5
Cassidy
The next couple of weeks are a whirlwind of work. Thank God, because any time that I stop working for long enough to think, he drifts into my mind.
Every night as I’m drifting off to sleep—or trying to—I start to picture him next to me in bed. The taste of his mouth. The way his lips felt gliding down my chest, his tongue on my nipple, my belly button, tracing from my navel all the way down to my mound. The feeling of his thick cock buried deep in my pussy; the waves of pleasure that hit me as he fucked me, his strong hands wrapped around my hips, hard everywhere I’m soft.
Fuck. I have it bad. Worse than I ever had it with any guy I’ve hooked up with before. Even with Norman, I was into him as a person, but he was lackluster in bed. More interested in getting himself off than making sure I was having fun.
At the time, I told myself that was just how all guys were. That it was fine. If, every night after we had sex, I had to roll over and finish myself with my own fingers, well, that was just how life had to be.
Then I met Lark.
Lark, who make me come more times in a single night than I would have thought possible. Lark, who wanted to keep seeing me, who would have stopped at nothing to have me again… Except I made him stop. I drove him off. And why? Because I didn’t want anything complicated?
What’s simple about me right now? I’m daydreaming about him every night, every time I’m alone in the shower, my hands wandering down my body to stroke my own clit until I’m gasping his name.
But at least work is a distraction.
I’ve had more than a few phone calls with Sheryl since our meeting. Every time I see the Anderson Investments number pop up on my phone, my heart climbs into my throat and my stomach does a little backflip. But it’s always her perky, no-nonsense voice on the other end.
“Now a good time?” she always begins our calls. Just like the one we had earlier today, where she asked for an update on the new line.
She wound up investing a lot, far more than I ever could have hoped for. Well, they wound up investing a lot, I guess, although I haven’t personally spoken to Lark since our one conversation outside the office building just after the investment meeting.
But she’s also very specific about which products she’d like me to develop first. “I think there’s a real market for the lengthening mascara you showed us and the eye color palettes—you’ve got a great eye for colors. And that way we can focus on one specific product set to start off, and expand into other products later.”
She always words everything in a super complimentary way. But it’s also the first time since I started my own line that I’ve had a boss of sorts—even if she’s not strictly my boss, she’s definitely calling the shots now. And while sometimes it’s reassuring to have another opinion to look for, another voice to rely on for the big decisions, at other times, like today, when I’ve got a great new idea for a lipstick color that I can’t play around with… well, it can be somewhat confining, creatively.
I remind myself it doesn’t matter, as long as I’m doing what my investor wants. Once we get this first line of products out, I’ll have all the time in the world to play around more creatively and figure out what the second line to launch will be.
Before my call for the day with Sheryl finishes up, she adds quickly, “By the way, we’d love to see how the prototype is coming.”
I hesitate for a second. I’ve been working for the last two weeks on the eyeshadow palette, and I’ve sent a few photos over the phone. “I can mockup some more pictures,” I start, but Sheryl cuts me off.
“A bit hard to judge it over the screen though, isn’t it? We’ll be there at noon, if that time works for you, just to have a look at the progress. Here at Anderson Investments, we like to stay, well, invested.” She laughs at her own joke, and I find myself grinning too, even though my heart rate has just kicked into triple gear.
We? Does that mean Lark will be coming with her too? “Okay,” I barely have time to squeak before she ends the call. And then I stare at myself in the mirror across my messy living room. My hair’s in a topknot because I haven’t washed it in a couple days, my eyes are puffy from another long night of no sleep, my brain helpfully filling the time with fantasies of Lark instead.
Shit.
I rush to the bathroom to get myself ready. A long hot shower and careful application of my best-foot-forward makeup look later, I’m ready to tackle the apartment itself. Normally I’m a pretty tidy person—I have to be, since my apartment is so tiny that any time it gets out of hand, it’s practically unlivable—but whenever I’m deep in the creative well, working hard on a project like the one I’ve been ensconced in this week, the whole cleaning thing tends to get away from me.
I cart empty takeout boxes to the garbage chute down the hall, sweep and vacuum, stack away all my excess belongings, and even manage to start dusting some of the furniture before the door buzzer rings. The intercom has been broken for years, and my super is next to useless, so I just buzz it open, my heart in my throat.
I brace myself for it to just be Sheryl standing before me, in her prim suit, with her perfect hair done up. That would be disappointing, but it would be the far easier option.
Much simpler than if both of them show up on my doorstep. Lark, looking picture perfect and handsome as ever, those bright eyes of his following my every move. If the three of us are alone in my apartment together, Sheryl won’t fail to notice the way her ex keeps looking at me.
At least, assuming Lark hasn’t moved on already. I remind myself that we only had one night together. A night I told him would never be repeated. He’s probably long since forgotten about me.
In fact, by the time there’s a knock at my door, I’ve convinced myself there’s no way he would even come here. He’ll be too busy hooking up with his latest fling. Someone far more attractive than me. More interesting and funny and sexy and—
I wrench open my front door, and my thoughts stop spiraling. Even my heart stops for a split second, I swear.
Because he’s here. Lark stands in the doorway, wearing jeans, a button down shirt, and a small smile. He looks even better than he does in my memories. The planes of his cheekbones are sharper, the green of his eyes brighter.
His smile far more dangerous than I remember.
“Cassidy. Good to see you.”
I move aside, my tongue temporarily tied, and glance past him into the hallway, confused. “Where’s your business partner?” I ask, unable to keep a faint note of annoyance from my tone.
“Unfortunately, Sheryl couldn’t make it today. She asked me to fill in. Something I was all too happy to do.” He tilts his head, and his gaze drops over me, taking me in.
My stomach tightens. I know I just showered and finished putting on a full face of makeup—I know I look good—but it still steals my breath away to watch his pupils dilate, to see him take a sharp breath, the same way I must have when I laid eyes on him.
“You look good, Cassidy.” He smiles. “I have to admit, even better than I remember.”
He’s been thinking about me too. The revelation hangs in the air between us, making me dizzy if I think about it too hard. Does he lie awake at night the same way I’ve been doing? His hand sliding down until he wraps a fist around the base of his cock, thinking of me as he starts to stroke his hard, pulsing length…