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CHAPTER 14

Two weeks later

He didn’t look at me. Not once.

I knew sooner or later I’d have to end up in some kind of meeting with him at headquarters if I took this promotion. I’m not an idiot. And, yes, I knew he’d have to act professionally, the way he did during that welcome dinner on the cruise. He did just that at the quarterly meeting I attended yesterday at HQ. Before the business side of the meeting, he announced my promotion and introduced me to the room. That was the closest I came to being acknowledged by him, though. Each time I made eye contact, he looked away. Trying to catch his attention was like trying to spear a gnat with a needle, I swear.

And those emails over the last two weeks since I took the promotion... Those fucking replies to my emails—could they be any vaguer? He either tells meGood job, Keep up the great work,or sends some sanitized response with contacts I can try to tap into for new markets. It’s so…condescending. Helpful and clearly work-related, but…condescending. I’m sure anyone who reads the emails would think nothing of them. But if he said them to me in person, I bet he’d have that coy little smirk on his face, and his voice would be dripping with that obnoxious wisdom he seems to possess. Wisdom of dark secrets that people like me don’t know.

Okay, I know that sounds totally ridiculous. But that’s kind of the point—he’s turned me into a ridiculous person. Gripping the steering wheel, I grit my teeth as I stare at the lit pathway to the front door of his house. I was headed to meet aGrindrhook-up. Iwas, but I ended up here instead. Somehow, a right became a left and then another right, and then I was…here.

He’s in there. Right now. I can tell. His car is in his driveway, and there are a few lights on inside, but that’s not how I know. I can sense his presence. It’s the fucking reason I’m sitting in his driveway like a damn super fan.

It doesn’t matter what I do or who I try to do it with. No amount of self-pleasure tactics, sex toys, or hook-ups is going to work. I know because I’ve tried it all over the past month since the cruise. The only thing that comes close to working is when I think abouthim.Me…withhim. Me with him and… my cage. His…gift.

I even fucking bought another one, but I don’t like it. It doesn’t fit the same. It doesn’t feel the same. It’s not…his. And this isn’t a conversation I’m going to have at work, over a phone call, or via text message. If he didn’t want me to have his home address, he shouldn’t have put it on my promotion packet.

Shoving out of the car, I make my way past the lights lining his sidewalk toward an ominous black door illuminated under a covered porch. The white stucco contemporary-style house is impressive, yet I’m surprised it’s not larger and more elaborate, considering his wealth. He could certainly afford a mansion if he wanted. A set of stacked windows affords the only glimpse of the interior. The other windows are narrow and rectangular, close to the soffit. It’s the perfect architecture for a man who needs privacy. What the hell does he get up to here, I wonder.

Squaring my shoulders, I step onto the porch and knock, determined. Desperate. Once again, miserable. My heart hammers when the latch disengages. The black door opens,silhouetting Rory in a warm glow of light from deeper inside the house.

He’s in worn jeans, slung low on his hips. The sleeves of his white Henley are shoved up to his elbows, a hint of chest hair peeking out behind the three undone buttons between his clavicles. The sight of his bare feet makes me feel like I’m intruding on something personal for some reason. Well, of course I am. This is his home, but I don’t care. I need answers.

“Charlie…is everything all right?”

I resent the instant assumption that I’m only here because something is wrong and not because he waved a covert invitation in my face by sending me his home address. Brushing past him, I step inside, ignoring how it looks like I invited myself in. His spicy scent hits me like a brick wall. It’s everywhere. I’ve just entered the honey pot of Rory’s aroma. This is terrible. How am I going to be able to think with his smell all around me?

“No, as a matter of fact,” I huff, taking in the open floor plan.

There’s a kitchen off to my right, through an archway. The scent of grilled food tickles my nose. I don’t know if I’m surprised he cooks for himself or not surprised at all, considering he seems to be a man of particular taste.

The walnut flooring extends across a wide hallway in front of me, all the way through the living room to a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. While his house appears to be a modern fortress from the outside, his view to the rear is open, overlooking Mt. Hood. As my pulse flickers with adrenaline, I scan my surroundings for signs of anything risqué, or possibly an indicator that he has company. All I see is a serene home with minimalist paintings on the walls and a few abstract sculptures on the floor lining the hallway.

“What’s going on?”

The door clicks shut behind me, ratcheting up my heart rate. Anyone else would think what I’m about to say is absurd. I’msure of it. But this is Rory. He’s the one who got me into this mess.

I try to control my breathing, feeling him approach. I don’t need him to be closer to say what I’m going to say. It’s a greedy bit of narcissism, why I wait—the strange addiction that brought me to his doorstep tonight. I can feel my blood growing warmer the closer he gets, feel my flesh going taut.

Snap out of it, Charlie. That’s why you’re here—to figure out how to get rid of those reactions, not to fall prey to more of them.

“What did you do to me?” The hoarse demand falls from my lips.

Judging by his silence, he either didn’t hear me, he’s waiting for me to elaborate, or he knows exactly what I mean. Pinching my eyes closed, I take a breath through my mouth so I don’t have to get another hit of his intoxicating scent.

“I can’t…function…like I used to.”

The floor creaks, making me happy there’s at least one thing that’s imperfect about him or his life and possessions. “Function how?”

He’s close. His body heat is warm on my skin, making me want to be reached out to and touched. I swallow against the thickness in my throat.

“Nothing…works. I…I can barely get off anymore unless…unless…” Fuck that. I’m not going there—not giving him the satisfaction. “And when I do, it’s…disappointing.”

“You’re going through a dry spell and assume our time together is to blame?”

This bastard. Spinning around, I level my gaze on him but get no satisfaction. He looks positively curious, invested. I don’t detect a trace of smugness in his expression.

“I don’t know what’s to blame. I just know that I used to feel good, and now I don’t. I used to have a sex life where I didn’t think about having a cage on my cock or…” I refuse to say thewords, ‘your cock in my ass,’ and hope he can’t read between the lines.