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I turn back to the electronic glare of my laptop and bring my fingers to the keys, tilting back slightly in my computer chair and staring at the word document.
I feel like my subconscious is trying to tell me something as I reread my last sentence.
The air was heavy with the possibility of violence, and Jamie …
There is no character in this story named Jamie, and yet several times this evening – this morning – I’ve slipped up and dropped his name into the prose. It’s like he’s hounding me, as I replay the gym session over and over.
It was supposed to be a self-defense lesson, but really it just felt like an excuse for him to watch me stretch and move for him.
Which would be fine, heck, more than fine …
If he wasn’t Yasmin’s freaking dad.
I go to the internet browser and then, without giving myself time to think about it, I search ‘Jamie Jensen’. I scroll as my heart pounds in the back of my throat, threatening to choke me with electric tension.
I click the image, a shot of Jamie standing at the end of a boardroom meeting table with his fists laid against the wood, his pale blue eyes staring sternly into the camera. The headline reads, ‘Tokyo Power Play by Alignment Industries CEO Jamie Jensen, How One Man Conquered the Security Systems World’.
But mostly I just stare into his face, that strong square jaw, those penetrative eyes.
I remember the way he shoved me up against the wall, the way he snarled like a beast when I tried to call myself fat. It was like he was personally offended or something, as though he had some sort of a stake in my self-image, which makes no freaking sense.
My sex tingles and my panties graze electrifyingly against my clit.
I try to tell myself that none of this matters, because he’s Yasmin’s dad but also because if I were ever given the chance to be intimate with him, the chances are near one hundred percent that I’d disappoint him.
He’s Jamie Jensen, widely agreed to be one of the most handsome and powerful men alive. It would take me about two seconds to find fifty thousand comments from adoring women all over the world who’d throw themselves at his feet and perform any crazy sexual act he wanted.
But then he did push me against the wall.
He did growl at me like he was a possessive beast who wanted to make me his.
But then maybe I’m misinterpreting this whole scenario.
I stare at Jamie, wishing I could reach into the photograph and into his mind, pull out his thoughts, and lay them out as cleanly and simply as lines in a book.
I’d spend hours reading them, poring over every subtle shade of meaning, until finally, I could pull this all into some sort of reason.
And then my overactive imagination puts me into that boardroom. I’m on my back on the table and Jamie is standing over me, looking just as fierce and focused as he does in the photograph. He leans down and aims that signature grimace at me, but I can read the flashing hotness in his eyes, I can see the burning lust there beneath his steady state of rage.
Sitting in my chair my sex is on fire now, my clit screaming out to be touched even as my womb sings from deep inside that all this self-love is just a massive waste of time.
My womb won’t be satisfied with anything less than his manhood and all the seed it holds, ready to fire inside of me and make me pregnant, ready to …
Listen to yourself, a voice mocks sharply from within. Are you fucking joking? Do you think Jamie Jensen wants to have a baby with you?
Even so, my hand starts to slide down between my legs as though it’s got a mind of its own, getting closer and closer to my burning sex.
I’m just about to clamp my hand against my insistent lips – my eyes fixated on Jamie, on his clenched fists, on his conquer-the-world grimace – when there’s a light knock at my door.
I freeze, a part of me debating to pretend to be asleep.
But even if I’m harboring not-okay thoughts about her dad, Yasmin is still my best friend. She was there for me when my dad died and she was there for me long before that.
I can’t abandon her.
No, that same voice comments drily. But you can betray her, apparently.
I shut my laptop and swivel in the chair, ignoring the half-organized mess of my bedroom like I always do. Looking over my stack of paperbacks and my heaps of clothes – my sheets lying in disarray across my bed – I turn my gaze to the door.
“It’s unlocked, Yas,” I call.
The door opens slowly and for a second Yasmin looks like a person comprised solely of shadows, her jet black hair hanging down to her shoulders. For a few long moments, she stands there, trembling slightly, and the crazy thought strikes me that she’s found out about my desires and is here to exact vengeance.
