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Chapter Ten
Dean
My dick is already hard when I slip the key card into the door. Apparently the wayward appendage doesn’t care that I shouldn’t touch her. I’m helping out a friend, but the little guy trying to claw out of my trousers to get to Payton doesn’t seem to care about that. He wants one thing, and one thing only.
Payton. Naked.
I push open the door and wait for her to enter. She glances around, her gaze landing firmly on the king-sized bed in the middle of the room. The awkward silence quickly becomes sexually charged as we both stare at the mass of pillows and blankets. I can picture her body splayed out, as if on display, while I feast on every curve she has. And, damn, does she have them in spades. Beautiful, delicate, sexy-as-sin curves.
My focus right now needs to be on getting my friend settled, not settling myself between her thighs. There’s a reason a relationship with her isn’t in the cards, and that won’t change tonight, tomorrow, or even next week. The fact still remains that she’s my client, and I won’t risk damaging the work relationship we’ve built just because the sex is fantastic. My dick twitches in my pants at the memories.
“There’s a few open drawers in the dresser. Feel free to put your stuff in there and in the closet,” I say, scanning the room for anything left out of place. Of course, I wasn’t in here long enough to do anything but put stuff away, so everything’s where it’s supposed to be; not one pair of dirty underwear in sight.
Payton stands in the middle of the room and gives a slow turn before her eyes come to rest on mine. “Are you sure about this?” Her voice is laced with apprehension and concern. I completely understand where she’s coming from. It’s not like we’re buddies who are sharing a room. We know each other intimately, in a way that only lovers do.
“It’ll be fine, Pay. I can be on my best behavior,” I say with a chuckle. “I can be man enough not to maul you when we’re staying in a hotel room together.”
My plan was to sound relaxed and casual, but for some reason, my brain only focuses on two words in my statement: hotel and together. The air becomes stuffy, making it hard to breathe. I pull at my tie, loosening it, along with the top button. There’s no missing that she watches my motions, swallowing hard when I pull at the collar.
“I’m sure this will be fine,” she says, still staring at my throat.
“Easy.”
“Piece of cake.”
“No big deal.”
But it is a big deal. She knows it and I know it. The greatest challenge of my life may not have been raising a daughter, practically from birth, completely on my own. My greatest challenge may be facing me in this moment: sharing a room with Payton and not touching her. Friends without the benefits.
And because I’m playing the martyr, there’s only one thing to do.
Accept the challenge.
Payton puts away all of her stuff in the drawers beside mine. I’m sitting at the round table, sending off a few emails, but my mind isn’t focused on work. I’m struck by how easy it is to share the space with her, and how right it feels to have her belongings in the same place as mine.
It’s almost eleven when she lets me know that she’s going to take a quick shower. Listening to the water, knowing that she’s naked and wet just on the other side of that closed door is torturous. We’re talking pulling off all of your fingernails just to get you to talk cruelty. And, honestly, as I listen to her move around as the water cascades over her lush body, I’d almost prefer the fingernail treatment right now. It’s sure to be just as painful but without the raging boner in my pants.
I’ve been staring at the same email for ten minutes when I hear the water shut off. My mind instantly imagines what she’d look like fresh from the shower. Her hair slicked back and her face free of makeup, a towel knotted between her full breasts, that barely covers her ass.
Jesus, what is wrong with me? Why in the hell am I tormenting myself so damn much? There’s no way I’ll be able to sleep tonight with the Louisville Slugger in my pants wanting to come out for batting practice. The only relief I’m going to get tonight, the only way I’ll be able to sleep a wink, is a shower of my own; one that has me taking my throbbing dick in my hand while I mentally picture her on her knees with my cock in her warm mouth. I audibly groan as that delicious little image starts to play out in my mind.
“Are you okay?” she asks, standing in front of me. I didn’t even hear her come into the room.
“I’m fine,” I reply quickly, clearing my throat as I glance back down at my laptop. Then something catches my attention and my eyes fly back up to Payton. She’s walking towards the bed, her hair wetting the top of her pajamas. Only these aren’t pajamas. She’s wearing a shirt. A big, white, collared, button-down shirt. One that looks awfully fucking familiar.
“What are you wearing?” I ask, my voice sounding foreign and husky, even to my own ears.
She turns around and I swear to God I’m having a heart attack. My dress shirt hits mid-thigh and is buttoned up to the top of her breasts. It covers all of the pertinent areas, except those mile-long legs, but the fact that it’s my shirt she’s wearing is like an aphrodisiac in and of itself.
Payton glances down. Her face flushes as she gives me a slight, shy smile. “I, uh, wasn’t expecting to be sharing a room with anyone.”
“You sleep in my shirt?” I think about that morning so many months ago that I woke up to find her sleeping in it. I’d gladly leave my entire wardrobe if it meant seeing her in them every night.
No. Wait.
Not every night.
That can’t happen.
