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CSTeamLeader: You’re not cleared to view them, and do not let me catch you hacking into our own system. There will be consequences. I will not say this again. Do your damn job, and let everyone else do theirs.
I watchedher as she huffed and slumped back in her chair. Her eyes were fiery. I meant what I said in the chat, but I couldn’t help chuckling a little at how worked up she was. “Everything alright?” I asked her across the table.
“No.” She ground out, rolling her eyes. I didn’t speak, letting her respond again. “It’s just– ugh! My boss is driving me insane. They’re so ignorant. I have something, something is not right. And they don’t even care.” She placed her elbow on the table and propped her cheek up using the heel of her hand. She blinked at me in irritation.
“Want to tell me more?” I pushed. I needed to see how much of a loose cannon she was, how much she was willing to step over the line.
She thought for a moment and sucked her teeth. “I can’t.”
“That’s alright.” I nodded.
Good girl.
“It’s just that they’re not even using me to my full capacity.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t work so hard.” I responded.
“Maybe you should mind your own business, Mason.” She said it with a coy smile that was playful. I felt my dick light up, and I swear she could feel my turn on, because her eyes flicked down to my lips for a moment before she met my eyes again.
7
MASON
I watchedEmma as she milled around my kitchen barefoot, in those damn shorts again. As she turned her back to me to stir a steaming pot on the stove, I unsuccessfully fought the urge to look at her smooth, firm thighs. I wanted to walk around this damn counter and pull those thighs apart, and pull her warmth onto my tongue. I blew out a breath and tried not to think about what her pussy tasted like. What was wrong with me?
“Almost ready.” She whirled back around with a smile that could rival the warmth of the sun. Her smooth pale skin, her curves that dipped in all the right places. With her short hair, she looked even younger now, as it swayed and moved with her while she spun around the kitchen, getting dinner ready.
It had been a few days of her being here, and we’d fallen into a rhythm of passing glances and light, polite conversation. After the first night of takeout, I’d cooked for the two of us, and I had made my staple of chicken, broccoli, and rice. After three nights of that meal, she’s offered to cook. Clearly, she was over chicken and broccoli three nights in a row, and I didn’t blame her.
It’s not that I didn't know how to cook, but I was a busy guy, and I ate for nutrition more than taste. I had to keep my body sharp and fueled, and I wasn’t keen on spending more time making food than was necessary. Typically, my fridge was stacked with my standard meal in five or six meal prep containers, ready to go.
She slid a wine bottle and a corkscrew in front of me. “Can you open this?” She whirled around and reached up on her tiptoes to grab two wineglasses from the cabinet. I stifled a groan as the bottom curve of her ass peaked out, just begging to be bitten. My eyes lingered on her firm thighs, and the warmth I knew I’d find at the apex of them. This was so wrong. I shouldn’t be imagining what the warmth between her legs feels like. But it didn’t matter what I knew was right, because I felt my cock strain against my zipper all the same.
She returned with the two wineglasses, sliding them towards me. “Here.”
I poured a modest pour of wine in the first glass before she protested. “Come on, what are you? A lightweight? We’re celebrating.” As I poured the second glass, she grinned and lightly tipped the bottom of the bottle I was pouring up, so that I filled the second glass much fuller. “I’ll take that.” She said as she swiped the full glass from me.
I raised my brows at her. “What are we celebrating?”
“That I’m alive, that I didn’t get murdered in my house the other day. That I got a haircut.” She rolled her eyes and lifted her hand to show off her hair. She had used kitchen scissors last night to even out the hack job I’d given her. And I did feel bad about cutting her hair, but better her hair than something that wouldn’t grow back. She continued, “That we don’t have to eat another one of yourmeal prepmeals.” She teased.
“Hey, those meals are perfectly nutritionally balanced.” I chuckled.
“I’m not saying they’re not. I’m just saying they’re bland.” She put her hands up and shrugged mischievously. “I just think you’re going to like this a whole lot better.
“Can’t wait.” I smiled before taking a sip of my moderate glass of wine. I was genuinely excited to eat whatever she was cooking. But I was more pleased to see her in my kitchen barefoot. Something about it felt primal to me. I could get used to this. Having a beautiful woman cook me a meal, and sharing it with me over a glass of wine. Though not meant to be romantic, it was.
And after a steak dinner with braised asparagus and buttery mashed potatoes, I leaned back in my chair, thoroughly satiated. I watched as Emma worked on her secondfullglass of wine. She wandered over to the stereo and turned the music up, and began twirling around the living room, dancing.
I could feel my eyes gleaming as I watched her dance. She was beautiful; she was a woman now, and her body had all the curves to show for it. I tried not to lick my lips and she let her head fall back, exposing her long, soft neck.
I got a notification on my phone, and I quickly pulled it up. I blew a breath out. I had to leave for a mission tomorrow. I watched Emma innocently swaying to the music and wondered what to do with her. I could leave her here. I did have my place locked down with security cameras so I could watch her that way. Though, I didn’t feel great about that option. If she was in any real danger, yes, I’d be able to see, but I wouldn’t be able to do anything useful.
Obviously, her attack had been coordinated by the organization, and carried out by me, but she had been genuinely threatened by the hacker she was goading. I didn’t know how real that threat really was.
I was fast and clean when I went on my missions. I could keep her at the hotel, so at least she was with me.
Suddenly, Emma stumbled over to me and grabbed my hand. “Dance with me, Mason. Don’t make me dance alone.” She sang giddily as she placed her wineglass on the kitchen table and stumbled forward towards me, grabbing my hand.
