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This fuck-up was out of my realm of expertise, though; I didn’t have an artistic bone in my body.
I glanced around the room, my gaze landing on Zoey as she leaned against the kitchen counter, playing on her phone. Every time she shifted, even in the most mundane tasks, I was drawn to her.
That candid laughter, the way her eyes lit up with genuine kindness when she caught someone’s gaze—Zoey wasn’t like the others. There was a raw authenticity about her that many lacked, and it pulled me in, demanding my full attention.
Her eyes lifted from her phone, and I couldn’t believe this was the same girl I’d known when we were children. When had she grown up? Had she always been so fucking beautiful?
If she had been any other woman besides my best friend’s little sister, I had no doubt in my mind that I would have bent her over the kitchen counter and fucked her until the sun came up.
“Hey, Mason,” she called out, snapping me from my reverie. “You okay?”
“No,” I sneered. Not only was I in a seemingly impossible situation, but now I had a massive hard-on for the only woman who was completely off limits. “Someone on my team royally fucked up, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Can I help?” she asked, walking from the kitchen to the main room.
“Doubtful,” I retorted under my breath.
She stopped in her place and held up her hands, sensing my irritated mood. “Okay, then. I will just leave you alone.”
She started to back away.
Shit. She didn’t deserve that.
“Sorry,” I responded, hoping she’d accept the apology. “I just need to get some graphics to our marketing agency. My director didn’t complete the first set of graphics, and this campaign is supposed to start tomorrow.”
“You’re in luck!” A broad smile spread across her face. “I can help with that.”
Once again, she started walking toward me. I couldn’t take my eyes off her or her lips. And then my mind wandered to how those lips would feel around my cock. I needed to stop thinking about her that way—immediately. It didn’t help that I had already jerked off to her the night before and again that morning.
I raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her offer. “With graphic design?”
“Yeah,” she shrugged. “You know that is what I do for a job, right? My bachelor’s degree is in graphic design. And my master’s degree is in business communications, but I’ve worked in graphic design since I finished school.”
A heavy weight from my chest lifted, and she sat beside me on the couch. Her scent was intoxicating—something sweet and citrusy. Vanilla and orange? I really needed to stay away from her. Even her nearness made me uneasy because of the feelings stirring inside me.
But maybe she could help me. I was desperate, and desperate times called for desperate measures.
“You sure?” I asked, not one to easily relinquish control over my projects.
She gave a confident nod, her easygoing demeanor both surprising and intriguing. I moved aside, trying to put more space between us.
As she leaned over my laptop, I caught a glimpse of the top of her tits from her button-down pajama top. She wasn’t even dressed provocatively, but I believed she could make anything look sexy.
I focused on the screen, trying to distract myself from her magnetic pull on me.
To my amazement, her fingers danced across the keyboard with finesse, her eyes narrowing in concentration. She swiftly opened files and made adjustments I hadn’t considered, breathing new life into the design.
It was like she’d tapped into some hidden superpower, allowing her to effortlessly transform my half-baked design into a masterpiece. The efficiency with which she worked both impressed and intrigued me.
She really had a talent that made my pull to her even more potent.
“Why did you get into graphic design?” I found myself asking, genuinely curious about her life. Also, I needed to take my mind off what I wanted to do to her.
She paused for a moment, her gaze softening as if lost in thought. “My mom and I used to do scrapbooking together when I was younger. I loved combining all the pictures and craft supplies into something beautiful. We don’t do it anymore, but I guess that’s what got me interested in design.”
Her words carried a hint of nostalgia, and I sensed a touch of wistfulness in her tone.
“But scrapbooking and graphic design are two separate things,” I said, wanting to hear more about her.
