Page 28 of Sherwood
I stared out the large window that made up the far wall of my bedroom. It looked out over the same view as the windows in the living room and kitchen, nothing but rocks and sea and sinking orange sun.
I was grateful that he’d commanded my honesty, because I found the answer much faster than I normally would have. “I think they’re both missing something crucial, which is that those ethanol products represent a huge source of income for a substantial number of farmers. I agree we should stop selling it, but find a way to stop that doesn’t leave the farmers who count on us to buy their corn in the lurch. And I think it’s okay if it takes us a few months to find the smartest way to do it.”
It wouldn’t be how Lox would do it, probably. If she felt like something was the right thing to do, she did it immediately. Joining the Army had been like that, even though she’d only just finished studying mathematics at MIT. And I assumed however she’d gone on the run had been much the same too. She decided quickly, then she acted even quicker.
I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be like that, but I wanted to be. Or at the very least, I wanted to be faster at making the kinds of choices I did.
Rafe’s fingers brushed against my back as he zipped up the dress. “Don’t be ashamed of taking your time. Complicated decisions always benefit from more intelligence.”
Intelligence. A strange way to put it.
He seemed to sense that too, because he corrected himself, “Information. Complicated decisions always benefit from more information.”
“I worry that gathering more information ends up being an excuse for passivity. I want—I want to find a way to listen to my instinct and rationality both. Just once, I’d like to make a choice because it feels right and not because I’ve spent months and months thinking it through.”
Rafe finished zipping up the dress and his hands smoothed the fabric over my back. His hands were so large and warm, his touch was so arrogant and sure of itself. I loved it. “You are twenty-three and running a corporation that represents your father’s legacy and also your hopes and dreams for the world. You are creating space for ideas and products that do not yet exist. I think you can afford yourself some grace. And,” he added, his big hands turning my hips to face him, “I think you’ve already made a choice like that.”
Abruptly confronted with that sharp-yet-soft mouth and that heavy-lidded stare, I found my thoughts scattering like sandpipers before a wave. “I have?” I asked, clueless.
“Yes,” he said. His hands moved up to my waist. “You chose me.”
I did. I did choose him.
And God help me, it might have been the smartest choice I’d ever made.
My hands found his chest and then slid up to his neck. “Then I must be better at choosing than I give myself credit for, sir.”
He pushed me back a step, then two, and then I was pinned between him and the wall, with his hips hard against mine and his hands finding my wrists. He pushed them above my head and held them there as he leaned in and bit my neck.
I cried out, my hips seeking friction, my entire body trying to arch, and then he slanted his mouth over mine for a hot, searching kiss. He parted my lips immediately and plundered, taking like my mouth belonged to him, like all of me belonged to him.
I suddenly wanted that so much that it hurt. To belong. To belong to him. Even though this was temporary, and I would saw my own arm off before I let someone have the power to hurt me like Lox had hurt me.
Rafe broke the kiss to turn me around and shove me against the wall once more, his teeth on my neck and his hands roaming everywhere, rucking up my dress to slide up my thighs and hips.
One large hand cupped my bare pussy, and we both exhaled as it became apparent how wet I was.
“We don’t have time to do this the way I want,” Rafe said. He sounded calm and collected, and also vaguely remorseful, although the hard press of his hand and the thick rod shoved against my bottom let me know that his remorse was anything but vague. “Later.”
“Tonight?” I asked hopefully.
He stepped back, and when I turned, he was adjusting his erection in his suit trousers. “Perhaps,” he said. “If you’ve earned it.”
Oh. Earning. I liked that. I liked it enough that I didn’t try to persuade him to fuck me now, here and without any delay, even though I was sorely tempted. The bites on my neck were like sparks, kindling flames deep in my cunt.
“Now,” Rafe said, as if I’d been the one to interrupt the business of getting dressed by tempting him to kiss me. “Shoes.”
He went into the closet, and after a few moments, returned with a pair of red Louboutins. I sat on the edge of my bed and reached for the shoes he was holding.
“I’ll put them on, sir,” I said.
He gave me a look that made me think of benches and paddles, of the way his fingers felt in my mouth. “Allow me,” he said, already coming to a crouch at my feet.
I never would have thought a squat could be graceful, but for Rafe it was. He crouched like a cat—all effortless balance and coiled power—and his suit strained over the hard muscles of his thighs and stretched tight over his back, revealing a body that was made for war, not ecological surveys.
With deft hands, he slid the first heel onto my foot, and then the second, taking care each time to make sure my toes were fitted properly in the toe box and that my heel was pressed all the way to the sole.
Even crouched, he was at eye level with me, and he looked at me when he was finished. “Are you ready for tonight?” he asked.
