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Iprobably shouldn’t have done that. In fact, I know that I shouldn’t have done that. I really, really, shouldn’t have done that. Fucking hell, why did I do that?
The memory of Kayla squirming underneath me as I pinned her to that couch and fucked her with my fingers has been playing nonstop in my mind ever since we left that room last night. The way her beautiful blue eyes widened as pleasure flooded her features. The way her cunt pulsed around my fingers. The way her legs shook slightly. The way she was gripping my wrist. And those moans… God, those moans and whimpers that spilled from her luscious lips as she gasped for air between waves of pleasure.
I can’t get it out of my head.
But I need to. Because I crossed a massive fucking line last night. No, I didn’t even cross it. I bloody cartwheeled right over it.
Shaking my head at my own recklessness, I add some dried tomatoes, basil, and mozzarella to the omelet in the pan.
I’m supposed to be guarding Kayla, for God’s sake. Not fucking her with my fingers while wondering what it would be like to fuck her for real. I was supposed to be professional. I need to be professional. Because I need to make it to the end of the semester and complete this job assignment so that I can choose my own future. That’s what matters. That’s the goal. That’s the prize that I need to keep my eyes and my entire focus on.
Despite myself, I smile as I flip the omelet in the pan while my mind yet again drifts back to Kayla. Because I have to give it to her, she sure knows how to keep things interesting.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve felt restless and bored almost every minute of every day. I get bored of things and people almost before I have even started playing with them. And I expected this to be the same.
Guarding a rich university student? I fully expected to be bored out of my mind before the end of the first day.
But God damn was I wrong.
Handcuffing me to a gate in the basement? Pleasuring herself with the same hand that is shackled to mine?
A chuckle, full of amusement and approval that I will never admit out loud, rumbles from my chest.
There is never a dull moment with Kayla. And I have to admit that I’m actually starting to enjoy this assignment a little.
The door to her bedroom opens on the other side of the apartment. I keep my back to her as I slide the omelet from the pan and onto a plate. Just like every morning, I’ve made her breakfast. Because breakfast is important, and I know that she won’t eat it if I don’t make it for her.
She might roll her eyes and groan and argue with me about anything and everything, but she always eats the breakfast I make for her.
Grabbing a set of utensils, I walk over to the table and set them down in front of the chair she usually sits in. She watches me in silence as she closes the distance to the table as well.
In the dim light of that fancy room at the party, what we did on that couch felt right. But now, in the light of day, there is a strange tension between us. As if neither of us knows how to act now.
Kayla clears her throat as she sits down. The utensils clink faintly in the crackling silence as she picks them up.
I consider sitting down opposite her, as I usually do, but decide against it. Instead, I walk back to the kitchen and start cleaning up.
She eats in silence. Only the soft dings of her fork connecting with the plate break the oppressive stillness in the room.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out when the tense silence reaches unbearable levels.
Rolling my shoulders back, I turn so that I’m facing Kayla at the table again. She hasn’t finished eating yet, but she has still turned around in her chair to look at me. Surprise flickers in her eyes.
“What I did in that room last night,” I continue, holding her gaze. “I shouldn’t have done that. That was unprofessional.”
Disbelief, and something that almost looks a little like hurt, flashes across her features. It’s gone in a second, replaced by anger. Pushing up from the table, she gets to her feet so that she can turn around and face me fully.
“Unprofessional?” she echoes, raising her eyebrows and staring at me with incredulous eyes.
I stare right back at her. “Yes.”
“You put a snake in my bed. But you somehow think yesterday was unprofessional?”
Crossing the kitchen, I move closer to her while still holding her gaze. “It was. What I did yesterday crossed a line, and I apologize for that.”
“Crossed a line?” She scoffs, and then shoots me a disgusted look. “Ridiculous. But fine, if you think it was a mistake, then let’s pretend it never happened.”
With that anger pulsing in her eyes, she starts to turn away from me. Before I even know what I’m doing, I grab her arm and spin her back to face me. She starts in surprise, and then scowls up at me while yanking her arm out of my grip.
