Dammit.
I’m stronger than this.
She slides into the chair beside me, chattering about the weather. The town’s Facebook page. Two squirrels running up a tree.
I hear the words, but don’t process them. Not when I’m drunk from her food and the sight of her. Hell, I haven’t even sipped my wine, but it feels like I drank half the bottle.
Danger. Danger.My brain tries to warn me.
“Oh. You need some more.” She stands and leans over, grabbing my plate. Her boobs are too close.
“I’ll be right back.” She licks her bottom lip, and damn if a growl doesn’t escape.
Her hips swing as she heads to the stove and scoops some more food onto the plate. I sip my wine unconsciously, watching them move side to side as she begins humming.
I loosen my tie. This needs to stop.
“Ivy, really. You don’t need to take care of me.”
She spins with the plate and carries it over. “We’ve already been through this.” Her fingers glide over my stubble before her lips lightly press against mine. “Ienjoyit.”
She returns to her seat, humming again as she picks up her fork.
But my brain is thinking thoughts it shouldn’t. Likewhy did the word ‘enjoy’ make me… so damn horny?
While I finish eating, she makes small talk, scrubbing the used pots and pans.
I remain silent, thinkingI’m so screwedover and over.
When I’m finished, she puts the leftovers away and loads the dishwasher.
She leaves when I ask. Eventually.
I’m grateful she didn’t wrap her hand around my cock again. I probably would’ve asked her to spend the night.
I groan, hitting my head against the wall before heading upstairs for a cold shower.
I’m an idiot.
A horny one.
The following week,I stop pretending I don’t expect her. She makes my coffee every morning. Cooks breakfast and cleans the kitchen while I get ready to leavefor work. She’s there after every run or late night returning home from the office, cooking dinner.
My house is spotless. She picks up my clothing from the floor. My flannel pajama bottoms are folded on the chair in my bedroom, ready for me to slip them on. I turn on my electric fireplace and sit in the chair, staring at the flames every night before bed.
I’m not stupid. I know she’s been climbing my balcony and coming inside my bedroom when I lock the patio door. I started leaving it unlocked because it’s safer for her to climb the deck railing and come inside the first floor than to climb the second-floor balcony.
Either way, there’s no keeping her out of my life.
Or so I tell myself.
By the endof the month, I’m used to her being here.
She shows up after my runs. Sometimes she’s already sitting on the patio. Other times, she’s already inside, leaning against the counter like she’s been there for hours instead of minutes. Once, when I came in wet from the snow, she handed me a towel before I could even reach for one.
“You left the lights on upstairs,” she says mildly. “I turned them off.”
I tell myself she’s just observant. That I could stop this anytime.
