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And lots of fucking frustration.
A loud exhale preceded the unmistakable sound of Cole slumping in the chair opposite Des’s desk. “Are you ever going to, you know, do something about it?”
Though he knew very well what Cole meant, he played dumb. And mute.
“What if she meets someone, Des? Then what?”
Des hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans. He’d wondered that many times himself, and he never came up with a good answer. They worked together. She wasn’t his in any shape or form. If she found someone, he’d wish her well.
All right, maybe not.
Truth was, if he’d ever met a woman who more deserved to be taken care of and worshipped, he didn’t remember it. She was so capable and strong, but she shouldn’t have to be. Not every minute. Not when he knew he was the right man to show her the freedom in occasionally giving up control.
Except he wasn’t. He couldn’
t be.
He turned away from the window and studied his best friend, noting he’d already changed into black trousers and a disturbingly green sweater. They lived upstairs in separate wings, occasionally meeting in the kitchen or living room but mostly staying in their own spaces. Living and working together could get old fast, so they made sure to give each other a wide berth.
A memory from last summer—involving a curvaceous redhead and too much tequila—flitted into Des’s mind and he smiled. Well, most of the time.
“Does that smile mean you’ve come up with a plan? Finally?” Cole smoothed away an imaginary wrinkle in his slacks. “A guy’s nuts could shrivel up waiting for you to make a goddamn move.”
“Actually I was thinking about…” He paused. Shit, what was her name? Tracy? Stacy? “Redhead, triple Ds. Giggled too much.” Moaned even more, which hadn’t been half-bad.
“I remember.” Cole smiled fondly. “Casey. She was sweet. Very creative. Wonder if she’s available?”
“Doing a girl you’re not serious about at Christmas never turns out well. You know better, Warner.”
Cole stroked his cock through his trousers. “Maybe Daisy was my one true love. Or was it Lacey?”
Des snorted out a laugh and scraped a hand through his hair. He needed to take a shower. The girls would be back soon, and not long after, guests would start flowing through the doors as fast as the champagne. Already he could hear the caterers bustling from room to room. “You good to handle things while I run upstairs?”
“Oh, you’re not ready? Hard to tell, since those ratty-ass jeans have been your wardrobe for the past week.”
“Scoping out my ass again? I’m so flattered.” Des grinned and headed out of the office, humming one of the holiday tunes that had played earlier.
He took the back stairs three at a time, then scattered his clothes on the floor on his way into the bathroom. In record time, his cock was in his soapy hand, his forehead braced on the arm he folded against the tile wall. Images of Wendy played behind his closed eyes. Dancing when she didn’t know he was there, gyrating her hips in maddening circles, bouncing her breasts with each movement. Shiny pink lips tilting into a smile as she crooned into her makeshift microphone.
She was so motherfucking sexy.
Des sucked in a breath and tightened his grip, working himself viciously. He’d never squeeze his dick hard enough to erase the pictures stored in his head so he used them as fodder, dragging his hand up and down until his gasps mingled with the hiss of the scalding water.
He wrenched the water dial hotter, then hotter still. Soon his skin would flay right off his damn bones, and he’d still be here, jerking off with her sweet southern voice tormenting him. Just her accent reminded him of fucking. She could say “pass the paper clips” and he’d envision throwing her legs over his shoulders and sucking on her swollen clit.
I’ll be back shortly, y’all.
Christ. He could’ve come from just that.
As clouds of steam rose around him, he threw his head back, the hot stream of water stabbing his face and chest offering additional sensation. Groaning, he reached down and grabbed his heavy balls, rhythmically pumping, his breath puffing over the tiles until the long white ribbons of his release fountained into the cascading water.
He slumped against the wall, panting. Shuddering. It wasn’t enough. He needed her under him, her tight pussy wrapped around his cock. Her seductively prim and proper voice whispering in his ear, her long nails raking down his back. She’d be a scratcher, he just knew it.
Snatching his bottle of shampoo, he dumped way too much on his head and took out his frustration on his scalp. Even knowing it wasn’t going to happen—that it couldn’t—the resentment still cut deep.
Thirty minutes later, he was on his way back downstairs. He passed a couple in a clinch on the landing. They let out guilty laughter when he cleared his throat. “Already seeking out the corners, Edwards?” he asked the gray-haired man who shamelessly left his hand on his partner’s ass.
Gerald Edwards, esteemed attorney at law, had boffed every secretary he’d ever had. When he ran out of them, he poached the receptionists from the law office next door. And that was exactly the kind of guy Des refused to be. He didn’t sleep with his employees. Never had, never would.
