Chapter Nineteen

Mmm . . . that feels good.

Feels really good.

I shift, but my leg is clamped against something. What is that?

I peek an eye open but now that it’s Fall, it’s darker for longer so I can’t see a damn thing.

Feels like a cat or something rubbing against my leg. Is it weird that I like it? And where did my pillow go?

I move my arm, trying to find it and that’s when I touch the edge of the bed, my head parallel to it. Am I sleeping sideways? I try to move my leg again, but this time it’s firmly clamped down in place at my calf as something’s rubbing against it.

What is that?

“Ohhhhhhh . . . yeaahhhhh.”

My head lifts straight up from the sound of another voice in my bed . . . and that’s when I remember Charlee stayed here last night.

Charlee . . . is that Charlee rubbing against my leg?

Twisting to look over my shoulder, I squint to try to detect what the hell is happening, but I can’t see anything thanks to the blackout curtains I closed before we went to bed. Something is happening though, something weird.

Grabbing my phone from the nightstand, not easy with my leg still stuck in a viselike grip, I turn on the flashlight and spotlight it on Charlee’s side just in time to see her riding my calf like her own personal dildo, her head thrown back in the throes of passion, and her hands rubbing over her covered breasts.

Damn, girl.

“So thick,” she says in her sleep. “Oh yeah, big boy.”

What the actual fuck?

I can’t help it, I snort out loud, which shines the light directly on her face.

Her hands fly up to her eyes and her body stiffens.

“What in the name of Jesus is going on? Mom, turn off the light,” she yells, eyes still closed.

Mom. I snort again.

“I’m not kidding. I was about to get off with David Hasselhoff.”

And that’s all it takes. I lose it, straight-up cackle as she stills. Her legs release mine and she scrambles to the edge of the bed.

“Who’s that? Who goes there? I know how to bite. Stay away.” One arm is covering her eyes, the other is swatting around like a nunchuk. “I’m not kidding, make yourself known.”

“Charlee,” I say on a laugh, now able to twist around and sit up. “It’s Rath.”

She turns. Ramrod straight. I’m honestly nervous that someone secretly pushed a bar up her ass. She blinks a few times and I lower the light so it’s not directly shining on her.

“Rath.” She smiles awkwardly and fiddles with her hair. “Oh hi, there you are. Heh, kind of forgot you were on the other side of this bed.” She twists a strand of hair on her finger. “How was, did you sleep . . . was that your leg I was humping?”

“Yup.”

She presses her hands to her forehead. “Okay, yup, that’s what I was afraid of.” Keeping her eyes covered, she gives me a short wave. “Thanks for, uh, putting your leg on loan. You know how people say lend me a hand, well, I guess thanks for lending me a leg. Must have been weird huh, me humping it? Yeah, that’s really weird. Never thought I would actually hump my boss’s leg, but I guess never say never, right?” She’s rambling, still not making eye contact. “I didn’t get off on your calf if that’s what you were wondering. I mean, I was close, I felt the twinges . . . I mean, no, I wasn’t close. I don’t get horny or anything off legs it was—” She sighs heavily and looks up at me. “Okay, fine. I’m very horny in the morning. Okay, something I’m sure you didn’t need to know but now you know.”

Definitely not something I needed to know, because morning sex is one of my favorite things in the world. Waking up and getting fucked, before you even get out of bed? There’s nothing like it.

“Do you get horny in the morning?” she asks, and I know it’s because she feels really uncomfortable and probably wants to die from humiliation.

So, because I’m a good guy, I say, “I usually wake up with a boner, so yeah, I guess so.”

Possibly surprised from my candidness, she smiles shyly and says, “Well, I’m glad I’m not the only one.”

“That doesn’t mean I hump people’s calves envisioning them as David Hasselhoff.”

“Oh God, I said that out loud?”

“You also called me mom, which is slightly terrifying given you’re wearing my ring on your finger.”

She glances down at her hand and then back up at me. “God, you’re right. I’m wearing your ring. Did that really happen yesterday?”

“It did.” Okay, here’s what’s weird. For all intents and purposes, this should be completely awkward. I cannot imagine any other woman could calmly address her boss, while in his bedroom, having just humped his leg . . . like Charlee is doing here. And I can’t help but admire her for that. She’s hilarious, refreshing, frank, and . . . of course, conversation aside . . . sexy as hell. Never thought yesterday morning that my Tuesday morning would look like this. At least things are . . . comfortable.

She sighs and then tilts her head. “Do you have a boner this morning?” Or not comfortable.

“I mean.” I shrug. “It’s not flaccid.”

“Really?” She tries to look around my shoulder but I block her with the blanket.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

She pauses and thinks about it and then laughs. “Huh, I guess I don’t know. Is it weird to look for your boner as your assistant?”

“I think so.”

“Yeah.” She purses her lips to the sky. “I think so too.” Then out of nowhere, she grabs the hem of her shirt and pulls it over her head, revealing a tiny tank top that’s suctioned to her body. What I can see is faint because the light is barely filtering in, but it’s enough to turn my flaccid penis into a full-on hard-on.

Medium-sized breasts, I would say a B-cup, with hard nipples that look like they want to escape past the thin fabric of her tank. God, they’re perfect, exactly what I was afraid of. Not only is her personality and smile grabbing me by the balls, but so are her tits.

“God, you’re like a furnace in this bed. I feel overheated.” She reaches under the covers and removes her pants as well, which only means one thing: Charlee is in my bed, in her underwear.

Jesus Christ.

As if she has no idea what she’s doing to me, she stretches her arms above her head, revealing a small patch of skin right above her waistline. “What time is it? It’s so dark in here.”

I glance at my phone and nearly hop out of bed but due to the boner situation, I stay put. “Holy shit, it’s eight.”

“What?” She scrambles out of bed and starts running around the room. “We’re going to be late.”

Painfully, I watch her little bubble butt jiggle around the room in a small pair of pink panties, her hair a wild mess, as her tank barely contains her breasts while she bends down toward her suitcase.

I switch the blinds so they move up, revealing the bright light of the day.

Comically, Charlee trips over her suitcase in her rush to the shower, scattering her clothes everywhere, even the yellow thong she picked out for today. Fuck, she wears thongs under her work clothes?

As she reaches for her thong, I say, “You realize I’m the boss, right, and it’s okay if we’re late?”

She pauses and then sits up. Her face relaxes as she says, “You’re right, and I’m the boss’s fiancée, which means I can get away with anything I want.”

“Well, let’s not get carried away. You’re still held to the same standard as everyone else. You’re just allowed to give me blow jobs now.” I don’t know why I say it—it’s something frat-boy me would have said back in the day. Definitely not sophisticated Rath Westin—but it slips past my lips before I can stop it.

“Oh, is that right?” she asks, picking up her things and walking over to me. Her body swaying seductively. Stopping right in front of me, she bends forward and tips my chin up with one manicured finger. “I had no clue that was my privilege now.”

Christ. I’m desperate to ask her if she wants a practice round right now but know that’s way out of line. Where are the lines here?

Where are the fucking lines?

I’m so screwed.

“If you get blow jobs, what do I get?”

Holy shit.

“The pleasure of having my dick in your mouth.”

Hell. What am I saying?

My cruelty, however, has zero effect. She leans back and says, “Men think so highly of their dicks; it’s absurd.” She takes her things to the bathroom where she sets them down and then turns to me. Smiling she says, “Penises aren’t all that great, you know. They’re just noodles dangling between your legs.” Turning away, she peels her tank off her body and tosses it to the floor. Then, she covers her breasts with her arm and faces me again, and my mind about explodes. “Boobs, on the other hand, now those are something to marvel at because I bet you anything right now, if I lowered my arm, you’d have a really hard time not jacking off when I get in the shower.”

I’m going to have a hard time not jacking off whether I see them or not.

“I’ll be quick.” She looks down at my crotch. “I hope you’re quick too.”

With that, she shuts the door, locks it, and turns on the shower.

I give it a few minutes, and when I know she’s definitely in the shower, I throw the covers off, grip my achingly hard cock, and get myself off . . . the whole time thinking about my future wife’s tits.

I’m fucked.

“Are you hungry?” Charlee asks, stepping into my office.

Yes, I’m hungry for you.

Desperate to have a taste.

Dying a slow death over the short skirt you’re wearing.

What is with that skirt? I’ve never seen it before and it barely curves over her ass. Did she not even look at the outfits she packed or did she pack that one on purpose? Either way, I’ve felt like a pervert the whole goddamn day every time she’s around, leering at the smoothness of her legs, the curve of her butt, and every time she bends over, I wonder if I’ll get a peek of her yellow thong.

Yup, that’s where I’m at. Creepy-old-man leering at his assistant.

I try to tell myself it’s okay, we’re going to be married, but then my brain kicks in and reminds me that it’s a fake marriage.

But why can’t we have fun during our fake marriage?

Because she’s your assistant and you said you’d never fuck another one of your assistants.

Apparently, that promise to myself is slowly dwindling.

I lean back in my chair, my pen clutched in my hand. “I am.”

“Me too.” She struts across my office and takes a seat.

Seriously, what is this outfit? Short skirt, tucked-in white button-up shirt with a sweater vest and black high heels. She looks like a naughty school girl, and my penis is applauding her for her choice.

What happened to Miss Frizzle with the color coordination and crazy hair?

Who am I kidding, I even liked those outfits.

“What are you thinking?” She crosses one leg over the other and I beg my eyes to stay trained on her and not to fall to where I’m sure her skirt is riding so incredibly high that I could catch a glimpse of that yellow thong.

Clearing my throat, I scratch the side of my head with a pen. “Anything is good at this point. I think it will be a late night for me.”

It’s almost six, and I’ve yet to finish going through my emails because my mind has been wandering elsewhere. I have yet to tell Bram and Julia about the engagement. I’m sure Roark hasn’t said anything because even though he can be a dick sometimes, he’s not that big of a dick. And there’s no way Bram or Julia would wait to come rip me a new one if they knew.

“I can order us some food and tackle whatever needs to be done—”

“No.” I shake my head. “You go back to your place. Be with your grandma.”

“You know she’s going to turn me away and make me go to your place.”

“That’s fine.” I need you out of here before I do something stupid. “Go spend some time with her. Check up on her. Maybe start looking at flowers or whatever wedding shit has to be done.”

“Oh no, you don’t, Rath Westin.” Charlee leans forward, her blouse popping open, giving me a view straight down her shirt to her full breasts. This morning, when she spun around, only her hand covering them . . . Christ. “I am not planning this wedding by myself. If we’re going to get married then we are going to do it together. You’re not a bridegroom who simply shows up. No way in hell would I let you get away with that. This is our marriage, which means we plan it together. Understood?”

Fuck, serious Charlee is like a wet dream. Her cheeks are flushed, her temper flared, her body tense. What I wouldn’t give to fuck that tension right out of her. With a light lift of her skirt and a push of that thong to the side, I would fuck her right on this desk, eat her pussy, tease her—

“Are you paying attention?”

“Hmm?”

“Oh my God, Rath.” She stands and stomps toward my door. Turning around she says, “If you’re going to be married to me, you’re going to give me one hundred percent of you, do you understand? Which means, when I’m talking to you, you’re paying attention. I’m ordering you a gross, measly salad for dinner so you can think about what you did. And then I’m leaving to spend the evening with my grandma, someone who will actually listen to me.”

One way to piss off the future wife . . . get caught up in a fucking-her fantasy and not paying attention to what she’s saying.

Noted.

When I walk into the apartment at nine, it’s completely dark. The only reason I know Charlee is here is because I asked the doorman. She arrived a half hour ago. Just like she predicted, her grandma sent her back here. Kind of wish at this point she was back at her place, because the last twenty-four hours have been complete agony for me. And yet for my fiancée, life has just carried on as if nothing at all is out of kilter. I am out of kilter.

I set my things on the floor by my door, too lazy to be neat and orderly, lock up, and then head to the bedroom where I start taking off my clothes. From the lack of light streaming under the door, I’m assuming she’s already asleep.

I assume wrong when I hear the faint sound of music coming from the bathroom.

Not wanting to scare her, I call out. “Hey, I’m home.”

“In here,” she says somberly.

Shirt undone, ready to undo my pants as well, I peek into the bathroom to find her lying in the tub, covered in bubbles, reading. One leg is perched over the side and even though there are a lot of bubbles, they barely cover her chest.

Motherfucker.

“Uh, sorry, I didn’t know—”

“You’re fine,” she says, not giving me any attention. Must be a good book. “Do what you need to do. I’m going to finish reading this sex scene and then go to bed.”

“Sex scene?” I ask, my throat closing up on me.

“Mmm . . .” She nods and shifts in the tub, one of her hands disappearing under the bubbles.

What the fuck is she doing with that hand?

And is she going to do something with that hand while I’m brushing my teeth?

Either way, I’m not staying long enough to find out. Like a madman, I brush my teeth, turning my back toward her so I don’t see any movements, and then I’m out of there before I can be caught staring.

In my closet, I get rid of the rest of my clothes, and consider going to bed naked like normal, but then I think better of it. I pull on a fresh pair of boxer briefs. If she wasn’t in the bathroom, doing whatever it is she’s doing, I’d take a shower to cool off from my long day of agony. Not getting that luxury today, which reminds me, I need to fire the construction crew who’s redoing my guest area. They are taking way too fucking long. At the time, I didn’t think it was going to be a big deal, that was until I found myself a fake bride. Now I’m wishing I put more pressure on them to finish things up.

Feeling tortured with no relief, I head for my bed but forgot about my contacts.

Fuck.

I glance toward the bathroom. Is she . . . done?

If I wasn’t waiting on my new batch of contacts to come in, I’d chuck these and call it a day, but I don’t have any spares, and I left my glasses at my office.

Annoyed, I walk to the bathroom and knock on the door. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” she calls out. That seems promising.

It does until I walk in and see her with a towel wrapped around her torso with her hair piled on top of her head. The towel rides low on her breasts, almost dangerously low, because with one flick of my finger the terrycloth would be on the floor.

Turning my attention to my contacts, I work on taking them out while Charlee lotions her body next to me with the sweetest lavender lotion I’ve ever smelled.

Christ, that smells fucking incredible.

She props one leg on the bathtub, her towel riding high, and she spreads the lotion over one long limb and then she repeats the treatment to her other leg. I’m mesmerized, not paying attention to my contacts whatsoever.

When she stands, she catches me. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Checking you out.” As I’ve said before, I’m honest. And I have no other excuses to give her. She’s gorgeous.

“Well, stop it. I’m still mad at you.”

Setting my contact case down, I say, “Why are you mad at me?”

She steps beside me and grabs her toothbrush, her bare shoulder rubbing against mine. “Because, the mere suggestion that I plan everything on my own is insulting.” She cutely sticks her chin in the air and starts brushing her teeth. I prop my hip on the counter and watch her frantic movements as she jiggles her toothbrush in and out.

“I wasn’t expecting you to plan the whole thing, just get started.” She spits and rinses.

“Still, I was trying to be nice and help you out, and you just kicked me out of the office as if I didn’t mean anything to you. I am your fake fiancée and executive assistant. You can be nicer. I thought that’s what we were going to be, nicer.”

“I didn’t think I was mean.”

“You were,” she says, trying to walk past me, but I snag her hand, stilling her.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice low, my libido ramping and ready to go. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

She looks up at me, probably shocked that I apologized. “Oh . . . well, thank you.”

She goes to walk away again, but I keep my hold tight on her. “I was frustrated.” We’re standing side by side, each facing a different direction, our gazes locked on each other. The temptation to loop my finger through her towel is strong.

“With work?”

I lick my lips. “With you.”

“Wh-what did I do?” she asks, her voice growing raspy. Her chest rises and falls at a faster pace, more exaggerated, as if anticipation is consuming her.

I drag my finger up her arm, fascinated by the goosebumps that rise along the trail of my finger. Don’t do it, Rath. Don’t cross that line.

“That skirt,” I say, my voice gruff, strained. “You were fucking flaunting it in my face all day.”

Her eyes widen. I realize right then and there, she wasn’t doing it on purpose, because if she was, she’d have a sly smile on her face, not a surprised look.

“I wasn’t trying to.”

“Well, you did,” I say, my body itching to take her against the wall. To lift her up on the counter and spread her legs, to let that towel drop to the floor so I can taste her hard, delectable nipples. “You drove me crazy, all fucking day. And by the time dinner rolled around, I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed you gone.”

“Oh.” She bites down on her bottom lip, making me insane with need instantly, especially when I watch her teeth roll over her plump lip.

“And now, you in the tub, bubbles barely covering your fucking tits, your gorgeous leg out on the tub, your hand lowered under the bubbles.” I step in closer, moving her so she’s facing me now. “Were you touching yourself?” She doesn’t answer, just lifts her eyes barely to look at me. “Are you trying to drive me insane?”

“It’s not my intention.”

“You’re telling me, tempting me in this skimpy towel isn’t intentional?”

Something flashes in her eyes, and there’s a light tug on the corner of her lips that makes me growl out in frustration . . . as I push her against the wall of the bathroom, my hands on her hips, her shocked breath escaping her as I hold her still.

“I fucking knew it. You’re trying to torture me. Why?”

Her breath picks up, and her eyes search mine. “Payback.”

“Payback for what?” I growl.

Her eyes motion down my torso and back up. “For that.”

“Because I’m shirtless?”

“Yes. You think that’s easy for me, to have you walking around without a shirt on? It’s not.”

My breath comes out in short bursts, my heart is beating a mile a minute, while my dick hardens with every lift and lowering of her breasts behind her towel. I move my hands from her hips and connect with her wrists. Slowly, I raise her arms above her head and pin them against the wall.

“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.”

“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.