Chapter Twenty-Two

Jordan

As I yawn, I stretch my arms above my head. My fingertips brush against something soft and smooth.

My eyes open wide. The high, parakeet green ceiling appears before me.

Where am I again?

As I sit up on the king-sized bed, my mind clears.

Right. Claus and I are in Boston. In Lance's apartment.

I glance at Claus, who's still sleeping soundly beside me in his dinosaur pajamas. His leg is draped over a pillow, his foot sticking out of the blanket. I cover it before I get out of bed. He doesn't stir at all.

He must still be tired after all that fun yesterday.

I grab the red robe that's on a chair near the bed and put it on before leaving the bedroom to do a bit of exploring.

Just as I expected, this apartment is huge. I lose count of all the rooms, but it's not just bedrooms. There's a gym. There's a home theater. There's a gaming room. There's an indoor pool. There's a room with a bar. A room full of books. A room full of paintings. There's a room that seems to be highly secure, too, but that must just be Lance's office. I don't know why it occurred to me for a second that he might have whips and handcuffs in there.

As I approach the dining room, I hear voices. I see Lance eating breakfast. There's another man beside him drinking coffee.

I pause as I recognize him.

Michael. The man I met at the hospital all those years ago.

No wonder he looked familiar when I saw him at the airport yesterday morning.

A lump forms in my throat.

What if he recognizes me, too? What if he says it out loud?

"Jordan." I almost jump as I hear Lance call my name. "You're awake."

"Yes." I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear as I avoid Michael's gaze. "I was... taking a small tour of your apartment, actually. I hope you don't mind."

"You like it?"

I nod. "But I don't think it's very child-friendly."

Michael is the one who laughs.

"Jordan, this is Michael, who helps me run my company," Lance introduces the man beside him.

"Or the other way around," Michael says. "Come closer. I won't bite."

"He's also my good friend," Lance adds. "Michael, this is Jordan."

"Nice to officially meet you, Jordan." Michael offers me his hand.

Officially?

"I saw you at the airport yesterday, but we were in a rush," he adds. "Also, Lance has been talking so much about you."

Oh. That's why. So he has kept his word. Then again, if he hadn't, Lance would have said something about it by now.

"Not," Lance protests.

He dabs his mouth with a table napkin and pulls out the chair beside him.

"Why don't you join me for breakfast?"

"Okay." I walk over to the chair.

"Is Claus still asleep?" Lance asks.

I nod.

Michael glances at his watch as he sips his coffee. "I should go. I just dropped by to talk to Lance about a few things."

I sit down. "No more problems, I hope."

"The only problem is that Lance won't go to the office Christmas party." Michael sighs. "He never does. I don't know why I bother asking."

Lance frowns at him. "I thought you were leaving."

"You never go?" I throw Lance a puzzled look.

He shrugs. "I don't see why I should."

"Well, it's your office. The people in it work for you, don't they? I'm sure they'd love to... mingle with you, even if it's just for one night of the year."

Lance says nothing.

"That's what I keep telling him," Michael says. "But he can't be bothered."

Lance gives another frown. "Fine. I'll go this year."

Michael's eyes grow wide.

"If Jordan comes with me," he adds.

I pout. "But I don't work there."

"You'll be my date," Lance says as he picks up his fork.

My eyebrows arch. Michael gives me an imploring look.

"But who will watch Claus?" I ask.

"I'm sure Erin can find someone to do it," Michael says.

"A stranger, you mean."

"And my ex-wife can come over with my daughter," Michael adds.

"She isn't going to the party?" I ask.

"We're not married anymore, so we don't go on dates anymore," he explains. "But I'm sure she'll agree to come over if it's to help watch someone else's kid. She likes kids. She's a kindergarten teacher."

"I see." I nod. "And how old is your daughter?"

"Eleven."

I wonder if maybe that's too old for a playmate for Claus. But that means that she and Claus won't fight. And if Michael's wife is watching them together with a babysitter...

"Well?" Michael asks me hopefully.

I do owe him a favor.

I glance at Lance. Also, I feel like I want him to attend the Christmas party at his office, even if it's just this once.

Still, a Christmas party, huh? Wasn't that what got us here in the first place?

I sigh. Well, it's not like things are the same as they were then.

"Fine, I'll go," I say. "We'll go to the Christmas party."

"Great." Michael gives a triumphant smile. "I'll see you then."

He walks off.

"Sure?" Lance asks me. "I thought you didn't do parties."

"I'll make an exception this time," I tell him.

"Are you sure you can behave at this office Christmas party?"

I narrow my eyes at him. "Is that a challenge?"

He doesn't answer.

"I will if you will," I say.

"I will if you will," he repeats.

"I will," I assure him. "I won't even drink."

~

Or so I told him. Right now, though, I've already had three glasses of vodka. It's just impossible not to drink at a Christmas party when everyone is in the mood to celebrate. Plus Lance looked so hot in his suit that I needed a distraction. But no matter how many excuses I have, they don't change the fact that my head is starting to spin.

That's why I'm here in Lance's office. My heels are off - I really shouldn't wear heels anymore - and my aching legs are spread out on the black leather couch.

Lance sits down as he hands me a glass of water. I take a few gulps and set it down.

"Feel better?" he asks me.

I nod as I rest my head on the arm of the couch. "Now that I'm away from all the flashing lights and loud music, yes."

"You were the one who wanted to come to this party," he reminds me.

"It was fun while it lasted."

At least I got to see Lance in a suit, and I got to watch him try to interact with his employees.

"And you said you'd behave."

I give him a sheepish grin. "Sorry?"

He grins - not sheepishly - as he crouches over me. His hand loosens his tie.

"There's really no hope of you behaving at a party, is there?"

The lust shadowing his eyes makes a lump form in my throat.

I swallow. "It was just a few drinks."

Lance removes his tie. "So you're not drunk? You were just pretending so you could get away from the crowd and get me alone. Is that it?"

"I wasn't - "

"That's even naughtier."

He brings his face close to mine and kisses me. His lips steal my vodka-laced breath. His tongue sneaks in for a taste and my head spins again. I feel myself sinking further into the couch, melting into it.

I cling to his arm. His hand runs over mine until it reaches my wrist. Then he grabs both my wrists and holds them above me. He wraps his tie around them.

My eyebrows furrow. "What are you doing?"

"Punishing you," Lance says as he secures my wrists with a firm knot. "This is what happens to naughty girls. They get punished."

My breath catches. The flurry of excitement that ripples beneath my skin overtakes the fear swimming in my belly.

I want to ask what kind of punishment I'll be getting, but I suppose I'll just have to wait and see. My body shudders in anticipation.

His hands work on the sash and the white buttons of my red dress. I frown as I think maybe I shouldn't have chosen a dress that's so easy to take off.

My frown deepens as the buttons seem to pop out slowly. He's taking his time.

I feel like I've just given him a present and I'm eagerly waiting for him to open it so I can see the look on his face but he's taking too long removing each carefully placed piece of Scotch tape and trying not to tear the wrapping paper.

Finally, the buttons are all undone. My silk dress slides to the sides, exposing my black bra and panties to his view. And he looks at them. A hint of approval shimmers in his eyes.

Lance leaves the couch. He takes something out from his pocket - two small presents - and puts them on his desk. He takes off his jacket and drapes it over the back of his chair.

Then he makes his way back to me but stops. His eyes rest on the two small presents again.

"You're not in a bad mood because you just got two, are you?" I tease him. "No one expected you to come, after all."

Lance doesn't answer. As I lift my head, I see him take the ribbon off one and the bunch of spruce leaves off the other.

"Can't wait until Christmas?" I tease again.

"Oh, I can wait," he says as he comes back to me. "Can you?"

Before I can figure out what he's asking, he's back on the couch. His face hovers above mine. Ebony eyes hold my gaze as his mouth descends. I close my eyes and wait for his mouth to seal mine, but I just feel the tip of his tongue tracing my lips.

I open my eyes and pout. "You call that a kiss?"

In answer, he runs the sprig of thin spruce leaves across my lips. They remind me of the bristles of a brush.

Then Lance uses it against my ear. I gasp at the tickling sensation and then feel a tinge of alarm as I realize what he's doing, what he's planning on doing.

"Lance," I warn him, but he continues to tickle my ear with the sprig.

I squirm. My giggles spill out into the air.

He traces my jaw line with the leaves. They dance along the side of my neck. Then he lifts part of my dress and brushes them against my armpit.

"No!" I yelp as my hips rise off the bed.

With each brush of those bristly leaves, I shudder as I laugh. My knees rise. I try to move off the couch, to move away from Lance, but he holds me fast.

"Stop!" I beg even as laughter continues to escape my lips.

My belly starts to hurt. My eyes start to leak. My panties grow wet.

Then Lance stops.

I glare at him. "That wasn't funny."

"But you were laughing."

"I'll get back at you for that someday," I swear.

Lance throws the sprig on the coffee table. He gathers my tears with his thumb and presses a kiss to my cheek.

"Sorry," he whispers.

The tenderness in his voice dissipates my temper. I'm still not sure if I'll forgive him, though.

"Let me make it up to you."

He pushes my bra up, setting my breasts free. The tip of his tongue circles one of my nipples.

I gasp.

He continues licking around the stiff nub, then does the same to the other. The air feels cold on the wet nipple he abandoned, and I shiver.

"I'm sorry." He lifts his head. "Are you cold?"

"Just a bit," I say.

He pinches my nipple lightly.

"That's because it's wet. I should dry it."

He blows on it and I let out another gasp.

Lance frowns. "Maybe not like that."

He lifts his hand and I see that he still has the ribbon that was wrapped around his present. Before I can figure out what he's going to do with it, I feel the coarseness of the ribbon against the peak of my breast. It rubs back and forth like a file. I let out a louder gasp.

His fingers rub the ribbon against my nipple and around it. The friction is maddening. He does the same to the other one.

My panties grow even wetter.

Then he lets the ribbon dance over my belly like a snake slithering down. He reaches my panties but he doesn't take them off. Instead, he slips the ribbon between my thighs. He pulls, and it rubs against the stained front of my underwear.

I throw my head back and moan.

The ribbon rubs against the cotton, and the softness digs into the folds of my skin. The stain grows.

My knees rise again and my toes curl.

"Lance," I reprimand him as the friction becomes too much.

He stops. I let out a sigh of relief.

He takes off my underwear, all the way off my feet, and gives the cotton a sniff. I blush in embarrassment.

His hand slips between my thighs. Fingers brush against my curls as they search for my sensitive nub. His gaze holds mine, watching my expression.

My eyes grow wide as he finds what he's looking for. He grins triumphantly.

He starts rubbing that nub and my eyes squeeze shut. Gasps and moans spill out of my mouth as my body quivers out of control.

How long is he going to toy with me?

If my hands were free, I'd grab his wrist and push his fingers further down to where I'm leaking and burning and aching. But my hands are tied.

All I can do is shudder as he plays with that nub that is completely under his thumb, as heat endlessly ripples throughout my body.

The heat is too much, the pleasure too sharp.

"Lance!" I cry out his name as I shudder even more.

My hips rise off the leather. My thighs trap his hand.

Lance gives another triumphant grin.

"Haven't you had enough?" I ask him.

I lift my foot and press it against the bulge in his crotch. He hisses.

"Not yet," he answers as he moves my foot aside.

He turns me around. My knees press against the couch. Then two fingers slip inside me. They reach in deeply and squirm around. Cries escape my hoarse throat and my face crashes on the arm of the couch.

Fuck. It almost feels like something is going to burst inside me.

To my relief, the fingers leave. But then I feel his tongue. It licks the folds of my skin, hovering around the entrance.

It's teasing.

That's what he's been doing all along - teasing me.

"Just fuck me already," I snap at him.

Lance laughs. I feel the sound vibrate against my drenched skin.

"Already out of patience, are we? Hang in there just a little more, okay?"

His tongue continues its assault. I rest my cheek on the arm of the couch and close my eyes as I try not to think of it, but it's impossible.

Then he moves. He's no longer behind me but beneath me. His tongue swipes against my swollen nub. His fingers plunge in and out.

I bite down on my lower lip. Not the tongue and fingers at the same time.

I let out a cry as another orgasm is wrenched from my body. Only then do the tongue and fingers withdraw. I'm too tired to move, though, so my ass is still hanging in the air as I gasp for breath.

Finally, I hear a zipper come undone. I feel the leaking head of his cock press against me.

Finally.

"This was how it all started, right?" Lance says as he teases me with the mushroom tip of his cock.

Each time I try to push against it, it moves away.

Fucking tease.

"At a Christmas party on a couch, you having had too much to drink."

"And you being an ass," I say.

Lance chuckles. "You crying out in the throes of pleasure."

He grips my hips and fills me with one thrust. I let out a loud gasp.

He reaches for my wrists. They come free, but only for a moment. They become imprisoned in his hands as he pulls my arms back. Then he grips my elbows as he pulls my whole body back and starts moving.

The couch shakes beneath me. My hips rock. My nipples dance in the air as his cock ruthlessly plunges in and out of me.

He suddenly lets go. I fall forward.

His hands clutch my hips again as he pounds into me. My breasts sway beneath me. My hair cascades over my face.

My nails scrape against the leather as he maintains his callous pace. His balls slap against my skin.

Again, the heat brews inside me. The storm builds. When Lance gives a particularly deep and powerful thrust, it unleashes, sweeping me away once more.

His cock, too, lets loose inside me. And then everything goes still.

It's all over and I'm spent. My mind is mush. My body is numb. My eyelids fall shut.

I feel my body turned over. I feel Lance's hands putting my bra back in place and slipping my underwear back on. Lazily, I lift my hips. I feel him start to put back the buttons of my dress, too, but before he can finish, my mind begins to drift off.

I shouldn't have come to this party.

~

Regret continues to plague me the next day as my head threatens to split open. I take a pain reliever after breakfast, then a shower. Then I go back to bed. As I'm lying down, my phone beeps.

I check the screen and find a message from an unknown number.

I open it.

Thank you for bringing Lance to the party. I hope you had fun - Michael.

My eyebrows crease. How did Michael know my number? Did Lance give it to him?

Then I get another message. This time, it's from Audrey.

Is Lance really your boyfriend? Why didn't you tell me?

I sit up in alarm. What? How on earth did she find out?

I type my reply.

I don't know what you're talking about.

She sends me another message. This time, it's a link.

I open it. In the online article, there's a picture of me standing beside Lance, Claus sitting on his shoulders. I'm sure it was taken at Faneuil Hall Marketplace. There's another picture of me and Lance entering his building.

My jaw drops.

I read the article, which says that Lance has a son and I'm the mother. It's not professionally written. No facts. Just speculations. Rubbish. And malicious. It says Lance probably has other children. It says I was probably paid to carry his child.

What the hell?

I don't care what's written about Lance or me, though. What bothers me is the picture that has Claus in it. Now people know what Claus looks like. They know he's Lance's son, the son of a billionaire.

What if more people try to take pictures of him? What if someone tries to kidnap him?

I shake my head. Then I get off the bed and start packing.

I need to get Claus out of Boston as soon as possible.