AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I close my eyes, imagining the man I hate is here.
Imagining him touching me.
My hand slips down my chest . . .
Past my navel. It slides to the place I wish he was, and with a flick of my finger, I pretend it’s his tongue.
My touch is now his touch.
All rational thoughts leave my mind as I envision a world where Trent Aldridge worships me. Where I chase my high on his lips.
My hips buck, my pulse speeds up, and then I crash down from above, full sated.
Shit.
Looking down to where my legs are still parted, my back goes ramrod straight.
I did not just orgasm to fantasies of Trent.
You keep telling yourself that.
Grabbing a towel from the hook, I scrub at my body, trying to rid myself of the memory of what I just did.
How am I ever going to look at him?
You’re not.
Once I’m dry, I get dressed.
Taking a deep breath, I place my hands on my skirt and straighten it.
He never did tell me the dress code for tonight.
I’m not sure where he’s taking me.
It could be a soup kitchen. Or maybe he’s taking me to a hospital to play with children.
I have no clue, which is why I am wearing a pale-blue cotton dress that falls right above my knee.
It’s casual.
Yet cute.
It isn’t dressy or showy and blends well with almost any situation.
On my feet are ballet flats in a bright white.
Again, simple.
I can run if I need to.
Ready for whatever the devil will throw at me.
He said five o’clock, but I’m ready at four thirty.
I have no desire to piss him off right now.
Been there. Done that. Have the receipts—or in my case, the callus on my palm from cleaning his gym—to prove it.
It’s bad enough that he has me reading about Jung. It’s not that I don’t like his writings, but I am swamped with school, and the idea of presenting in front of Trent and his staff, people I see every day and technically work with, is humiliating.
Since I’m ready, I go in search of Trent.
First, I check the kitchen, but when that’s empty, I walk down the hallway to his office.
Nothing.
Next, I find myself walking toward the room I think is his bedroom.
Heaven forbid I’m tardy.
I’m too tired to fight with him today.
It was a long day at school, longer with the new extended commute. I’m exhausted, and I didn’t sleep.
Last night was a shit show.
Tossing. Turning. Anxiety.
And then him.
As much as he hates me, I see the way he looks at me. It’s changed. There’s lust underneath the anger. Pure need.
The worst part is, as much as I despise him, I like the way the looks make me feel.
It drives me insane.
I need to get my head out of my ass and stop enjoying his heavy, wanting stares while he destroys my life.
Shaking my head, I try to bring myself back to the present as I lift my hand to knock on his door.
Just as my hand is about to connect, the door swings open, and I stumble forward.
I lose my balance and fall.
I brace for impact.
Instead, I collide right into a hard body.
One that catches me and stops my descent with strong arms wrapped around my waist.
I’m frozen.
A large part of my brain tells me I must pull away. But another part welcomes the comfort of his arms. It feels safe. Right. Like two magnets drawn together, and it’s exhausting to fight the pull.
But I have to.
Despite how good it feels.
Despite the fact that this goes deeper than lust, right down to comfort, and that should downright scare me.
One more second.
I want, no I need, one more second in his embrace. I’ll store away the feeling, then I’ll pretend it never happened and I don’t like to be held by him. My eyes close of their own accord, and I give myself the time I need. Until I feel his arms go stiff.
I will myself to break away.
Move.
Move, dammit.
In a minute or three . . .
Finally, he coughs, and it breaks the damn trance I am in.
Using my right hand, I push off him. I try to fix myself, my dress, my hair, and my damn brain before looking up and catching his gaze.
His stare feels different.
It’s as if he’s shaking himself out of his own fog as well.
Which is weird.
Definitely unexpected.
It makes my heart kick up speed, like it’s sprinting toward a finish line in a race I didn’t even know it began.
“Crap. My bad,” I whisper awkwardly.
“Watch where you’re going.” He grunts, and with that, any weird feelings of comfort quickly evaporate.
Why does he have to be such a jerk?
It’s not even worth asking since he won’t give me an answer anyway. Not one that doesn’t involve a heavy dose of snark and misdirection.
That’s one thing I’ve learned about Trent Aldridge. Ask him a question, and he just fires one right back. One that’s even more confusing and makes no sense. Then, while you try to figure it out, he leaves you with a feeling like you have no idea what you’re doing in life.
