"Say yes, darling," Oliver replied, his tone brimming with enthusiasm. "You've got a talent for this, and it's about time you got the recognition you deserve."
The validation washed over me as I finally found the confident smile I'd been hoping to wear tonight. "Thank you, Oliver. I can't wait to talk about it more."
"Come to my office first thing on Monday, before the pitch meeting, and we can go over your vision for the rest of the quarter," Oliver said. He gave my arm a quick squeeze. "Now go enjoy the rest of the party. You've earned it."
When I turned around to find Blythe again, she was only a few steps away, walking toward me. My eyes roved over her body, from her classic white and red Louboutin stilettos all the way up to the plunging V of her oversized white blazer, nothing underneath, just like that night in her robe. A delicate gold chain rippled down between her small breasts. She was effortlessly sexy, somehow classy, and the epitome of fashion. Her full, smiling lips were painted a deep maroon, and her short black hair was slicked back tightly against her head. Everything screamed sleek and simple. She didn't need to be extravagant to shine. That alone made her stand out in the crowd of people trying too hard.
Unaware that she had already taken my breath away, Blythe glanced at me and then looked at Oliver to ask, "Mind if I steal her away? I've got lots of people to introduce her to."
Oliver chuckled and said, "As long as you give her back."
Blythe laughed that infectious laugh of hers and replied, "No promises."
And she whisked me away into the sparkling crowd. As we moved through the throng of guests, Blythe introduced me to a dizzying array of people from her life, each one more fascinating than the last. There were acclaimed authors whose names I had only ever seen on book covers, their faces now familiar as they exchanged pleasantries with Blythe. There were artists whose works adorned the walls of prestigious galleries, their passion for their craft evident in every word they spoke. And there were friends and acquaintances whose bonds with Blythe ran deep, their laughter and camaraderie a testament to the enduring connections forged over years of shared experiences.
I was shocked to find that, even after a decade of solitude, Blythe still garnered this kind of admiration and attention. Maybe it was because of that decade, the allure of it, but it seemed more like everyone genuinely wanted to reconnect with her. With each introduction, I found myself immersed in a world of creativity and intellect, the air buzzing with the energy of lively conversation and spirited debate. Blythe moved effortlessly through the crowd, her presence commanding attention as she guided me from one group to the next with practiced ease.
Once everyone seemed settled, eating hors d'oeuvres passed around by staff I hadn't even noticed, Blythe perched herself a few steps up the staircase and clinked a knife against her glass. The room turned to her attention. "First, I want to extend my deepest gratitude to all of you for coming tonight; I know it's quite the hike if you aren't used to it." The guests nodded in agreement. Blythe went on, "Now, I'd like to raise a toast this evening to Daisy Prince, the journalist I finally connected with enough to share my story with." She pointed her glass in my direction. "Daisy, I can't wait to see what's in store for you in the next few months. So, let's raise our glasses to-"
"You aren't getting off that easy," I interrupted her with a smile. I took the few steps up, suddenly emboldened by the wine and the praise, and raised my own glass. "I'm Daisy, and I'd like for all of us to toast Blythe while we're at it. I've never been so taken aback by the effortless, entirely authentic self of an interview subject. Blythe is stepping out into the world -- with intention and care -- as both the iconic storyteller she's always been and as an entirely new woman than she once was. To Blythe."
As everyone repeated it and touched their glasses, Blythe pulled me into a quick, respectful hug. The smell of her citrusy perfume perfume made me want to melt into her. I tried not to let my hand trail to the small of her back or my lips press into her bare neck when that was all I wanted to do. But I pulled away from her, only letting my eyes linger on hers. Even in that passing moment, I felt the exact same urge radiating off of her.
CHAPTER FOUR: LE PETIT MORT
After the toast, I had to shake hands with pretty much everyone in the house that Blythe hadn't already introduced me to, smiling politely through congratulations and personal anecdotes about writing, Blythe, the Liberator, or a million other completely inconsequential topics that served no purpose other than unintentionally keeping me away from Blythe. My small clutch was running out of room for business cards and my brain was running out of new ways to say 'Let's connect sometime!' without sounding like a sarcastic bitch.
But, finally, I felt her hand on my arm once more, this time urgent. She whispered almost against my ear, her breath sending shivers up my spine, and asked, "Need a moment away?"
I nodded eagerly as her fingers brushed the small of my back. "Desperately."
Blythe raised her voice and turned to the group who'd been monopolizing my time with small talk and said, "Sorry, my loves, I need to go over a few business things with Daisy in private before the night ends, and I know she'll be dying to get home once you've all had your way with her."
With that, she smoothly and gracefully extracted me from everyone who wanted a word -- or a hundred -- and led me up the stairs. Outside on the balcony, that comfortable silence I remembered enveloped us both. We were finally genuinely alone. The balcony was off of the only solid, window-free wall in the home, through a door that blended in almost seamlessly. An almost-secret hideaway. Blythe's life seemed to be made of a series of increasingly private spaces.
The cold mountain air refreshed me after breathing the heady, hot atmosphere of the party for a few hours. Still, I let out a foggy breath and said, "God, it gets cold out here at night, doesn't it?"
"Let me warm you up, then," Blythe said. She took my wine glass and set it on the wide railing before wrapping me up in her arms. Standing behind me, she snaked her arms around my waist and rested her chin in the crook of my neck and shoulder. She muttered, "You look so stunning tonight. I already thought you were beautiful in your business getup, but this..."
She let out a heavy sigh as her hands grazed from my waist to my hips to my stomach and back again and again. I closed my eyes and leaned into her. My hands dropped to hers and we held each other like that, facing the low river valley that contrasted the sharp mountain range at the front of the house, for a long time. I was turned on by nothing more than her presence, but I was also relaxed in her embrace.
"You know," she went on, her voice low and sweet, "I'd be kissing you right now if it weren't for this lipstick. I thought it was a good idea at the time, but suddenly it seems like the dumbest decision I've ever made."
Fighting to keep my breaths steady now that I could feel her body against mine, feel her breath on my ear, feel her desire in the tightness of her arms, I replied, "I'm starting to feel exactly the same way."
"I was so worried you wouldn't." She laughed at herself and shook her head. "But as soon as I looked at you, I felt it. We've been craving each other."
I took a deep breath and turned around. Before I could lose my confidence, my fingers dropped to the single button that kept her skin from mine. I practically ripped her blazer open. I hadn't seen her tits in their entirety yet but it's all I'd been thinking about for days. Once her breasts were free, I devoured them with my eyes for a few seconds before allowing myself to touch them. She was basically my opposite. Her breasts were small enough for me to easily hold in my hands but still full and heavy. While my nipples were pink and close to flat and wide across the front of my larger bust, hers were medium brown, the size of quarters, and hard from the cold air and from her obvious arousal.
I traced my first two fingers along the golden chain that dropped down her stomach, savoring these first touches of her freckled pale skin. "You're perfect."
Careful not to press my lips too hard to her skin or smudge my lipstick, I flicked my tongue over one of her nipples, just enough to get it wet, and then blew a stream of freezing air on her. The satisfaction that flooded my brain when Blythe Sloan practically ground against me for more attention was addictive. I smirked and looked up at her while I rolled her other nipple between my thumb and forefinger. "Not so intimidating when you're desperate for me, huh?"
"Oh, got an attitude now, do you?" Blythe teased before yanking me upward, flipping me around, and pushing me against the wooden wall in one fluid motion that stole the air from my lungs. With one hand on the wall on either side of my head, pinning me back with her body, she murmured, "Careful, Daisy."
