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I pushed her out of my thoughts, I barked orders at her, and did everything I could to keep her at bay. And I succeeded, but it’s only now that I have unfettered access to her. Now that she’s in my space, inches from me, I can sit and freely observe her features. I can take my time with every curve and dip of her body.
And I love what I see.
There’s still a trace of Cari Summers, my PA, in the woman I see before me, but she is now a vixen. She’s strong, bold, and unafraid, and she drips with sex appeal.
I want her so badly.
My eyes trail down her body, inch by inch, as if I’m discovering her for the first time, and she catches me.
“I excite you,” I say, peering at her nipples which stick out like bullets beneath the dress. Fuck.
Instinctively moving my stool closer, I reach for her, wanting to touch her, but I resist and lay my hand on the countertop instead. My cock is so hard it's getting painful.
“You do that a lot, lately,” she answers, shifting on her stool, her eyes lowered. It’s the first sign that she’s playing a part. Confident on the outside, yet deep down, she’s nervous.
We’re sitting so close, I can smell her perfume—light and flowery. A scent I have come to know. A scent that excites me.
“God, you are so beautiful, Cari.” My eyes trail down to her shoulders, and I imagine untying those delicate bows. I want so much to slip my hand inside her dress and cup her breasts, but miraculously I manage to resist that, too.
“I want to touch you,” I say, because I am steel hard with need.
Her eyes meet mine. “Then touch me.”
Fuck.
My hand trembles as I tentatively reach out and cup her breast gently over the fabric, sliding my thumb lightly over it. Her nipple peaks even more. A low growl rolls in my throat. I’ve never had to exercise such restraint before.
This is torture, touching her like this. Her dress gapes apart at the slit, exposing her thighs again. My mind is a riot of confusion as debauched thoughts fly around in my head. Her mouth falls open. She’s enjoying this as much as I am, and so far she hasn’t asked me to stop. So I keep stroking her, hissing out a sigh, enjoying this first touch and taking pleasure in observing her reaction.
Maybe she wasn’t fucking with me.
Maybe she meant what she said.
This wasn’t just all inmyhead.
Is she as wet as I am hard? I’m tempted to touch her there and find out. I move my hand to her other breast, giving it the same careful attention. She’s so perfect, in every way. Her nipple hardens even more, and I fight the urge to claim it with my mouth. I want to suck her hard, drawing it out to a higher peak, but I don’t. I can’t. I won’t. And it’s slowly killing me.
“You're a breast man, and I’m really small.” She closes her eyes, as if she’s ashamed to look at me.
Her words break the magic spell and my hand stills. I pull back. A breast man? She’s so astute. I don’t have an answer for her because I can’t think straight. “What makes you think I'm a breast man?”
“Because your girlfriends are all gorgeous, and ... busty.”
“I don't go looking for women who have big breasts—”
“It’s just an observation.” Her voice is low, rushed, breathless. Sultry, sensual energy tension whizzes between us, making me hot and sweaty. “You’ve been paying close attention to the women I’ve dated.” I shift a little closer, and she doesn't move back. She seems comfortable, and that reassures me.
“Hard not to when you have me arranging your vacations and dinner reservations. Not to mention the–”
“Okay. Enough about that.” I don’t need her to rub my face in it. I know what an ass I’ve been. “I’ve been a difficult boss.”
“That’s one way to describe it.”
“But I’ve tried to do the right thing when I can.”
“Meaning?” She peers up at me.
She won’t know, can’t ever find out, that I paid towards her mother’s medical expenses. Or that I pulled strings to get her on the clinical trial. It was no easy feat. I also contributed toward the funeral, told the undertaker to give Cari a reduced price. I paid for her bereavement counselling. I’ve given her perks and bonuses and pay raises, even when they weren’t due.