Chapter 41: Aftermath of Business
The silence on the line stretched, taut and electric, broken only by the soft, wet sound of Ethan’s slow, persistent rhythm inside her. Olivia watched his reflection, saw the shock in his eyes morph into a dark, proud heat. She hadn’t planned to say it, not so baldly, but the words had felt true as they left her lips, a confession shaped by the fullness of him inside her.
From the speaker, Eleanor let out a long, slow breath that crackled with static. It wasn’t a sound of disapproval, Olivia realized. It was the sound of a world rearranging itself.
“Well,” Eleanor said finally, her voice softer, older. “That… certainly explains a few things.”
Olivia laughed, a genuine, relieved sound that made her body clench around Ethan, earning a sharp, pleasured gasp from him. “Does it?”
“The… particular brand of contentment in your voice lately,” Eleanor murmured. “The way he looks at you in those rare photos together. I’d chalked it up to a mother’s pride, but… it was something else, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” Olivia breathed, pushing back against Ethan, who had resumed his movements, now with a renewed, almost reverent intensity. “It was something else entirely.”
Ethan’s hands smoothed over her hips, his thumbs rubbing circles into the small of her back. He leaned forward, his chest pressing against her spine, his lips close to her ear not occupied by the phone. “She’s not… mad?” he whispered, the words a hot puff against her skin.
Olivia shook her head minutely, her eyes slipping shut for a second as he hit a perfect, deep angle. “I don’t think so, baby,” she whispered back.
“I’m not mad, Ethan,” Eleanor’s voice came through, clear and surprisingly gentle. “Startled, certainly. A mother expects many things for her child, but this… wasn’t on the list. But I’m not mad.”
Ethan rested his forehead between Olivia’s shoulder blades, his breath shuddering out. “Okay,” he mumbled, the word thick with a complex relief.
“Are you happy, Olivia?” Eleanor asked, her tone shifting to one of deep, maternal concern. “Truly?”
Olivia opened her eyes, meeting her own gaze in the mirror. Her face was flushed, her hair tousled, her lips swollen from being bitten. And her eyes… they were clear, bright, utterly unburdened. “I have never been happier in my life, Mum,” she said, and the conviction in her voice was absolute. “Not even close.”
Eleanor was quiet for another moment. Then, a soft, accepting chuckle. “Alright then. That’s all that’s ever mattered to me. Your happiness.” A pause. “Although, I must admit, the logistics of it all are… rather baffling. How does one even… begin such a thing?”
Olivia smiled, a slow, wicked curve of her lips. She reached back with her free hand, the one not bracing on the vanity, and tangled her fingers in Ethan’s hair. “It began with a lot of wine,” she said honestly. “And a lot of loneliness after his father died. And one night, it just… shifted. The way he touched me changed. The way I wanted him to touch me changed.”
Ethan groaned softly against her skin, his hips stuttering in their rhythm. She could feel him thickening inside her, swelling with the memory.
“I see,” Eleanor said, and there was a new curiosity there now, an old woman’s fascination with a world she would never inhabit. “And now? It’s… regular?”
Olivia’s laugh was a throaty, decadent thing. “Mum, he works from home. In this very penthouse. My schedule is my own. Regular doesn’t begin to cover it.” She emphasized the point by rolling her hips back, taking Ethan deeper, making them both gasp. “He fucks me whenever he wants. However he wants. Morning, noon, night. Over the kitchen island. Bent over this vanity. Up against the windows where all of Manhattan could see if they looked closely enough.”
“Olivia,” Ethan warned, his voice a strangled mix of arousal and embarrassment.
“What?” she purred, twisting to look at him over her shoulder. “It’s true. Tell her, Ethan. Tell your grandmother how many times you’ve had me this week alone.”
His cheeks flushed a dark red, but his eyes held hers, defiant and proud. He cleared his throat, addressing the phone on the vanity. “It’s… hard to keep count, Grandma,” he said, his voice rough. “But… a lot. Twice yesterday. Once this morning before my first call. And now.”
“And that’s just the anal, darling,” Olivia added cheerfully, moaning as Ethan gave a particularly hard thrust, as if punishing her for her frankness. The pleasure-pain made her toes curl. “Don’t forget the other times. My mouth. My… well, everywhere else.”
The sound from the speaker was a choked sort of sputter, then a cough. “Everywhere else?” Eleanor repeated, her voice faint.
“He’s not shy with his… affections,” Olivia said, her own breath starting to come in shorter gasps as Ethan’s pace increased, the slapping sounds of their union growing louder, more rhythmic. “Or his… volume.”
As if on cue, Ethan’s control snapped. The conversation, the admissions, the sheer taboo of it all tipped him over an edge he’d been teetering on. His thrusts became faster, harder, piston-like drives that shoved Olivia forward against the vanity, making the perfume bottles tremble.
“Oh, fuck, mum,” he grunted, his hands clenching on her hips, surely leaving bruises. “I’m gonna… I can’t…”
“Then don’t,” Olivia commanded, her voice dropping to a husky, urgent whisper. “Give it to me. Give me all of it. Let her hear.”
It was the final permission he needed. With a ragged cry that was part triumph, part surrender, he buried himself to the hilt and erupted.
Olivia felt it instantly, a scalding, impossible flood that seemed to have no end. His cock pulsed and jerked within the tight clasp of her ass, and each pulse was a torrent. The familiar, incredible sensation of being filled, of being claimed in the most primal way, washed over her. It was more than physical; it was a profound, soul-deep stamp of possession. She cried out, a wordless, melodic sound of pure satisfaction, her own climax triggered by the feel of his release and the violent, beautiful helplessness of his pleasure.
For long seconds, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the faint, wet sounds from their joined bodies.
Then, a small, astonished voice came from the phone. “Goodness.”
Olivia, her forehead now resting on the cool marble of the vanity, giggled breathlessly. The sound was young, girlish. “You have no idea,” she panted.
Ethan was slumped over her, his weight a warm, comforting press. He was still inside her, still twitching sporadically, still seepingly full of him. He nuzzled her back, pressing a soft kiss between her shoulder blades. “Sorry,” he murmured, though he didn’t sound sorry at all.
“Don’t you dare apologize,” Olivia whispered back, tilting her head to try and see him. She reached a hand back, caressing his damp cheek.
Eleanor cleared her throat. “I take it the… event is concluded?”
“For now,” Olivia said, a playful lilt returning to her voice. She felt Ethan slip slowly from her body, a long, slick departure that made her shudder. The loss was always acute, a sudden emptiness she felt to her bones. She heard him move behind her, then the soft rustle of fabric.
When she straightened, pushing her hair from her face, she saw in the mirror that he had pulled his sweatpants up, though they hung low on his hips. He looked spent, beautifully ruined, his eyes soft and sated as he watched her.
Olivia turned, picking up the phone. She didn’t bother to cover herself; the sticky, cooling evidence of his possession was all over her back and thighs. “We’re back,” she said to her mother, her tone now one of easy, post-coital familiarity.
“I gathered,” Eleanor said drily. Then her voice softened. “Are you… are you alright, Ethan? This is a lot for a young man.”
Ethan walked up to Olivia, standing beside her so his reflection was next to hers. He slung an arm around her bare shoulders, pulling her close against his side. He looked directly at the phone, his expression earnest. “I’m more than alright, Grandma. I’m… I’m home.”
The simplicity of the statement hung in the perfumed air. Olivia leaned into him, her heart swelling.
“I can hear that,” Eleanor said softly. There was another pause, then a sound like a chair scraping. “Well, I’ve undoubtedly taken up enough of your… time. And I think I need a rather strong cup of tea.”
“Mum, wait,” Olivia said, an idea sparking. She looked at Ethan, a slow, mischievous smile spreading across her face. “Don’t go just yet.”
Ethan’s eyebrow quirked. He knew that look.
“Since you’re now officially in the know,” Olivia continued, her voice dropping into a purr, “why not get the full, immersive experience?”
“Olivia Hayes, what on earth are you suggesting?” Eleanor asked, but the curiosity was back, outweighing the shock.
Instead of answering, Olivia handed the phone to Ethan. “Talk to your grandmother,” she said, her eyes never leaving his. Then, slowly, purposefully, she sank to her knees before him.
Ethan’s breath caught. He looked from Olivia’s upturned, smiling face to the phone in his hand, its screen still showing the ongoing call. “Mum,” he breathed, a protest that was no protest at all.
“Go on,” Olivia whispered, her hands going to the waistband of his sweatpants. “Tell her about your day. About your code. About anything.”
She tugged, and the soft fabric fell away once more. He was already beginning to stir again, the sight of her on her knees, her lips parted, working its familiar magic.
Ethan brought the phone to his ear, his voice slightly unsteady. “Uh, hey, Grandma.”
“Ethan, dear,” Eleanor replied, her voice careful. “What’s happening now?”
Olivia didn’t wait. She leaned forward, her tongue darting out to trace a slow, wet line from the base of his shaft to the tip. He jumped, a sharp inhale hissing through his teeth.
“N-not much,” Ethan stammered, his eyes glued to Olivia as she took the broad, flushed head into her mouth. Her tongue swirled around the crown, collecting the last traces of his previous release mixed with her own essence. “Just… just finished up a project deployment. Automated security protocols.”
“That sounds complicated,” Eleanor said, and Olivia could hear the faint smile in her voice. She was playing along.
“It is,” Ethan managed, as Olivia took more of him in, her lips stretching into a perfect ‘O’ around his girth. She hollowed her cheeks, applying suction, and his free hand came down to tangle in her hair. “Lots of… uh… nested parameters. Conditional loops.”
Olivia began to move, bobbing her head in a slow, sensual rhythm. She hummed around him, the vibration traveling straight to his core. His fingers tightened in her hair.
“Conditional loops,” Eleanor repeated, amusement now coloring her tone. “And what conditions are we satisfying now, dear?”
Ethan choked on a laugh that turned into a groan as Olivia took him deep, her nose pressing into his skin. She held him there, her throat working around him, before pulling back with a wet, obscene pop.
“The condition… of mum’s mouth,” he got out, his voice tight. “God… sorry, Grandma.”
“Don’t apologize on my account,” Eleanor said, and Olivia could practically hear her settling back into her chair, a spectator to a most private show. “Please, continue.”
Emboldened, Olivia increased her pace. She used her hands now, one cupping and gently squeezing his heavy balls, the other stroking what her mouth couldn’t yet take. She was a study in practiced, worshipping devotion. Her eyes, glazed with pleasure, looked up at him, silently urging him on.
“She’s… she’s so good at this,” Ethan moaned into the phone, his hips beginning to make tiny, involuntary thrusts. “Takes me so deep. Like she was made for it.”
“I imagine she’s had some practice,” Eleanor commented, and the mundanity of the observation amidst the lewd act was wildly erotic.
“Every day,” Ethan confirmed, his breath coming faster. “Sometimes… oh, fuck… sometimes more than once. She wakes me up with her mouth. Finds me during lunch breaks. Waits for me after work… right here… on her knees.”
Olivia redoubled her efforts, her head moving faster, her slurping sounds growing louder, more purposeful. She could feel him hardening further, thickening, the veins standing out against her tongue. She knew his tells—the tension in his thighs, the way his balls drew up tight. He was close again, and the knowledge made her own core clench with need.
“She loves it,” Ethan gasped, his monologue becoming a raw, running commentary. “Loves the taste. Loves when I… when I finish in her mouth. Says it’s her favorite vitamin.”
“Is that so?” Eleanor murmured.
“Yeah,” Ethan panted. “And she… she swallows. Every drop. Never wastes a… oh, Christ, mum, right there…”
Olivia had shifted her technique, focusing her tongue on the frenulum, that ultra-sensitive spot just below the head. She pressed hard, flicking rapidly, and his legs trembled.
“Ethan?” Eleanor’s voice was a calm island in his storm. “Are you still there?”
“I’m… I’m here,” he choked out. “I’m gonna… she’s gonna make me…”
“Let her, dear,” Eleanor said, her voice surprisingly gentle. “Don’t hold back on my account.”
That was all the permission he needed. With a guttural shout that echoed in the tiled closet, Ethan came. His hand fisted in Olivia’s hair, holding her in place as the first jet hit the back of her throat.
It was, as always, a flood.
The first spurt was a hot, salty burst that she swallowed easily. The second was thicker, more voluminous, coating her tongue. She milked him with her hand, coaxing out the rest. Rope after rope of pearly cum followed, painting the inside of her mouth,
her throat working as she swallowed convulsively. The taste was musky and familiar, a flavor she had come to crave. He kept coming, the pulses seemingly endless, until a final, weaker trickle escaped the corner of her lips.
She held him until he softened, until his hand loosened its grip in her hair. Only then did she pull back, letting him slip from her mouth with a soft, wet sound. She looked up at him, his cum gleaming on her lips and chin, and smiled a victory smile.
Ethan, breathing heavily, stared down at her with raw adoration. He kept the phone pressed to his ear. “She… she did it again,” he said, his voice hoarse.
Olivia swallowed one last time, licking her lips clean. “Of course I did,” she said, her voice husky from the effort. She took the phone from Ethan’s slack hand, putting it back on speaker. “You still there, Mum?”
A beat of silence. Then, Eleanor’s voice, thick with a complex emotion. “I am.”
“Good,” Olivia said, pushing herself to her feet. Her legs were slightly weak, but she felt electrified. She took Ethan’s hand, leading him out of the closet. “Because I’m not done talking. And I’m certainly not done with him.”
They moved to the bedroom, a sprawling, sun-drenched space dominated by a huge bed with rumpled, silk sheets. Olivia guided Ethan to sit on the edge, his body languid and pliant. She kept the phone in her hand, holding it between them like a confessional microphone.
“What else is there to say, darling?” Eleanor asked, her tone one of exhausted bemusement.
“Everything,” Olivia said, climbing onto the bed to straddle Ethan’s lap. He was still mostly soft, but the feel of her naked skin against his stirred him quickly. She settled over him, guiding him to her entrance. Not her ass this time, but her slick, waiting core. “You wanted to know how it works? The logistics?”
She sank down onto him in one smooth, practiced motion, her head tipping back with a low, satisfied moan that she made no effort to mute. Ethan’s hands flew to her hips, steadying her, his eyes rolling back in his head.
“It works like this,” Olivia breathed into the phone, beginning to move, a slow, grinding roll of her hips. “He wakes up hard. Sometimes I’m already awake, watching him. Sometimes he wakes me by sliding inside me before my eyes are even open.”
Ethan groaned beneath her, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her ass. “Mum…”
“Shhh,” she soothed, riding him with deliberate, deep strokes. “I’m telling Grandma a story.” She focused back on the phone. “We shower together. He fucks me against the glass until it steams up and the whole city disappears.”
“Olivia,” Eleanor sighed, but there was no censure left.
“After his first work call,” Olivia continued, her pace increasing, her breaths coming shorter, “he’ll find me in the kitchen. I’ll be making coffee, wearing nothing but his old t-shirt. He’ll lift me onto the counter and eat me out until I scream. Then he’ll bend me over it and take me from behind while the coffee burns.”
Her words were graphic, unflinching. She was painting a picture of a life utterly saturated with sex, a domestic routine where desire was the main chore.
“It’s not just fucking,” Olivia gasped, as Ethan thrust up to meet her, filling her completely. “It’s… worship. When he comes inside me, Mum… you can’t imagine it. The feeling. It’s so much. It’s like he’s marking me from the inside out.”
Ethan’s movements became more urgent, his hips pistoning upward. His eyes were locked on her face, watching her unravel as she narrated their depravity.
“His loads,” she whispered, leaning forward so her breasts brushed against his chest, her lips close to the phone. “You have no idea. It’s not normal. It’s… biblical. He pumps me so full I can feel it for hours afterward. I walk around this apartment with his seed leaking down my thighs, a reminder of where he’s been.”
“Jesus,” Ethan choked out, his hands sliding up to grip her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples.
“And my face,” Olivia continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, even as her body undulated atop his. “He loves to paint my face. After he’s filled me up, he’ll pull out and stroke himself, covering my tits, my neck, my mouth. He makes me look used. Ruined. And I love it. I sit there with his cum dripping off my chin and I feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.”
She was lost in it now, the confession as arousing as the physical act. The line between audience and participant had dissolved entirely. Eleanor was no longer just her mother; she was a witness to their truth.
“How many times?” Eleanor asked quietly. “In a day?”
Olivia laughed, a breathless, joyous sound. “However many he wants. However many I need. Three. Five. Once, last week, we lost count. We started on the balcony at dawn and didn’t stop until the moon was up. He took me in every room, in every way.”
Beneath her, Ethan was reaching his peak again. She could feel the telltale swell, the hard throb deep inside her. She clenched around him, milking him, urging him on.
“He’s going to come again, Mum,” Olivia announced, her voice breaking. “He’s going to fill me up right now, while you listen. And I’m going to come with him. Because that’s what we do. We fall together.”
That was the final trigger. With a ragged shout that was part sob, part triumph, Ethan convulsed beneath her. His release was another scalding flood, a seemingly impossible volume that spurted deep into her womb. The sensation of being filled so completely, so mercilessly, tipped Olivia over her own edge. Her orgasm tore through her, a silent, seismic event that made her back arch and her vision whiten. She froze atop him, her entire body seizing as waves of perfect, obliterating pleasure crashed through her.
For a long minute, there was only the sound of their synced, desperate breathing and the faint rustle of sheets.
Olivia finally collapsed forward, draping herself over Ethan’s sweat-slicked chest. The phone was crushed between them. She fumbled for it, bringing it to her ear.
“You still there?” she whispered, her voice utterly spent.
A long, long pause. Then, Eleanor’s voice, softer than Olivia had ever heard it. “I’m here, darling.”
“And?” Olivia prompted, nuzzling into Ethan’s neck. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, his heartbeat a frantic drum against her ear.
“And… I believe you,” Eleanor said. There was a rustling sound, as if she was shifting in her chair. “I believe you’re happy. Truly, madly, deeply happy. In a way I never was. In a way I never understood was possible.”
A lump formed in Olivia’s throat. That was the closest thing to a blessing she would ever get.
“It’s not conventional,” Eleanor continued, a wry note entering her voice. “It’s frankly… shocking. But my god, Olivia. The life in your voice when you talk about him… I haven’t heard that since you were a girl.”
Tears pricked Olivia’s eyes. She blinked them back.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“Don’t thank me,” Eleanor said, and Olivia could hear the smile in her tone. “Just… be careful. The world won’t understand.”
“The world doesn’t need to know,” Ethan said, his voice rumbling through his chest against Olivia’s ear.
“No,” Eleanor agreed. “It doesn’t.” She sighed, a sound of finality and acceptance. “Well, my tea is now stone cold. And I feel I’ve aged a decade in the last hour.”
“Love you, Mum,” Olivia said.
“I love you too, darling. Both of you.” The line clicked softly, then went silent.
Olivia dropped the phone onto the rumpled duvet. She lay perfectly still, listening to the steady thump of Ethan’s heart slowing, feeling the slow seep of him inside her. The silence was different now. Lighter. The last secret was out.
“She knows,” Ethan whispered into her hair.
“She knows,” Olivia confirmed, snuggling closer. A giddy, reckless feeling bubbled up inside her. A door had been unlocked. A boundary dissolved.
After a while, Ethan shifted. “You’re going to be sore,” he said, his voice filled with a tender concern that belied their recent acts.
“I’m always sore,” she replied, smiling against his skin. “It’s my favorite ache.”
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through her. His hand stroked her back, a soothing, repetitive motion.
“Lake Como,” he murmured after a few minutes.
“Hmm?”
“With the ticket. You really got me a ticket.”
Olivia propped herself up on her elbows to look at him. “Of course I did. I’m not spending four days in Italy without you. Who’s going to fuck me against the vineyard trellises? Who’s going to come on my face while I look at the lake?”
He shook his head in wonder, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw. “You’re insane.”
“And you love it.”
“I do,” he said, utterly serious. “I love you.”
She kissed him then, a slow, deep, languid kiss that tasted of salt and them. When she pulled back, a mischievous glint lit her eyes. “I’m still hungry.”
Ethan raised an eyebrow. “You just drank about a gallon of me.”
“Not for that,” she said, slapping his chest playfully. “For actual food. I skipped lunch for that call with Sandrine.”
He grinned, the boyish, easy smile that still made her heart skip. “What do you want?”
“Pasta,” she said decisively, rolling off him and sitting up. The loss of him was a physical chill. “Something with a lot of cream. I need to replenish my strength.”
“Your wish is my command,” he said, swinging his legs off the bed. He stood, a tower of lean muscle and satisfaction, and offered her his hand.
She took it, letting him pull her up. They stood naked together in the afternoon sun, sticky and spent and utterly connected.
“I’ll shower first,” he said. “You go order. Get that truffle carbonara from Giovanni’s.”
“Deal,” she said, padding toward the bathroom. She paused at the door, looking back at him. He was pulling on a fresh pair of boxers, his back to her, the muscles shifting under his skin. “Ethan?”
“Yeah, mum?”
“Thank you,” she said softly.
He turned, his expression open. “For what?”
“For not being weird about the phone call. For… letting her in.”
He crossed the room in two strides, cupping her face in his hands. “There’s nothing to be weird about. This is us. This is real. If someone else knows, even your mum… it just makes it more real.”
She stood on her toes and kissed him, a quick, firm press of gratitude. Then she disappeared into the bathroom, leaving the door open.
The shower turned on, steam beginning to billow out. Ethan picked up the phone from the bed, the screen now dark. He looked at it for a long moment, a small, incredulous smile on his face. Then he tossed it onto the nightstand and followed her into the steam.
Under the hot spray, they washed each other with a practiced, intimate familiarity. His hands soaped her back, her ass, lingering between her thighs. She returned the favor, stroking him slowly back to semi-hardness just for the pleasure of feeling him grow under her touch. They didn’t speak. The water sluiced away the sweat, the evidence, leaving only clean skin and a deeper closeness.
Afterwards, wrapped in thick, white robes, they moved to the kitchen. Olivia called Giovanni’s, ordering the carbonara and a bottle of crisp Pinot Grigio. Ethan opened the fridge, pulling out ingredients for a salad with a distracted ease.
The domestic normalcy was a perfect counterpoint to the raw sexuality of the last hour. Olivia perched on a barstool at the island, watching him chop cucumbers. The sunlight caught the damp ends of his hair. He looked young, content, utterly at home.
“Do you think she’ll tell anyone?” Ethan asked, not looking up from his task.
Olivia considered it. “No. She’s not a gossip. And besides, who would she tell? Her bridge club? ‘My daughter is being royally fucked by her son, pass the scones’?”
Ethan snorted, a laugh escaping him. “When you put it like that.”
“It’s our secret,” Olivia said, simply. “Hers now too. But it’s safe.”
The food arrived, delivered by a uniformed man who didn’t blink at Olivia answering the door in her robe, her hair still damp. They ate at the kitchen table, the rich, creamy pasta a perfect comfort. The wine was cool and bright on Olivia’s tongue.
Halfway through the meal, Ethan’s work phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at it, his brow furrowing slightly.
“Problem?” Olivia asked, twirling pasta onto her fork.
“Just the team lead,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Asking about the deployment logs from this morning. I should probably…”
“Go,” she said, waving her fork. “Do your boy genius thing. I’ll clean up.”
He leaned over and kissed her, a quick, grateful peck. “You’re the best.”
“I know,” she smirked.
He disappeared into his home office down the hall, closing the door. The soft click of a keyboard soon followed.
Olivia finished her wine, savoring the quiet. She cleared the plates, loading them into the dishwasher with a methodical calm. The events of the afternoon replayed in her mind—the power play of the contract call, the shocking intimacy of the conversation with her mother, the visceral, undeniable pleasure of Ethan’s body against hers. It all felt like pieces of a puzzle she hadn’t known she was assembling, finally clicking into a coherent, breathtaking picture.
This was her life. Not the life on magazine covers, but the one lived in this penthouse of glass and desire. It was messy, taboo, and exquisitely hers.
She was wiping down the counter when she felt it—a familiar, deep ache blooming low in her belly. A phantom pulse. A reminder. She paused, leaning against the cold marble.
It wasn’t enough. The quiet, the fullness from the food, the normalcy… it was a lovely backdrop, but it wasn’t the main event. Not for her. Not today.
A slow smile spread across her face. She glanced down the hall towards Ethan’s closed office door. He was working. He was being responsible.
She could be patient. She could wait.
Or she could not.
Olivia untied the belt of her robe, letting it fall open. She didn’t shrug it off, just let it hang loose, exposing the smooth plane of her stomach, the flare of her hips. She walked barefoot across the cool floor to his office.
The door was solid, modern. She didn’t knock. She simply turned the handle and pushed it open.
Ethan was silhouetted against the wall of windows, the sprawling New York skyline a glittering tapestry behind him. He wore headphones and was speaking softly into his headset mic, his eyes fixed on one of three large monitors displaying lines of code.
“…the encryption layer is bypassing the legacy API, that’s why the null values are propagating. We need to reroute the query through the new endpoint…”
He glanced up as she entered. His sentence trailed off. His eyes, reflected in the glow of the screens, widened slightly, then darkened. He held up a finger to her, a silent ‘one moment.’
Olivia leaned against the doorframe, one hand resting on the jamb, the other casually holding her robe open. She made no other move. She just watched him, letting him look his fill.
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He clicked his mouse a few times, his gaze darting between her and the screen. “Uh, Mark, I’m gonna have to jump off. Something’s… come up on my end. Let me reconfigure the pipeline and I’ll ping you in an hour.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. He pulled the