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I am so goddamn screwed.
Chapter 9
BRYAN
Crossing an ankle over my knee, I lean back in the chair. I may appear relaxed and calm, but it couldn’t be farther from the truth. I’m strung tight and my damn cock is so hard I could pick ice with it.
I regard the woman who’s taking up way too much space in my head lately. Today she has on a sleeveless, light-grey shirt and a loose, black skirt. Her black boots climb all the way up to her knees. The outfit itself seems harmless enough, except for the fact that she’s not wearing a fucking bra, leaving her breasts to jiggle freely against the material every time she moves. Not to mention the skirt riding up her thigh, making me wonder if she’s wearing panties, a thong, or nothing at all. And those boots…. Those goddamn boots have been taunting me from the moment she walked into my office today.
“How’s Aleah?” she asks.
Her question shakes me from my thoughts. I clear my throat.
“She’s fine. Still not talking about what happened.”
She frowns. “Give her time. I’m sure she’ll open up eventually.”
That’s what I keep telling Dad, but each day that passes and Aleah doesn’t talk to us, the angrier he gets. Not at Aleah, but at knowing the guy is getting away with hurting her.
I nod. “That’s what I’m hoping for.”
Charlotte shifts in her chair and her skirt slides up her thigh an inch. It reminds me of the reason we’re here.
“Why don’t you tell me about the last time you felt the need to expose yourself?” I ask.
Yes, I’m a bastard for asking when I already know. And she knows that I know. I had no intention of going to the park this past Monday once she revealed that she knew I watched her. I had to put my foot down. It was imperative that I stop my foolish infatuation with Charlotte. But as the time clicked closer to when she would be showing up at the park, the more antsy I got.
In the end, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t give up my opportunity to see her. I made it to the park at the same time Charlotte did. Even though the cat was out of the bag, I still stayed hidden in the shadows of trees, refusing to blatantly admit to watching her by showing myself. Even so, she knew I was there. It was in the sexy smirk that curved her lips when she looked around her.
Charlotte licks her lips and once again moves in her seat. Her tits jiggle, putting my control precariously close to the edge. She has to know what she’s doing to me.
“It was Monday,” she says, her voice husky, as if the reminder sends pleasure through her. It sure as fuck does me.
“And how did it go?” My voice comes out way too hoarse.
One corner of her mouth tips up, as if she knows of my struggle. “It was rather disappointing,” she admits.
I lift a brow, intrigued. “How so?”
“Because the man who I wanted to show myself to didn’t reveal himself to me.”
I drop my foot to the floor, but make sure the notepad covers my impossibly hard erection.
I throw caution to the wind and damn myself to hell when I ask, “And who was this man?”
A light blush forms on her face, contradicting the strong and bold woman I know Charlotte to be. It takes her a moment to answer, and when she does, her voice is determined. “I think we both know that answer, Dr. Erikson.”
My eyes snap to her thighs when she uncrosses her legs then tucks her ankles together under the chair. I know what’s coming next. I’ve seen her in action numerous times. Her knees fall open a couple of inches.
I can’t fucking help it. No sane, hot-blooded male could. She’s been tempting me for weeks, hell, even months. The temptation of finally seeing what she’s hiding beneath her skirt is too much, so I keep my eyes glued where she’s silently begging me to look.
Her legs are still together enough so I can’t really see anything. It’s on the tip of my tongue to demand she spread them wider, but I hold onto a thread of my control.
“Charlotte—” I start, yanking my eyes to her face. “I think—”
“I know you come to the park to watch me. I saw you one day before you darted behind a tree. How long have you been watching?” She doesn’t give me time to answer, not that I have one to give her anyway. “When I left the park that day, I ached so bad I had to go straight home and relieve myself. And I did it to thoughts of you. For the past six months, it’s only been you I’ve thought of when I touch myself.”
Sweat breaks out on my forehead. Not because she’s calling me out on watching her, but to the mental picture of her touching herself with thoughts of me in her mind. I’ve had many fantasies over the last couple of months of what it would be like to watch Charlotte slide her fingers through her wet folds. Of her doing so out in the open on the park bench she always sits on. With only me there to witness it.
