Page 27

ISABELLE

“ M orning,” Pierre greets me happily. The smell of bacon wafts through the air, and my stomach grumbles.

“Morning. How are you so chipper this morning after all that wine?” I ask him. I walk straight over to my coffee maker and start preparing my glass of energy.

“I’ve made breakfast, thought we could use something to soak up all that wine. We polished off a couple of bottles,” he says, sliding the tray of bacon toward me.

“And my head feels every bit of it.” I swipe a piece from the tray and nibble on it.

“I was thinking about cooking steak tonight for dinner.”

“You’re going to cook for me again?” I ask.

“Told you last night I would. I promise we won’t drink as much wine tonight as we did last night.”

“Don’t think I’d survive if we keep it up.” I smile as I take a sip of my wake-up cure. My shoulders instantly relax as I take my first sip of coffee.

“I had fun last night,” he says, looking up at me as he takes a bite of his bacon.

“I did too.” I think the wine helped.

“Just like old times.” He grins.

“Yeah. It was. We always did have fun together.” The pang of nostalgia hits me as the smile falls off my face.

“I’m sorry I broke us, Issy,” Pierre says again.

He’s trying. And I can hear the sincerity in this voice. “You don’t need to keep apologizing to me.”

“It doesn’t feel like I’ve done enough to make it up to you.”

“Making me dinner every night seems like enough,” I tell him.

I don’t want him to keep punishing himself.

That is on me, not him. He’s done enough.

I do still have hang-ups about him, but he’s not doing anything now to warrant me not speaking to him.

His life has enough turmoil in it, I don’t need to add to it.

I’ll deal with my insecurities internally just like I have always done.

“That’s it?” he questions me.

“Yeah. I’m a simple girl. Look, I have to run. I have a morning meeting. I’m sure you have a lot to talk about with Marcus and Jordan. Concentrate on finding your next team, everything else doesn’t matter,” I remind him.

“Okay. Let me at least pack you some breakfast to go. Two slices of bacon is not enough for you to go kick some ass at work with,” he says.

“I don’t eat much at breakfast,” I tell him.

“That’s not good. Breakfast is an important part of the day. Let me do this. Food I know.” He grins. Okay, if the man wants to make me a breakfast to go, I’m not one to say no to that.

Pierre: Hey, I’m doing a load of washing. Do you have anything?

Issy: You don’t have to do my washing, the housekeeper does it.

Pierre: You paused her, remember?

Shit. I did too because he was staying there for the week, and now it’s turned longer, I forgot to un pause her.

Pierre: I’m happy to clean the house. I am the reason you don’t have help.

I can’t expect a two-time cup winning hockey player to clean my house.

Issy: You don’t have to do that. I can do it when I get home.

Pierre: After you’ve worked all day. No. I’m here now doing nothing but contemplating how messed up my life is. I need something to do, otherwise, I’m going to go stir crazy.

He is basically in lock down.

Issy: Do you know how to do the washing?

Pierre: I had to wash my own gear growing up.

Issy: Fine. The basket is in my bathroom.

Pierre: *Thumbs up*

I click on my in-home security app to see what Pierre is up to, I don’t want him snooping around my bedroom.

I watch the cameras flick through following him as he walks through my home, up the stairs, and into my bedroom.

He stops for a moment, taking it all in, he then walks into my bathroom and picks up the overflowing basket.

He carries it back downstairs to the laundry room, but I notice he drops a couple of things along the way.

He starts sorting through the clothes, separating the whites from the colors before putting a load on.

Why is it so hot watching men do household chores?

He walks back into the hall and sees the items he dropped.

When he picks them up I notice it’s a couple of pairs of my underwear.

Oh no. That’s embarrassing. He stares at the white cotton panties, and next thing I know, he is sniffing them.

What the fuck? What does he think he is doing?

He stops abruptly as if he can sense me watching him, and the next thing I know, he takes a seat on my sofa and pulls his cock out of his sweats.

I still. My heart starts beating uncontrollably in my chest, my cheeks flush, and I nervously look around my office wondering if anyone can see the indecent images I do.

I shouldn’t be watching. Pierre thinks he’s alone.

But then he pulls my knickers to his nose and inhales as he starts sliding his hand over his cock.

His hard, thick cock. I’m transfixed by the image on my phone.

This is creepy. I shouldn’t be looking, but I can’t seem to look away either.

I wiggle in my chair, a deep throbbing ache between my legs.

This isn’t good. I’m at work. Now is not the appropriate time to get turned on.

My teeth sink into my lip as I watch his veiny forearms tug harshly on his cock as he continues to use my panties as inspiration.

This is hot. So hot. Watching Pierre’s dirty little secret.

Has he done this before? He must have, he stole my underwear the other night.

I should feel violated that he is using my underwear in this way, it’s a breach of friendship, but so is watching your roommate jerk off.

We’re even. He continues to touch himself, his hand getting faster and faster, every muscle in his arm and body tensing as he works himself closer to the edge, until he wraps my knickers around the tip of his cock and comes.

His eyes are closed, his back arches, those hard biceps straining as he releases himself into my knickers.

A filthy, satisfied smirk slides across his lips as he starts to tidy himself up. And now I’m drenched.

I didn’t get any work done today because I couldn’t stop thinking about what I watched earlier.

After spacing out in one meeting and having to reread a contract three times, I gave up and decided to leave early.

This is going to be an awkward dinner tonight.

How the hell am I supposed to look at him across the table when I watched him jerk off over my undies?

Maybe I can quickly use my battery-operated friend while he’s preparing dinner, and then I won’t feel so wound up.

“You’re home early,” he calls out, hearing me walk through the door.

“Hey, Frankston.” The golden floof jumps up and greets me warmly at the door.

“Yeah. Splitting headache,” I call out to him.

He walks into the foyer wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweats. My eyes fall on his bare chest. This is not the visual I need when I’m as highly strung as I am right now. Has he always been this muscular? Have his biceps been this huge?

“Are you okay? You look a little flushed. Are you coming down with something?” Pierre asks, sounding concerned. Yeah, a case of too hot to handle.

“Hangovers. They hit differently as adults,” I tell him, shaking the impure thoughts of him from my mind.

“Tell me about it. I think it’s going to take me a couple of days to get over those bottles last night.” He chuckles. “I’m just getting the salad ready. I can put the steaks on anytime you like.”

“I’m just going to go upstairs and have a shower,” I say, bypassing him and running up the stairs.

I’ve never been this turned on before and it’s making me crazy.

I quickly pull out my remote-control friend from my bedside table, and there is no need to get myself going, I’m already there.

I pull up my skirt, slide my underwear to the side, shove the wand between my thighs, and turn it on.

Yes. A moan falls from my lips. That’s what I needed.

Yes. I can feel my legs start to quiver as the vibrations do their thing.

“Hey, Issy,” Pierre calls out.

Fuck. I throw my vibrating friend away from me moments before Frankston comes rushing in.

His eyes land on my toy, and I watch in slow motion as he zeroes in on it.

“No,” I yell at him, but it’s too late. He grabs the still vibrating wand and runs away with it nearly knocking over Pierre in the process.

“Did he grab something of yours?” he asks.

Shit. I chase after the golden floof. This is embarrassing. “Frankston. You little fucker give that back to me,” I curse at him. But he thinks this is hilarious as he continues to run around my home having the time of his life while I slowly die of mortification.

“Frankston, drop it,” Pierre’s booming voice commands, and Frankston does what he is told and drops my vibrating friend. It buzzes along the hardwood floors. “What the …?” Pierre picks it up and turns it off. He turns and raises a brow at me. “Were you using this just then?”

“No,” I snap, trying to grab my wand back.

Of course, Pierre thinks this is hilarious as my cheeks redden with humiliation as he holds it above his head.

“Issy.” Those hazel eyes narrow on me. Don’t know why he is upset over this. He isn’t the one whose sex toy was eaten by his dog.

“That’s none of your business,” I snap at him.

“You weren’t sick when you came home, were you?

” he questions me. I splutter to find an answer for him, but it ends up dying on my lips.

“Issy. Tell me. Did you come home early because you were worked up over something or someone?” My face falls.

“Shit,” he says as he rakes his hand through his hair. “It’s someone.”

“Yes but …” He has no idea that someone is him.

He swallows as he tries to get a handle on his emotions. “Do I know him?”

I bite my bottom lip. “Please, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Pierre looks at me for a moment, and I see the shutters close as his hand drops and he hands me back my wand. “How do you like your steak?”

“Medium.”