The Collector | 18+

【28】Let the Digging Begin

There was no doubt that I'd always done my best to be a strong and independent woman. But it had never felt more true than when I'd pushed Mr. Westergaard away, regardless of how much I'd enjoyed his warm lips on my throat. He'd set me on fire, my insides growing hot and quivering, dying to take what he was offering so shamelessly.

It had taken every single ounce of strength I possessed to rip myself away from his arms, and then to keep my composure and walk away. As soon as I'd been alone in the gallery, though, I'd collapsed against the door, limbs trembling with need, my heart thumping against my ribs.

Fuck, I should have brought Gigi with me, I'd thought to myself.

Then, upon entering my room, I'd felt smarter than I had in a while, praising myself for taking my vibrator with me. I'd anticipated that I might need some bean flicking to appease the tension within me, so I'd packed the toy among my things. A long shower and two orgasms later, I'd slipped into the lush bed, safely tucked under the heavy duvet, the luxurious sheets grazing my overly sensitive skin. Then, I'd tried to call Gigi, but she was either at work or busy, which made me realize I wouldn't be able to count on her to keep Ulrik Westergaard away.

Sleep had taken forever to arrive, despite the exhaustion of the past couple of days, and I'd stared at the ceiling in the dark room, reliving over and over the moment we'd had. Then I'd heard his footsteps passing by my door, and I'd tensed all over, expecting something to happen. But nothing did, and the sounds of him were gone as swiftly as they'd arrived.

I'd dreamt of him twice since meeting him, and only one had been somehow sexy. To think he'd experienced detailed and naughty dreams of me felt...invasive. And yet, I was jealous of it. If I wouldn't indulge in real life, I at least wanted to experience his ministrations in my dreams, even if it was all a figment of my imagination.

But as they say, ask and you shall receive...

I woke up the next morning with a shocked jump, fresh out of a very vivid dream where he was fucking me senseless. After a quick do over with my silicon buddy and a brief shower to feel less dirty, I exited my room ready for the day. Or at least, as ready as I'd ever be.

As I walked toward the living area, I could hear voices, one his, low and raspy, and one Yuko's. But I couldn't make out their words, and it was only when I reached the kitchen that I understood why. They were speaking in Japanese. It seemed they were having somewhat of an argument with hushed voices, and Yuko had the high ground, scolding him gently. He was seated with his back to me by the high counter separating the kitchen from the rest of the room, and she was on the kitchen's side, cutting something I couldn't see.

She noticed me first, and that put their exchange to a swift end. "Miss Mila! Good morning. I hope you sleep well."

Mr. Westergaard turned to me, his intense cerulean eyes making something flip in my lower stomach. Half an hour ago, those very eyes had invaded my dreams, looking down at me with intensity as he'd ravaged me. Damn, hoping for wet dreams of him had been a terrible idea.

He was wearing an immaculate white shirt, which molded his powerful body to perfection, and a pair of light gray suit pants with shiny brown leather shoes at his feet. Would he leave today to attend a meeting somewhere? Had my wishes been heard, and he had an impromptu business trip planned?

"I did, thank you," I lied to Yuko, offering her a smile and averting my eyes from him. "How about you?"

"Oh, I sleep so well when it rains. It's like a... Like a..." As she'd done the day before, she mumbled the word in Japanese.

"Lullaby," Mr. Westergaard told her.

"Yes, it's like lullaby."

"I get that. I feel the same," I explained with a smile.