Fifteen minutes later, he parks in the basement of the apartment we practically live in with how much time we spend making love here since that first time. There are three elevators, one requires a special key which only we have.
Oh no, I have to go see Mr. Wong at the club tonight. And—
My heart pounds in my chest as I follow him into the elevator going up. He takes off his suit jacket and pulls off his tie. The elevator stops. The spacious apartment is actually the entire tenth-floor penthouse suite. Dropping the suit jacket and tie as soon as we get out from the elevator, he starts unbuttoning his shirt as he turns to me.
I back away with reddened cheeks shaking my head, "No, love, I—"
His kiss is as aggressively hungry as our first kiss.
"Uhh!" I mutter under his forceful kiss as he rips open my thin cotton shirt. Below, I'm soaked at the sound of his strength.
He takes off his shirt, revealing his muscular form, which takes my breath away. My hands press lightly against his chest. When he separate from my needy lips, he pulls off his belt and tosses it to the floor.
I keep backing away as he pursues. "I haven't shaved. I need to brush—"
He places my hand over his briefs, and I can feel his throbbing hardness as he releases the strings and unzips my oversized cargo pants. The pants fall to the floor. One hand conceals my soaked, embarrassing, unsexy cotton underwear while the other pushes against his chest, but he rips my underwear off.
"No, I'm not ready," I protest as the back of my legs bump into the sofa. His hands grip my shoulders, propelling me downward. My butt smashes into the leather.
I don't have time to recover from the shock before he kneels in front of me. Hands gripping my thighs, he spreads my legs, holding them apart as he stares. I bite my lower lip at the exposed hair, short and uneven, cling damply to my skin, slick with arousal. My insides drip for him. The coarse strands are tousled and matted, glistening slightly in the soft light, undeniable evidence of my relentless desire for him.
My hands fly inward, trying to cover myself, but he is quicker.
When his tongue rams into my wetness, reason is lost. He's having his lunch, and my body is drowning in pleasure.
Someone's knocking. I don't care. He's too busy. I wrap my hands around the back of his head, digging my fingers into his thick hair, angling him toward me as I arch into him.
Later, my body is quivering from small waves of pleasure as I lie there, naked in bed next to him. I say blankly, "I'm hungry."
He gets up and goes to the empty closet where two identical freshly cleaned, plush cream robes hang. After tying the robe in place, he leaves the room. I try to listen, but the large space muffle sounds. When he finally comes back, he's carrying four plastic bags. Watching him rip the bags open makes my insides constrict again, accidentally pushing his seeds out of me. I close my legs tightly, afraid he'll notice.
Then I feel silly for being embarrassed that I'm turned on by him as my eyes slowly travel down the length of the bed. The light blue cotton sheets have dark wet spots all over—evidence of our last two and a half hours together. He spreads the packaged food along the bed's edge.
I get up and stand next to him. He's bought too much food again. There's sushi, another full-sized spicy shrimp pasta, seafood fried rice, dumplings, and Tom Yum soup. I always wonder how many restaurants he orders from, but now it seems like it's all prepared by the same place—special orders of the dishes I love to eat.
Famished, I push three sushi pieces into my mouth. He half-smiles at me as he gathers me into his arms, and we sit on the bed. I feed both him and myself with my hands. When he sees me sucking the pasta sauce off my fingers, he does the same to my other hand.
His moist, warm, soft tongue circles my finger slowly, then his lips suck. "Stop it, you're giving me butterflies... and... I'm losing my appetite." While I protest, I don't move. His gaze meets mine, and the butterflies in my stomach flutter wildly as his face inches closer. He whispers softly onto my lips, "Now you know what you do to me."
I give up all efforts to hold myself up. The answer to my earlier question devastates me with a flood of happiness.
My brain hazy, my body limp, I'm at the mercy of his next move.
Listening to his soft, almost melodically snoring and admiring his peaceful, sleeping face, I'm torn between waking him up to let him know or sneaking away and coming back. We spent all afternoon making love, and I forgot to tell him about my obligations tonight. This should be quick. I decide to let him sleep and get ready.
There's a problem with my clothes. Picking up my ripped shirt, I bite my lip as a wind of joy blows through me. Mr. Silence sent his clothes to be dry cleaned a few days ago when Jason had to deliver his luggage and new clothes for his trip. Luckily, they're ready.
I gather up his clothes from the floor and place them in the laundry service basket by the door. Then hangs his newly pressed dried clean clothes in the empty closet. I put on his worn light blue dress shirt. It's far too long and too big for me. Rolling up the sleeves and tucking it into my cargo pants, I giggle at how much I look like a kid trying on my parents' clothes.
I steal another peek at him. Lying on his left side, his left arm is still fully extended, and his right hand rests on the bed in front of his waist. The empty space I left behind is still evident, even though I covered him with the blanket. He looks so handsome that I silently shriek, jumping up and down like a fangirl in my head. Closing the bedroom door, I shake my head lightly, knowing there's no way I can shake him away as I head to Akira Lounge.
It's 10:38 p.m. when I arrive, two minutes before our meeting time. Mr. Wong stands to greet me as I enter the room.
"Ace?"
"Yes, how do you do, Mr. Wong?" I extend my hand.
He shakes it. "Mr. Caldwell speaks highly of your translation skills. I wanted to meet Nova in person to thank him for his outstanding PI work, but instead, he helped me find you to be my translator tonight."
I let out a small laugh. "He has a tendency to be reclusive." It feels strange to speak about myself in the third person.
"How do you know Nova, if you don't mind me asking?"
"We've never met. Two years ago, he found me online and he's been giving me projects to help him investigate since."
"Alright then. I don't know how much he told you about this, but I'm trying to give these Korean gentlemen a good time and hopefully solidify the business deal within an hour if possible. Any help you can give, I'm grateful for. Nova tells me you know this scene well?"
"I have experiences, yes."
"Wonderful. Oh how rude of me, please have a seat. And thank you again for agreeing to do this."
I sit down. "Of course, I find it hard to say no to Mr. Caldwell."
###
The phone wakes him. The moment his eyes open, he knows something's wrong. He turns. The space beside him is empty. Cold.
He answers.
"Ace is… at Akira Lounge. But she's—" Jason doesn't need to finish. Mohamad is already on his feet. He's dressed before the call ends. Fifteen minutes. That's all it takes for the Aston Martin to reach Akira Lounge.
That infuriating woman. He flew back a day early. At night. For her. His mind hasn't stopped circling her. His body—worse. It refuses sleep. Food. Other women. Even work feels dulled, unfocused, wrong.
And when he finally has her—when he can finally eat, sleep, think clearly again—She disappears. To the club.
His grip tightens on the steering wheel. How dare she. Does she not understand what she's done to him?
He comes back early. Cancels meetings. Leaves work unfinished. And she walks out like nothing matters.
Reckless. Careless. Irresponsible. Does she not know it's her fault he's in this state?
His jaw hardens. She should have stayed. She knows he doesn't like that place. Knows the kind of men who go there. Knows the risks. And yet she goes anyway. Like she doesn't belong to him. Like he doesn't matter.
The thought hits harder than expected. His foot presses down harder on the accelerator. If she wants to play games—He'll remind her. Exactly where she belongs.