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JACOB

If anything, it’s me who should resign. She’s too much of a temptation and I no longer trust myself around her.

But if I leave, I won’t get to see her every day. And if I can’t touch her, I need to continue this sadistic torture of breathing the same air as her at least.

Like clockwork, at 3p.m., I watch Skye make her way to the restroom to touch up her lip gloss. She’s beautifully predictable.

I leap to my feet and storm in her direction. Time is fucking with me. I’ve been patiently waiting for her to appear, but every tick of the clock has dragged since she left me standing in the boardroom with an aching cock, surrounded by her heady scent.

Pushing the bathroom door open, I quietly shut it behind me, then turn the lock.

She’s too busy humming to herself to notice me. With her head buried in her makeup bag, she rummages around trying to find her lip gloss—the one that makes her lips look all pouty and wet and makes me want to kiss her so fucking bad.

I stand directly behind her and admire her delicate features, considering what she’d look like completely naked, in my bed with her thighs around my ears, screaming my name.

She lifts her head, spotting my reflection in the mirror, and lets out a surprised gasp.

Seeing us like this—reflected in the mirror—we look great together: her fresh innocent face, the opposite of my dark features. For a second, I have visions of us together on Christmas mornings, birthdays, and weekends, living life together. But then the heartbreaking realization hits me hard—I can’t have a future with her. No matter how much I want one.

She fumbles about with her earbuds, removing them. The airy music continues playing from them as I bow my head down and whisper in her ear. “So, you want to play?”

She doesn’t answer.

My mouth moves closer to her nape, like a magnet; my lips ghost her skin.

“Jacob,” she whispers.

“Shh, Butterfly.” Placing my hands on the counter either side of her, I press my chest to her back, closing her in. “You had your say earlier. Now it’s my time to talk.”

This is the closest we’ve ever been. I’ve resisted her for so fucking long. Since the day she walked into my English lesson at school as the new girl and sat down beside me.

“As your boss, I am telling you that you are going to stop wearing these sexy little dresses and tempting knee-high socks to work every day because it makes my cock hard for you, and if I have to jerk off in my bathroom for yet another day, I’m going to rub him away.”

Her mouth hangs open.

“Oh, don’t make out you’re all sweet and innocent now, Skye.” My lips almost touch her ear, making her eyes blow wide. “You’ve already worked out that I want to fuck you. Even more, since you showed me what was underneath those little dresses you wear. It’s such a pretty pussy, but I can’t touch you. Won’t. I meant what I said; you are off limits. I slipped up on Saturday. I took it too far.”

I press myself closer to her body.

“You and me.” I meet her bewildered gaze in the mirror. “We can never happen. You will always be Owen’s girl. It can’t go any further. No matter how much we want to.”

Her expression doesn’t change.

“So, Butterfly, we’ll forget what happened. We’ll go back to being Jacob and Skye. I’ll be your boss. You’ll be my employee and Owen’s ex.”

She coughs as if finding her voice, then whispers, “How long have you liked me, Jacob?”

I sway my head slowly back and forth, not answering her.

“How long?” she pushes, her voice more demanding now.

I tut then say, “Don’t go searching for something that doesn’t exist, Skye.”

She catches me off guard when she turns in my arms to face me and I have to grip the vanity unit tighter to stop me from running my knuckles across her jaw. “Don’t. Push. Me,” I almost growl, desperate to hide the need for her burning through me.

She cups my face with her tiny hands, and for a moment, I stop breathing.

“Tell me. How long?” she urges as she tilts her head toward me slightly.

My breath hitches when I think she’s about to kiss me. “Nothing to tell,” I grit out as I pull her hands off my face and move back, ending our moment.

I walk in the direction of the door to exit this self-inflicted misery.

I unlock it, pausing but not turning back to look at her, because I’m not sure I have the restraint to walk away if I do. “There is no game to be played. There is nothing between us. And as of tomorrow, new rule: no more knee-high socks. Or I will fire your ass.”

She giggles.

Almost an entire week with her in London. How will I survive?

I slam the bathroom door behind me.

May the torment continue.