It was too modern.
Too simple.
Phoebe wasn’t a simple person. She was chaos in a slowly moving world.
I doubted she saw herself that way, but that was something I appreciated in her.
For every action, Newton said, there was an equal and opposite reaction. That was what happened around Phoebe. Men stopped and checked her out, but she didn’t notice the traffic jam that backed up because of her. Her kind smile could light up a room, but to her, because she was deep in thought, she might as well have been tucked in among the shadows.
She didn’t expect the world to stop turning for her, but she should.
Last night, after she’d complied, after she’d obeyed me, and after I’d managed not to whip her with my words for the feelings she inspired in me, I realized I needed to build her up, not drag her down.
Even if it put me in emotional peril.
The world had already had its ill effects on her. She should be bubbling with confidence, the life and soul of any party, but she wasn’t. She was too tired from all the running around she did.
But that needed to change.
I’d come to realize that last night.
By bringing her here, everything had changed, nothing was the same. Including me. And our relationship.
So, even if building up her esteem, forging the walls of her confidence meant I lost her in the end, I’d do it. Because to me, she was the woman and I didn’t want to be the bastard who brought her down.
Some sacrifices were worth making, and because I wasn’t good enough for her in the first place, this was less of a sacrifice than it might have been otherwise.
“You’re looking at me funny,” she chided, as she placed the plate on the table in front of me.
“Just thinking,” I replied easily, switching my focus to the eggs, bacon, and grilled tomatoes and mushrooms on my plate. This came after yesterday’s oatmeal, and then some kind of chia pudding the day before, something that had told me she’d raided my cupboards to find them—my PT had insisted they were a great way to bulk up a shake, but I loathed them.
Somehow, she’d made them palatable.
Another miracle.
“About?” she tested, her gaze darting to mine before retreating to her plate. She had an egg white omelet, no bacon, and more veggies.
Boring.
Even as I wondered if she was trying to eat healthy because of me, or if it was simply because she had the run of the food in the cupboards, I said, “Just wondering what you’re going to do while I’m at work today.”
“Get some transcribing done. Your friend sent over a lot more sheets last night.” Yeah, and it had taken me over a fucking hour to get that done. “I’m not sure where she gets all her notes from!”
Maybe I was a glutton for punishment, because I asked, “Are they boring?”
“The notes?” When I nodded, she frowned as she chewed on her omelet. “No. The job is, I guess. It’s tedious, but I like the way she thinks. Doesn’t she show them to you?”
I snorted. “No.”
The brisk answer had her shrugging. “Shame, because the stories and insights are good. I wonder what she’s going to do with them once they’re all transcribed.”
“Publish them, probably.” I scratched my chin as the lie tripped easily from my lips. “What about Scottie?”
“I found an app. I couldn’t afford it before, but you pay to subscribe and the sitters are registered locally.”
I frowned. “That’s not ideal, is it? They could be anyone.”
She reached up and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m not sure what else to do.”
Because I wasn’t either, I fell silent as I pondered the situation, then, when the solution came to me, asked, “What about a nanny?”
She gaped at me a second before cascading into giggles. “N-N-Nanny?” she spluttered, going so far as to slap the table which, of course, had Scottie mimicking her until it was like being at a Blue Man concert without any blue men in the vicinity.
I stared at her with a frown. “What’s so hilarious?”
“How can I afford a N-N-Nanny?”
And that set her off again.
“I’ll pay,” I offered, huffing at her humor that came at my expense.
“You damn well won’t.” Like that, her amusement switched off and she glowered at me. “Scottie is my responsibility, not yours. I’ll work something out.”
“It seems impractical—”
“Maybe it is, but that’s the reality for a lot of women in my position.” She blew out a breath, then, eyes softening, said, “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I can’t allow myself to depend on you. I can’t. If I do, then when I leave here, it will be too hard to go back to the way things were before.”
I wanted to tell her that she was never leaving here, but that would make me sound like a kidnapper.
I wasn’t that bad.
At least, I didn’t think so.
Pulling a face, I raised my hands and said, “Do what you must, but if you need help, I don’t mind.”
“No, but I do.”
How had I failed to see how proud she was?
I wasn’t sure if I appreciated that in her or not.
She was right, to an extent. In her circumstances, it would be foolish to grow dependent on something that had no roots.
Which meant, I swiftly realized, that I needed to make those roots, and fast.
❖
I wanted to taste her.
Fuck.
I did.
I wasn’t sure how I stopped myself, didn’t know how it was possible, but as she hopped onto my desk like this was a regular thing to do in your professor’s office, lifted her skirt and showed me her pussy, my mouth watered with the need to suck on her clit, to slurp up her juices.
Because yes, she was wet.
Very wet.
And I wanted that all over my goddamn mouth.
My nails dug into the leather armrests on my desk chair as I watched her touch herself. The bloom of pink had gone from her cheeks now. She was no longer embarrassed, instead, she was turned on by what I had her do. Her eyes glinted; they weren’t cast down with mortification. Her skin was rosy, to be sure, but with desire and heat, the flush of pleasure.
The thrill of the forbidden had yet to bore her, but I wanted more. Truly, I did.
Could I have it?
Would she want it if I offered it to her?
She bit her bottom lip then trained her eyes on me, letting me know, without words, that she was really fucking me. That her fingers were my cock.
I was so out of practice, so out of the game that I didn’t know what to fucking say or do.
But the promise was there.
Waiting for me.
Shuddering, I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth. I felt like a caged bear. One who was made to dance and perform, one who was forced to do unnatural things by my owner—her. And in this, not touching her was the most unnatural thing I could think of.
And then she signed my death warrant.
“Please,” she whispered, the words low, breathy. Softer than a moan, more heartfelt than a murmur.
As she drew the one-syllable word into two, I bit off, “Get down, put your face to the desk, and stick your ass out.”
The excitement that overtook her almost had me panting. Her tits swayed beneath her shirt as she hurried to comply, and when her ass was inches away from my face, when I could smell her delicious pussy, I gripped the hand rests once more.