Page 87 of Hate You Up Close

I’ve got Elliot right where I want him. Jealous out of his mind. He’s so jealous that he can barely think straight.

He’sthe one giving me the silent treatment now. He hasn't muttered a single word to me since we got back to the hotel.

Elliot’s reaction at the restaurant was over the top but also kind of… hot. I must be a masochist because the way Elliot was giving all three men a threatening death glare had my core clenching. Sure, I’ve had plenty of men fawn after me. But I’ve never had a man act so possessive or schedule a whole fucking trip so I couldn't go on a date.

A first date, at that. Who knows? I could have gone out with Zach and gotten the ick.

Anyone who knows Elliot is well aware that the wordchivalrysimply doesn't exist in his vocabulary. I can’t help but feel like Elliot publicly staking his claim over a woman is something he doesn't usually do.

It makes me feel…special.

Oh God, I am a masochist.

I’m kicking my feet and blushing over a self-righteous man who thinks he owns me or some shit. Not only does he order me around forty hours a week, but now, he’s trying to control my dating life. My life outside of work.

Which is why I’m ready to put this motherfucker in his place. I’ll admit that on a physical and emotional level, Elliot does havesomepower over me. But we both know that I hold just as much power, if not more.

Elliot is a control freak, but I’ve learned that he has absolutely no control when it comes to me.

That’s why he darted out of the restaurant like the place was on fire. He knew that if he didn't get out of there, he was going to lose his shit. And Elliot isn't the type of guy who lets his emotions control him, especially when it comes to business. I’ve observed him in countless meetings, and he’s usually calm, cool, and collected. Emotionless. Cold. Statuesque.

But the second Thomas opened his mouth and offered to take me out, the last string of Elliot’s restraint snapped.

Even though my blood heated at his little show of possessiveness, it didn’t change the fact that it wasn’t okay. I’m not his girlfriend or his property. He doesn't get to tell me who I can or can’t date. And he sure as hell doesn't get to act like he’s completely unbothered by my presence, when we both know he’s constantly watching me with an eagle eye and touching me any chance he gets.

So, two can play his game.

Tonight, I plan to break Elliot Thompson.

The second we walked back into our hotel room, I grabbed what I needed from my suitcase and headed straight into the bathroom to begin step one of my plan.

I quickly undressed, put my hair up in a bun so it wouldn't get wet, and stepped under the warm spray of the shower. Iwashed my face, scrubbed my body with the vanilla soap that I know Elliot can’t resist, and speedily shaved over my already shaven legs. I also run over the spot between my thighs.

I highly doubt that anything would ever happen between me and Elliot, but I always like to be prepared just in case.

Once I’m done washing off, I step out of the shower, dry my body with a soft towel, and let my hair down. My loose curls cascade around my shoulders, framing my heavy breasts.

Just the thought of Elliot’s face, when I walk out of the bathroom, has my core tingling. My lower belly feels warm and inflamed, and my pink nipples feel rigid and tight. I stare at my naked body in the foggy mirror, slowly skimming my fingertips up the center of my tummy and between the valley of my breasts. A small moan falls from my lips when I graze a sensitive nipple with my index finger.

My eyes roll back as I imagine it’s Elliot touching my bare breasts.

With one hand cradling my breast, my free hand slides between my legs, rubbing little circles over my sensitive clit.

God, it feels so good.Just the thought of Elliot’s large hands on my body has me overly responsive to touch. Even my own.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath as I feel a drop of wetness seep from my core, dripping down the inside of my thigh.

I swiftly remove my hands from my body, bracing them on the marble countertop to steady my shaky limbs. I close my eyes, inhaling and exhaling a few deep breaths.

I just…I feel so starved for touch. It’s been so long since anyone has touched me, truly touched me, other than myself.

ButI’msupposed to be the one breaking Elliot, the one bringinghimto his knees. The last thing I want is to walk out of the bathroom with flushed cheeks and stoner eyes because I gave myself an orgasm by thinking about seducing my boss.

I’mthe one in control here. Not him.

Once I’ve calmed down, I reach for my tank top on the counter and pull it over my head, foregoing a bra. Because who actually sleeps in a bra?

The hem of the shirt stops just above my belly button, exposing most of the skin on my lower stomach. The white, cotton material is so thin that it’s almost see-through. You can easily make out the round shape of my breasts and see my pointed nipples through the transparent fabric.