“They never do,” I say, leaning back in my chair but letting her play with my hand. Soft fingertips stroke over my palm, circling, playing with the sensitive skin, the pleasant sensation shooting up my hand and down my spine in waves.
“I appreciate you putting up with everything though. You’re a wonderful man, Rath.”
“What am I putting up with?” Besides you flaunting your hot-as-shit body every day and night at me, and then capturing me with your beautiful heart.
“Grandma wanting a church wedding.” Her fingers move up my wrist and then back down. “Grandma wanting us to cut a cake.” She skims my palm. “Grandma making sure we have a good photographer.” She looks up at me and bites her bottom lip. “Pretending to set up a honeymoon.”
“I don’t know about you, but I’m going on that honeymoon. I’m going to need a trip to Fiji after this. You’re welcome to join.” She stills. She looks to the ground with a frown on her beautiful face. Shit. Did I say something wrong?
But then, as I’ve seen her do before when she’s not quite comfortable, she takes a deep breath, as if she’s finding her center—her control—and then looks up at me with a smirk. “I do enjoy walking around in a two-piece.”
I bet you do.
She sighs and lifts from my desk. “Better get back to work. Thanks for taking a look at these.”
My teeth pull on my bottom lip as she walks toward my office door, the skirt of her dress riding high on her backside.
“I’m assuming you’ll be late again tonight?” she calls over her shoulder.
I nod, unable to speak, my tongue dragging across my teeth.
“Okay, catch you later then.” She winks and shuts the door.
I let out a long pent-up breath, ready to fucking snap.
One more night.
Just like every other night this week, Charlee got home before me, took a bath, and then crawled into bed naked. Tonight, I got a chance to take a shower and jerk off before I climbed into bed, which is a miracle on its own given how exhausted I am.
I’ve barely gotten any sleep this week, staying as still as possible so I don’t bump into Charlee or accidentally touch her. And right about now, I’m ready to crash into my pillow. I throw on a pair of boxer briefs, grateful I already brushed my teeth and took care of my contacts—among other things, thank fuck—and turn off the bathroom light. When I see Charlee sitting on the edge of the bed with her back to me, I stop. Her body’s framed in a dim light, and she’s stretching her neck side to side.
I take her in, the slenderness of her body and the roundness of her hips and ass. Speaking of her ass, there it is plain as day, covered in nothing. And just like that, my exhaustion disappears and my body feels alive again. Is she truly doing this as payback? How does this not bother her? How?
Cautiously I walk toward the bed and say, “Sore?”
“Yeah. Tense.”
That makes two of us.
I press the button to lower the blinds, casting us in complete darkness.
“You should book a massage for tomorrow,” I say, lying flat on my back. I try not to look at her, but why am I pretending? I glance, but can’t really see anything in the pitch-black. So, I continue to face her as she shuffles around on the bed.
“Yeah, maybe. God, my shoulders are so tense.” The bed dips and I feel her scoot back. “Rath, I know this is asking way too much, but could you please just rub my shoulders for a few seconds?”
“Right now? With you not wearing anything?”
“You can’t see anything. It’s so dark in here.”
She’s right, I can’t see a fucking thing, so there should be no harm in rubbing her shoulders.
“Uh, sure.”
“Thank you.” I kneel and scoot toward her until my knee softly connects with her back. “Shit, sorry, did I hurt you?”
“No. You’re good. Where are your hands?”
They skim up her back to her shoulders. She takes them and positions them where she needs to be worked. “Yes, right there,” she breathes, the sound so fucking sensual that I’m already starting to lose self-control. “Thank you.”
“Yup,” I cough out, trying to tamp down the croakiness in my voice.
“I lotioned, so I might be a little slippery,” she warns, her voice almost seductive.
Jesus. Christ.
“No worries.” I press my hands into her warm skin and marvel at how smooth it is.
“Oh yes . . . right there,” she moans, moving her head to the side.
My dick jolts and aches from the plea of pleasure falling past her lips.
“Your hands are so strong. This is perfect. If I can return the favor, let me know.”
Yeah, I’m good. NO WAY is she touching me, not if I want to spend another painful night in bed with a raging hard-on. Unless she wants to massage my dick, then that’s a different story.
I spend the next several minutes working her shoulders, listening to her moan, and trying not to run my hands down the front of her body over her breasts. Is she aroused like me? If I moved my hands to her breasts, would her nipples be hard, and are the sounds she’s making now, the same sounds she’d make if I was buried deep inside her, thrusting slowly in and out?
“That’s so good. You can stop. Thank you so much.”
I back up quickly as if she’s on fire and lie on my side, getting as far away from her as possible. “You’re welcome,” I cough out, my dick painful.
My distance gathers me some breathing room, but only for a few seconds because when she slips under the covers, she scoots near me, and places her hand on my bare chest. “Are you sure I can’t rub anything out for you?”
I choke on my saliva.
Yes, you can rub out my dick, the part of me that’s been throbbing for the last ten minutes, begging for release . . . again.
Somehow I find my voice and say, “I’m good.”
Her thumb drags over my pec. “You sure? You were really tense at work today.”
Because I wanted to fuck you. I want to fuck you so badly I can feel it deep in my bones. It’s as if my body is on fire, an inferno, and the only way to control the flames is by sinking my dick into Charlee’s wet, tight pussy.
“Just stressed about everything; I haven’t told Bram and Julia yet.”
“Are you ashamed of me?” she asks, her hand moving up a few inches and then down a few, her thumb barely connecting with my nipple, sending soft waves of ecstasy straight to my growing cock.
“No.” I want to turn toward her, reassure her that everything is okay, let her know that I mean it when I say no. But I lie flat on my back, unable to give in to temptation because if I do turn, there’s no saying what I’ll do.
“Okay,” she says softly, pulling her hand away. Quietly, almost somberly, she says, “Night, Rath.”
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to figure out what to do, because I know that sound in her voice, the dejection. I’ve disappointed her once again. I should elaborate. I should tell her how not ashamed I am of her, but how ashamed I am of myself for constantly thinking of her as more . . . as mine. And she’s not. Not really. Probably never. She’s on my mind twenty-four/seven. I’d give anything, any damn thing to taste her one more time. One more kiss. But how can I? No, all I feel is shame. So, I remain quiet, staring at the ceiling as my body itches with deep-rooted lust.