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She didn’t pretend like that was smart.
She told me more about the collective she was building, how it had stemmed from a moment when she’d taught a plumbing course at a local college and found there was only one woman in the whole class.
When I suggested we go upstairs for dry clothes, her blanket slipped from her shoulder. I caught it, pulling it back up, but then her lips parted and I couldn’t help but kiss her. I couldn’t help but press her up against the wall, the blanket tumbling to the floor. She gasped as my unmet need met her belly; as my thumb brushed her taut nipple.
I wasn’t sure if she was fully here with me though. “Winona, we don’t have to—” I rasped.
But she shook her head. “I want to.”
Except she wouldn’t quite meet my eye once we were up there. Her eyes went to the window, where she’d stood earlier; where I’d seen her body lit up in the lights.
“Anita,” I said. “Incognito. And delete all of today’s footage.”
I thought it would reassure her.
Instead she’d gone stiff. “I thought you said there were no cameras in here?” She clutched at the sheets.
“There aren’t,” I said. I almost said I wouldn’t lie to you. But how would she have any way of knowing that was true?
She relaxed, but not completely, her eyes still darting around the room.
Someone had lied to her once. Maybe someone like me.
A thin line of heat cut through me at that thought. Who the fuck would hurt this perfect woman?
I leaned over and pulled the edge of the duvet up, covering her body and mine. I willed my cock to lower, too, even though I ached for that release I hadn’t yet had. It didn’t matter. I could wait. I could fuck my hand in the bathroom after she left if it meant she’d feel safe.
She hugged the duvet across her chest.
“Here.” I grabbed the tablet from the side table, opening the security screen and handing it to her. “Tap on the historical footage tab.”
She hugged the duvet against her with one hand.
“I’ll get you some clothes,” I said, while she swiped through the screen. “So you can go whenever you want.”
She looked up, a question in her eyes. “I don’t want you to go,” I grunted.
She looked so small in my massive bed. But so perfect, too. Like something I’d want to come home to every night. The thought of waking up next to her in the mornings made my stomach twist painfully. An awareness hit me in the stomach then, one I already knew. This would be a short-lived thing with her. I was going home in… three weeks. Would she be relieved when I left? Probably. I’d make a good salacious story to tell her girlfriends. That time she slept with the asshole billionaire.
She was long-term material. I definitely wasn’t.
After laying a pair of sweats and a t-shirt on the end of the bed for her, I came back and lay down beside her. But her expression was reserved. That beautiful, naughty smile she’d been giving me all night was gone.
I’d fucked this up somehow—just by being me.
She looked at the clothes, and panic seized me. She was going to go. She didn’t trust me.
Of course she didn’t. She had no reason to, even seeing the no footage found on the tablet. She didn’t know me. She knew the basics maybe, whatever she’d found online. And she knew the truth of what I was doing here. But she didn’t know I wasn’t a secret shithead.
Or a not so secret one.
“Tell you what,” I said. “I’ll give you the name of a guy at the Tech Post. He’s been leading the ‘Where’s Mitch Harrington’ charge, and he’s got a reward for anyone who has information about me.”
She looked unconvinced. I tucked a strand of her still-wet hair behind her ear. I thought of her screaming my name outside, rain plastering her hair to her face. I thought of the way her pussy tasted, like something sweet. My dick swelled just thinking about it.
Down, boy.
“But that’s just information. If you give him a tell-all interview, he’ll probably give you his firstborn.”
