sweeter than Christmas cookies, baby.”
“Oh. You don’t have to do that—”
“Shh. I have”—Vaughn checked his watch—“thirty-two minutes to make you come on my tongue. Do you want this?”
“Y-yes,” I stammered.
“Good. No more talking unless you’re screaming my name.”
Chapter 7
I smoothed my skirt for what felt like the thirtieth time today. When Vaughn invited me to Christmas Eve with his mother, I thought he was joking. She lived in a penthouse in the Upper East Side and was known for throwing luxurious holiday parties. I’d hoped that my prior plans would get me out of it, but Adam had been team Vaughn lately. He had a theory that if I was getting daily orgasms, then I wouldn’t move to San Francisco.
His theory was proving to be right.
But dinner with his mother felt…too real.
“Stop fidgeting. You look perfect, Sena. Seriously, I’ve never seen a woman more beautiful,” Vaughn whispered in my ear as we rode the private elevator up to their home.
“What if your mother hates me?” I asked nervously.
“She won’t,” he promised, though his tone wasn’t all that convincing.
Mrs. Richards might have owned the Jet Times, but it was rare anyone actually saw her. She retired just before I started working there and was happy to live up in her castle, blissfully unaware of all the hard work we did.
The elevator doors opened, revealing a swanky party in full swing. Women in evening gowns were walking around, every square inch of the home was decorated for Christmas. Greenery and trees covered each corner. Waiters carrying trays were passing out cocktails and food. “May I take your jacket, miss?” a man to my right asked.
“Oh. Sure,” I clumsily replied before Vaughn helped me take off my coat and handed it to him.
“Hey, Jefferey,” Vaughn greeted with a nod before placing his hand at my lower back and guiding me to the dining room.
“Who even are all these people?” I hissed.
“No idea. My mother likes to beef up the guest list every year. Ah—thank you.” Vaughn grabbed two flutes of champagne and handed one to me.
“What if they recognize me from the drunk walkout I did at the holiday party?” I asked while nervously looking around. “What if your brother says something?”
“My brother was high as hell at the holiday party. He probably doesn’t even remember.”
That was reassuring. Yet another reason I wasn’t really looking forward to working with him, should I accept the new position at Jet Times.
“Oh! Vaughny!” a woman exclaimed. “Come here, son.”
I straightened my spine and turned around to look at the woman that called Vaughn. She was wearing a emerald green sequined Christmas dress that fell all the way to the floor and had a slit up to the thigh. Her bottle blonde hair was curled tightly against her head, and the bright diamonds on her fingers glistened under the twinkle lights. She had red lipstick, false lashes, and a plastic expression. She looked like she had spent a lot of money on Botox, and her stiff expression echoed that. She held out her hands for a hug, and Vaughn sighed while gliding over to her.
“Mother,” he greeted, though there was no warmth in his tone.
“Oh, darling, it’s so good to see you,” she exclaimed loudly before wrapping him in a hug and saying, “You were supposed to be here an hour ago. It’s embarrassing.”
He pulled away, his smile tight. “I apologize, Mother, I was helping Sena pick out a Christmas tree today, and we lost track of time.”
It had been a wonderful day. Vaughn, Adam, and I went to a local tree farm and spent hours comparing heights, branch thickness, and the overall aesthetic of each tree. Adam was exceptionally picky about his Christmas trees—as he was about everything else. Vaughn and I spent most of the time hiding and stealing kisses.
“Oh? And who is this?”
Vaughn placed his hand on my lower back. “Mother, this is Sena. She works at the Jet Times. I’m hoping she will be my replacement.”
“Oh! A coworker. Nice.”
My cheeks burned from embarrassment. Vaughn and I hadn’t exactly explained our relationship to one another. Labels felt a little too intense at the moment, especially since I was still talking with Mary about the San Francisco opportunity. But I was definitely more than a coworker. What exactly did you call someone that you were regularly hooking up with? Friends with benefits? Trial run girlfriend? Vaughn must have sensed my unease, because he opened his mouth to speak once more. Unfortunately, I’d never know what