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Damn him. And damn him for making me seriously consider this. What is wrong with me? I should slap him across the face, then drive straight home.
But that would mean admitting I failed, and I can’t fail. Not when I came so close to having everything I wanted.
And the more I look at his body—how can I help it?—the more reasonable the whole thing seems. Isn’t this what they call closure? It could mean getting him out of my system once and for all. Not like I’ve been obsessing over him for eight years, but let’s face it: working for his company, even if I don’t see him face-to-face, I’ll still have reminders of him. Why not have a few good memories to look back on?
I’m trying to convince myself. I can’t believe I’m actually trying to convince myself.
“You are a terrible person,” I tell him as if he didn’t already know.
“I like to see myself as persuasive.”
All I want to do is wipe that arrogant smirk off his face. Instead, I suppress an eye roll. “Fine,” I blurt out before I lose my nerve. “Okay, I accept.”
His laughter is rich, almost enough to get me to laugh along with him. “There you go, acting like you had any choice. But fine, if that’s how you want to play it, thank you for accepting.” There’s still humor in the way his lips twitch, but I have to ignore that, or else I’ll risk ruining all of this. I can’t believe I’m letting him do this to me.
Who am I kidding? I want this just as much as he does. When he narrows his eyes and purses his lips thoughtfully, just the idea of the filthy thoughts that could be running through his head right now is enough to spread warmth through my core. My pussy starts to moisten, and my nipples go hard in what I’m glad is a padded bra—he’s already got me at a disadvantage. I don’t need him seeing the very obvious effect he has on me.
How does he do it? He hasn’t laid a finger on me, but I’m already yearning. It’s like the years between then and now melt away, and I’m that nervous, shy, nerdy girl with a crush on the most unattainable boy imaginable.
The only difference is the hunger in his eyes. The way his towel shifts, and heat flares in my face when I realize why. He’s getting hard. For me.
“So? What happens now?” I ask with bravado I don’t feel. “What do you want from me?”
“That’s what I like. Somebody who’s ready to get down to business.” I only blush harder, which makes him laugh. “Relax. I’m not going to ask you to do anything you won’t enjoy.”
So he says.
“Take off your clothes.” My heart skips a beat at the sudden seriousness in his voice. Joking time is over.
“All of them?” I ask after gulping.
“You’re going to take a shower. And I’m going to watch.”
He wastes no time, does he?
I could still back out—no, I can’t because this job means everything. It occurs to me I should have had him put something in writing, but we’re past that point now. The tension in the room is so extreme I can hardly breathe as my trembling fingers begin working the buttons on my blouse.
“Maybe take your jacket off first?” he suggests with a hint of a smile.
I hate what this man does to me. It’s like my brain flew out the window. I slide the jacket over my shoulders and down my arms before folding it in half and laying it over at the back of the desk chair. Then I return to my blouse, working it out from my waistband before opening it one button at a time.
Strange. I couldn’t have imagined the tiny thrill that runs down my spine as I watch him watching me. His eyes are glued to my every move, dropping lower and lower until I finally peel the blouse away and leave it with the jacket. Goosebumps cover my skin, but I do my best not to tremble under his lustful gaze. The skirt takes no time—I lower the zipper and let it fall to the floor, leaving me in nothing but my best black satin bra and panties. I’m so glad I wore them today.
He runs a hand over his bulge, and it twitches in response. My teeth sink into my bottom lip, and Colton groans softly. “Keep going. I didn’t tell you to stop.”
I kick off my shoes, trembling. This is it. No going back now.
I do as I’m told, getting it over with in a rush—not like I know how to be seductive, anyway, but I have to get it over with or else risk chickening out. My already tight nipples harden painfully under his gaze, and now the towel juts out in front of him like a ship’s prow.
“Turn around.” I do so, forcing myself to breathe evenly before I hyperventilate. “You are so fucking hot.”
“Don’t patronize me,” I whisper, turning around to face him again. I can hardly lift my gaze from the bedspread, I’m so embarrassed. Even if he’s turned on, that doesn’t make this any easier.
Without another word, he drops the towel, and what was already eye-poppingly big when it was soft is now almost frighteningly huge and standing straight up. He wraps his hand around the thick shaft and makes a few strokes, his eyes glued to my breasts.
“This speaks for itself,” he assures me in a voice that’s a lot breathier than it was before. “You’re a fucking goddess.”
An interesting choice of words, one that makes my already wet pussy practically gush. I believe he means it. This insanely wealthy man who once broke my heart thinks I’m a goddess. He could have any woman he wants.
