It’s over almost as soon as it begins.
A few rough strokes before my balls tighten and I’m spilling my seed all over my stomach with a long, low grunt.
I wipe up the mess with my discarded boxers from the night before, toss them inthe laundry basket, and head for the shower, not feeling any better.
Instead, the irritation flares by the time I step out of the steam and grab my clothes.
I shove my arms into a shirt and go deal with the source of my irritation.
The house is quiet as I move down the hall, but it feels different. Her presence feels…big.
Then I hear it. The faint sounds of papers shuffling. The light in my office is on.
A surge of pure territorial anger fuels the irritation already running through my blood.
I’m pissed before I even reach my office door.
She’s behind my desk. In my chair. Papers and files spread out around her like she belongs there.
And dammit if she doesn’t look like she does.
I swallow down the thought.
“What are you doing in here?”
Her head snaps up, her eyes growing wide for a split second, before her body relaxes and her lips curl into a smile so slight I’m not even sure it’s there. “I’m working,” she says softly. “You hired me, remember?”
She’s dressed like she should be in an office downtown in a big city somewhere,not in a remote mountain cabin. I glance down at my own jeans and flannel shirt. “You’re in my office.”
She looks around as if she’s only just realizing where she is, before looking at me with a sassy grin on her pretty pink lips. “Oh,” she says innocently. “Is that where I am?”
Before I can come up with an appropriate response, she says, “I was under the impression that this is where theworkis.”
I growl in response, only vaguely aware that I’m behaving like a neanderthal. “You should have asked my permission.”
“You hired me,” she reminds me again. “I assumed that was all the permission I needed.”
"You should have asked first,” I say roughly.
“You weren’t awake,” she says easily as if she’s not the slightest bit disturbed by my annoyance. “Would you have preferred I come into your room and?—”
“No.” My answer is sharp and quick, shutting her down before my body can process exactly what having Lilly in my bedroom would mean. The last thing I need right now is another fucking hard on. “I need coffee,” I say, a little bit softer this time.
Without waiting for a response, I turn to head for the kitchen and the caffeine that should clear my head.
“Great,” she says behind me. “I take mine with one sugar. No cream.”
I freeze. “Excuse me?” I turn slowly.
“One sugar,” she says again. “Please.”
“You didn’t make coffee?”
She blinks slowly. “Why would I do that?”
“It’s your job,” I bark.
“No.” She sits back in my chair and crosses her arms. “My job is to be your assistant and get you organized. There was no mention of coffee.”
