, or next time I fuck her? That really depends on her, doesn’t it? You know what I’d fucking answer to a question like that. “Look, why don’t we have lunch next Tuesday? It’s Sunday, so you should be enjoying the rest of your weekend, not working. We’ll pick up where we left off by then.”
She smiles at me, more relaxed than before, and nods. “Thank you,” she whispers, and then closes her laptop and places it inside her bag with the folders. She gets up from the couch, and I follow her to the door, opening it and standing to the side as she looks expectantly at me.
Now, I can’t fucking help myself. I lean in for a goodbye kiss and, at the same time, she reaches for me with the palm of her hand. Reacting instinctively, I shake her hand while I press my mouth against hers. Fucking smooth, right? Alright, this was fucking awkward… But it was totally worth one final kiss.
She smiles, her cheeks flushed, and clutches her bag against her chest. She looks like innocence incarnate, her bright eyes and full lips the epitome of fucking perfection. I’ve fucked top models, actresses, and even Olympic athletes (the hot ones, how do you like volleyball?), but I don’t think I’ve ever come across a woman such as Natalie. She seems so fucking simple… and, at the same time, so fucking beautiful.
“You have to go now,” I tell her, looking serious. She arches one eyebrow in surprise, and then I grin. “Because if you don’t, I’m going to fuck you again.”
I can’t fucking wait for Tuesday.
113
Natalie
Christine holds the phone to my face and the glare of the screen is momentarily blinding. "Was this before or after I threw up?" There's a look of semi-concern on her face.
Alicia jumps in. "I think that was after," she says. "Look at your face; your eyes are telling the camera that you just Jackson Pollocked the wall in the bathroom."
"That girl's night out was the best," I say, laughing. Christine is the one friend who epitomizes the 'work hard play hard' mantra. We recently celebrated her 22nd birthday by throwing a surprise party, and to say it was memorable is an understatement. It was downright epic.
/> We all laugh—Christine, Alicia, and I. We are at the UN Delegates Dining Room at the UN sipping cocktails; there's the sound of businessmen talking in the background, and Christine has her phone out, scrolling through old Instagram photos. We're all taking a trip down memory lane.
"I swear, the world would be a better place if women ran it," Alicia says, looking around the dining room. "At the very least, there'd be a lot less conflict in the world. Christine and I both nod in agreement. Men are always trying to one up each other it seems.
"How are you and Derek doing?" I ask Alicia, changing the subject.
