Last Chance

trois

iii.

Nothing thoroughly enraptured Caleb Breland more than sex, fine wine and baroque music.

But vanquishing a cross examination held a perilously close candle to each. There was nothing like that triumphant stroll after wiping the floor with the face of the adversary.

Not to mention it relinquished him from the monotony of pushing paper and served as a blatant reminder that he loved what he did. There had been brief periods where the lull of corporate law and regulatory compliance was a stick in the mud but truthfully, he'd always found his way back to his niche.

There were even fewer things that called for celebration but getting his client off the hook and run amok, scot free definitely qualified as one. So come midmorning, Caleb made a call and shot out a few texts to the only person that would grant him bragging rights.

And shortly thereafter, they'd set plans to meet at a breakfast bar for a brunch that would supersede lunch. There he found two plates of perfect, steaming, chef-made meals on the table and Nicolette Jolie taking a forkful of her grilled chicken cutlets with Rosemary (or was it thyme?) and sliced lemon. Then with the very same hand, she'd nudged her sunglasses up and nestled it into the thick of her locks.

"Apologies for being late," greeted Caleb.

"You always knew how to keep a woman waiting, Breland." Nicolette quipped, seeming generally underwhelmed by his tardiness.

"How else am I supposed to make you miss me?" Caleb winked before she flushed and gestured for him to take a seat. He slid into his chair before assessing the hot plate before him and took note that she'd taken the liberty to order him the same meal. And if he were terrible enough, he'd decline and confess that he'd gone pescatarian.

But he wasn't and he didn't. Rather, he kept his mouth shut and inconspicuously ate in small increments (only truly tasting the asparagus) while eyeing the wine.

As a rule of thumb, Caleb didn't couple his white wines with darker meat. So he poured himself a glass of Sauvignon Blanc to complement it with his grilled lemon and the chicken cutlets that he idly stabbed with his utensil.

Fortunately, their conversation was sufficiently lively for his hunger to abate him. And before he knew it, bills were being footed and they began to saunter the streets in companionable quiet.

For as long as he'd known her, Nicolette and him always had the same line of thinking. And sure, there might have been a few sparks flying between them a few years ago but nothing came of it. Call it fear, call it lethargy (after all, they weren't mutually exclusive) but all he knew was that it had yet to burn out.

And perhaps it's why it's not necessary to speak of it. It's a mutual understanding, one that strayed clear from confirmations or implications that gave way to complications. He called, she answered and vice versa.

No. Questions. Asked.

After they caught a taxi and later clambered out of it some time later, Nicolette lead him toward a des res with a nondescript exterior. After stepping in and going up the lift, they stopped at a simply unremarkable door.

Tinkering her key into the lock, it wasn't long before she lead them deeper into a beautiful, decadent space that made a stark contrast to Vince's flat. The walls were made of copper-tone accents and divided by enormous, heavy curtains that cleaved the open spaces.

After shutting the door behind her and putting the key elsewhere, Nicolette threw a backward glance at Caleb over the curve of her shoulder before she slipped out of her heels and cupped a fistful of her hair then tossed it aside. He gathered what she was hinting at and stepped forward to unzip her dress until her back was bared to him. 

She murmured gratitude before shimmying out of the silk fabric, letting it pool around her feet before she sauntered between the slit of curtains and disappeared behind it.

Moments passed.

Then Caleb heard the distinct sound of knickers dropping.

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Hands on his shoulders, nails bitting into the skin, Caleb flipped her on her front, coaxing her to arch before roping her hair around his hand. With just the right amount of pressure, they moved in perfect tandem. His fingertips just barely brushed against the bare skin of her waist, just aside the space between her thighs.

He pressed his face just centimetres off from hers and let the warmth of his minty breath waft by her ear. Nicolette's breathing hitched when his touch roamed further and slid down her leg, curling toward her inner thigh.

His fingers pressed deeper into her skin as he gently suckled the lobe of her ear then let his head drop to her neck. It wasn't long after he pecked her jaw and above the collarbone that she gasped out.

"Vite. Plus vite Caleb," she pleaded.

Only for him to answer, "I do what I want."

Despite the insolence, the husk in his voice had managed to send a tremor down her spine and stoked a fire between her legs that only he knew how to put out. It's for this reason, she suspected, that he started to pummel her at a cruel and unusually slow pace.

A little while later, she felt sharp air blow by her face and his weight give out atop her. He kissed her hair then let the tingling of their sweat-slick bodies wash over them as they laid together.

It's only half an hour later that Caleb detangled himself from a nearly catatonic Nicolette and subsequently, from the sheets. He extracted his clothes from the floor and headed toward the bathroom where he discarded his items on the counter top before shutting the door behind him.

It's just when he cranked the shower's valve that he heard his mobile set off, the vibration of in an incoming call made a loud and incessant buzz. Albeit the rivulets from the shower head pelted the bath hard enough to mask the sound of it.

Caleb backtracked and sighed, before picking up his mobile and answered the call. "Breland," he answered in the same fashion he always did; some attested it to be too cold and impersonal.

"Caleb," he heard down the line, "I need you to head back to your office."

"I'm having a personal day, Vince," Caleb said, peering at his fogged reflection that the heat of the shower's vapour clouded over. He grazed his hand over it to gaze at his eyes through the sliver of clarity. "Whatever it is, it can wait."

"No – "

"Send my love to Elle, yeah?"

"Stop fucking around, you tosser," he hissed, "your bony arse should be at the firm like yesterday!"

Caleb felt his brows tug closer together at the undercurrent of urgency and trepidation in his friend's voice. "Vince, what's wrong?"

"It's Stella," he said, "she's in your office."

"What?" Caleb half-chocked.

"She said she isn't going anywhere until she sees you."