“I’d like to add for the record, Ms. Gilmour, that I can assure you there are no bugs in my house.”
“Just get rid of it!”
“Don’t you want to inspect it first?” He holds up the tissue he found, which now serves as the roach’s coffin.
He chases me screaming around the tiny apartment before flushing it down the toilet. Then he does a thorough inspection of every corner of the studio looking for the bug’s friends. Finally, he kisses me saying, “I’ll always take care of you, Addison, no matter how big the bug.”
And then I sort of melt in his arms, a happy end to a day that began with me sneaking away from him in the gray morning light.
Rex
I was being serious when I told Addison I’d always take care of her, and not just from bugs crawling around her apartment.
When Damien’s name was brought up I purposely didn’t tell her how right she was about her initial vibes about him being a total scumbag. I definitely don’t plan on telling her how I almost had to kick the shit out of him for the way he talked about her.
I have to protect her from dirt like him—I don’t want her to worry unnecessarily. Already I feel like it’s my job to protect Addison, and it’s a job I’m completely genuine about.
The moment I left her apartment I felt that I had left a piece of myself behind. I never would have thought I’d feel so comfortable in such a shithole apartment and with someone I just met, but with Addison by my side, it’s like I’d feel at home anywhere. As I drove away, all I thought about was seeing her again. If that could have been my full-time job, I’d have taken it.
Unfortunately, I have actual work to do. I can’t let my infatuation with her get in the way of my true goal: taking control of the family business, right out from under my know-it-all big brothers. Seeing the shocked looks on their smug faces when they find out that it’s their little brother who wins the company prize is what keeps me going. I might still be able to convince Addison to marry me despite her reservations, but in the meantime I’m just going to continue doing a killer job at the office, enjoy spending time with Addison and figure something else out in a week or so. I’ll come up with something, of that I’m sure.
As I work through the day, Addison is always on my mind, needling there in the forefront like an itch I can’t scratch.
As I sit on a conference call with the acquisitions team, I’m sending an email to Marjorie, my assistant, telling her to send an enormous bouquet of white flowers to Addison’s address. Through the entire call I think about how to sign the card. More, please, I decide for the inscription.
My dick twitches just thinking about what it is I want more of.
“Do those numbers work for you, Rex?” Danny says on the other end of the call, interrupting my chuckles at my own cleverness.
I quickly unmute the phone, “Yeah, that’s perfect,” I say. “Send them to me in an email so I have a copy before you pull the trigger.” That way, I’ll know what he’s actually talking about before any deals are made. I won’t look like I wasn’t paying attention.
Just two nights after spending the night at her little place, I’m driving home from work late, and it seems like my car just steers itself to her place, even though it’s completely out of the way of work and home.
Her face lights up when she opens the door to me. I know then that she’s been thinking of me too. I pull her into my arms and kiss her, the feeling of her against me so strangely right.
“Did you miss me?” I ask.
She runs her hands through my hair. “A little.”
I tug her closer. “Liar.”
“Okay, a lot,” she says, and when she kisses me I want everything to fall away, including my phone, which keeps pinging texts in my pocket. “You need to answer those?”
I glance at my phone. More stuff from work, everything pressing, the problems and crucial deadlines never-ending. I silence my phone and drop it on the scratched-up table. “No,” I tell Addison. “I need you.”
“But Mr. Croft, I hardly know you,” she says.
“So get to know me,” I say back, kissing her neck as her head falls back.
And so it begins. Once my hands have a hold of her body, I can’t do anything but let them roam all over her.
After all, there are still places on her body which I haven’t yet explored—whether with my hands or my mouth—and so I get to work.
Addison is more than willing to let me. Tonight she wears a tank top, which is blessedly too small, and she’s not wearing a bra, so I’m all over that. I can’t get her tits in my mouth fast enough. She’s holding the back of my head, always pulling me closer, her kitten moans causing me to get harder and harder, my dick always straining for her, needing her. When I’m inside her, I’m still not close enough, and the way she claws at my back seems to say she feels the same.
When we come, we come together.
Afterward, slick with sweat and waiting for our hearts to return to their normal beat patterns, Addison says, “Hey, thanks for the flowers. They’re gorgeous. Huge, but gorgeous.”
“Just wanted to let you know I was thinking of you.”
“It looked like you were thinking of me a lot,” she says.
“What does that mean?” I ask, feeling guarded.
“Rex, did you see the flowers you sent? They’re enormous. Look.” She points to an arrangement that is at least four feet high. “I’ve never gotten flowers like that before. I’ve never seen flowers like that before.”
I turn on my side and rest my head in my hand. “You should get flowers like that every day.” I run my hand across her belly and up to her breast, holding it gently. Her eyes close a little.
“I’d have nowhere to put them. But really, thank you. They’re beautiful. You didn’t have to do that.”
“No, I didn’t, but I love doing it.” I kiss her again, and the way she kisses me back, I think she really should get a bouquet a day.
As the days go by I realize I can’t go twenty-four hours without seeing her. It physically pains me. We spend parts of the days texting each other, and more than once Marjorie has had to ask me to follow up on emails or phone calls. Things slip my mind as if the space Addison takes up is too abundant. I start going to her apartment every night after work, and I start leaving work earlier and earlier. One night I leave at seven—the earliest I’ve left the office since I was an intern in high school.
Each time I show up at her place, I make sure to have a little something for her. I scheduled a lunch meeting with my personal shopper, Rachel, and chose several gifts for Addison, which I handpicked from a curated selection.
“Oh my god, Rex, it’s gorgeous,” Addison says to the Hermès scarf I give her one night. The pure joy on her face and they way her fingers carefully tickle the fabric show me that she’s never held such fine clothing before. It’s fun for me to see someone appreciate the nice things with such a warm perspective. Not like someone like Monica Saunders, who would take the scarf as a matter of course. She’d toss it in a drawer with twenty others just like it.
“The next time I come over,” I tell Addison, “I want you to answer the door wearing only that scarf.”