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I worry that I’m taking too long. I don’t want it to seem as if I have trouble making a simple cup of coffee. Watching the coffee infused water trickle out of the machine into a mug feels like it’s taking forever, and I wait anxiously for it to finally be done.
I know I shouldn’t rush when it comes to such a hot cup, but I do anyway as I grab the mug to take to Jared. I’m extremely regretful of that as some of the scalding hot contents of the cup sloshes over the side to land on my exposed wrist.
“Ow!” I cry out, the feeling of the hot liquid on my skin forcing me to grit my teeth.
I know I can’t waste any more time, so I quickly grab some napkins to wipe off my wrist before grabbing the mug again—more gently this time—to rush it back to Jared’s office.
Getting to his office door, he must not have sensed my arrival to come collect the drink himself, so I knock tentatively on it.
When I hear a voice call out, “come in,” I open up the office door. It’s huge, with floor to ceiling windows covering the entire back wall, a sleek glass desk even bigger than my own, a seating area filled with off-white furniture, and a ton of shelf space lining one wall.
“Finally,” Jared says from where he sits at his desk, his half-eaten sandwich in front of him.
Begrudgingly, I circle around to the other side of his desk to hand him the coffee. I don’t say anything as I do it, still reeling from the burning sensation on my wrist.
Once the mug is in his hand, I make a move to turn and go.
“Wait,” Jared calls out, reaching out to grab my freshly burned wrist.
I let out a yelp at the sensation, and Jared quickly pulls his hand away. He looks at me with an expression I don’t think I’ve ever seen on his face: worry.
“Give me your arm,” he instructs, leaving no room for refusal.
Slowly, I hold out my right arm for Jared to inspect. He turns my arm so my palm is face up and he can look at the inside of my wrist. The skin looks red and irritated, indicating an obvious burn. I know that in no time, the skin will start puffing up.
“What happened?” he asks, his brows furrowed as he stares down at my wrist.
“I spilled coffee,” I mumble, the words sounding stupid as they leave my mouth.
“Go and sit on the couch,” he says with no explanation as he drops my arm and gestures to the off-white couch in the seating area to the side.
I don’t argue as I head over and take a seat. Jared follows me not long after, a small first-aid kit in hand.
“I’ve never had to use this,” he says, sitting down uncomfortably close to me.
Grabbing my wrist, he makes quick work of spreading petroleum jelly on the irritated spot before wrapping my wrist in some gauze. No words are shared, but we’re so close, I can feel his breath leaving his mouth. It has my breath stalling at how close we are, and I stare at the concentrated look on his face.
I feel hot despite how wrong that is.
When he’s finally done, he asks, “Better?” and gazes into my eyes as he waits for an answer.
“Better,” I manage to choke out, quickly standing up from the seat to put some space between us. “Thank you.”
I don’t wait around as I rush back to my desk to complete the other tasks I have to do.
It’s tiring work, and by the time I’m done for the day, Jared is still locked in his office. I consider telling him I’m leaving, but I don’t think I can face him right now, not after that moment we had in his office. So instead, I rush out of the office building, eager to get home.
While I want my home to be a sanctuary, it doesn’t protect me from the thoughts of Jared that bombard my mind. Why was him being so nice so… arousing?
I tell myself how wrong it is as I fall into my bed. I tell myself how wrong it is when I work my dress pants down to my ankles. And, I tell myself how wrong it is as I let my finger brush past the elastic band of my panties.
But as my fingers settle on my dripping center, thinking about how tender it was when Jared cared for my wrist, I don’t let worries about how wrong it is stop me from getting myself off.
Even when thoughts of what it would be like if Jared were here, letting his fingers or his tongue run over my slit, I don’t chastise myself.
So, when I finally fall over the edge, with images of Jared thrusting into me settling behind my eyelids, I know that no matter how much I try to rid him from my mind, I’m screwed.
CHAPTER10
