“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Reminding you that I’m still in control, despite you thinking you are. Don’t forget I’m your boss, Charlee.”
“You might be my boss in the office, but you’re not my boss in the bedroom.” She pushes against my arms until I free her. She sidesteps away, exits the bathroom, and then drops the towel so I’m exposed to her backside. Her ass is more perfect than I could ever have imagined. My hands itch to grab it, to teach her a lesson, but the farther she walks into the room, the more she fades into the dark. Then she does something I was not expecting: she slips into the bed, with her back toward me.
Fucking naked, in my bed . . . in our bed.
Turning away, I grip the bathroom counter and stare into the mirror. My shoulders are practically kissing my ears from how tense I am. My jaw is clenched so tight, I’m afraid I’ll crack a molar, and my dick is as fucking hard as stone, pressing against the fabric of my boxer briefs. Holy fuck. Why is she doing this? What the hell does she mean by this? Why are women so hard to understand? Does she want me to make a move? She must know how enticing she is. She must. In my horny state, am I meant to understand this? I mean, I heard her words earlier today, but surely that doesn’t mean she wants me to fuck her. “If you’re going to be married to me, you’re going to give me one hundred percent of you, do you understand?” Nope. I don’t understand. Fuck.
I quickly take care of my contacts trying to gain back any semblance of self-control before I jump into bed, but the longer I stay in the bathroom, the longer the anticipation of slipping under the sheets is killing me, driving me to the brink of insanity. I turn off the bathroom light and let the city light illuminate the room. It casts a silhouette on her body as I climb in. I consider taking my boxer briefs off as well but don’t want to freak her out. Nor do I want to assume anything.
Swallowing hard, I ask, “Comfortable?”
“Mmm . . . very.”
Fucking hell, that sound of contentment, it makes my dick bob to the sky, eats away at my restraint. Do I reach out to her? Touch her? Skim her back? Allow myself to give in to the sweet torture I’m feeling, the ache that’s thrumming through my bones?
I lie on my back, hands propped behind my head, and stare at the ceiling, a million questions running through my head, but one prominent one standing out.
I won’t fuck my assistant. I promised myself I wouldn’t. Which means . . .
I’m not going to do anything. She’s naked, and that’s her choice. I’m not going to take advantage of it no matter how painful it is.
Not going to happen.
“Good night, Rath.”
I bite down on the side of my cheek and calmly say, “Good night.”
I turn to the side, lower the blinds, and try to get some sleep, despite my raging erection.
“Aah, fuck,” I grunt, as I come down the drain of the shower, my hand pumping viciously. I woke up earlier than my alarm, because not only could I not sleep from my mind racing, but I had the biggest hard-on that I needed to take care of.
I lean against the tile, letting the water cascade down my body while I catch my breath. Two nights. I’ve made it through two nights of not touching her. I should win a goddamn medal for my victory.
I rinse off again, dry off, and wrap the towel around my body. By the time I make it out of the bathroom, the blinds are up and Charlee is sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing my button-up from yesterday.
“Good morning,” I say, my voice rough.
She stands and fluffs her hair out of the shirt. Turning toward me, I notice that she only buttoned the bottom few, but left the rest open, giving me a great view of the front of her stomach and cleavage. Jesus Christ, this woman has by far the hottest body I’ve ever seen and she knows how to show it off to drive a man crazy.
“Good morning, boss man bridegroom.” She saunters up to me and says, “Hope you don’t mind that I borrowed your shirt. Didn’t think it would be decent if I walked into the bathroom naked.”
Grinding my teeth together, I say, “But sleeping naked is decent?”
“You’re a heat box. I refused to be stifled again. Plus, your sheets felt amazing on my bare skin.” She pats my chest but stumbles in her confidence when I grip her wrist and gently drag her hand down my chest and over my abs, right to the edge of my towel.
Her eyes flutter up to me and I silently dare her to remove the towel, testing to see if she’ll make the first move.
She doesn’t move an inch. Instead, we stare at each other, waiting to see who’s going to slip up.
When neither of us do, we part and go back to getting ready for work.
Another long fucking day ahead of us.
“Intimate dinner at Square Top, a ceremony at The Little Church Around the Corner, and then we go back to your apartment after we dance and do all the traditional things.”
Charlee is sitting on the edge of my desk wearing a skin-tight purple dress with a keyhole that’s far too indecent for work, because all I can see are her boobs. And the hem of the dress, yeah, doesn’t even hit mid-thigh. The fucking thing is a clubbing dress. So why the fuck is she wearing it today?
I know why.
I know exactly why. It’s day fucking five and the sexual tension has built so much between us that we’re going to burst. It’s bound to happen at some point. I’m just wondering when. She’s supposed to go back to her place tomorrow to be with her grandma for the weekend, which will provide a much-needed breath of fresh air for me. I can regather myself, focus on not trying to fuck my assistant despite the marriage agreement we have.
Clearing my throat and pulling my stare off her legs that I want to drag my tongue all over, I say, “Is Square Top willing to make a five-course menu for us?”
She nods. “Upon our approval. We can set up a tasting whenever we want. They’re thrilled you want to have the ceremony in their private venue.”
“They’ve been discreet about it?”
“Yes.” She slips her hair off her shoulder, exposing her neck as she leans more forward, her flowery perfume clouding my senses. “And you’re okay with the church? My grandma made it a requirement.”
“I couldn’t care less. Whatever makes her happy.”
Charlee pauses and smiles shyly at me before pressing her hand on top of mine. “This means so much to me, Rath. I’m not sure you understand how much.”
The soft moment helps me forget for a second about the ache in my crotch and the apparent need I have to rip this woman’s clothes off. “How is she doing? Any news?”
She shakes her head. “Nothing, but she said she’s going to therapy.”
“What kind of therapy?”
Charlee shrugs. “She won’t say. I honestly don’t get it. If I was sick, I’d tell my family every last detail so they didn’t have to worry. But she said she won’t say because she doesn’t want me referring to Dr. Google. If anything, we should know so we can help the doctors in case we have more information.”
“I can understand that, but there isn’t much you can do.”
“I know.” She sighs and plays with my hand, flipping it over so she can run her fingertips over my palm. “She’s so stubborn. I made my parents promise me not to be that stubborn. Doubt they’ll adhere to their promise.”