by Katy Evans
No, but see, that’s the thing. It didn’t feel like he was my boss just now, that I worked for him. It just felt like a night with a guy I like. A guy who makes my heart beat faster and my body tingle.
He’s still upstairs, tending to Rosie. I’m sitting alone in his living room, wringing my hands, half watching the film and half trying to figure out what’s going on in my head. I wonder if he was glad he had an excuse to walk away, or if he wanted it to happen as much as I did. Couldn’t he have just indulged me for a few moments if he was actually interested? Was it really so urgent that he had to leave right away?
At this point I just want to go home, but I don’t want things to be awkward come Monday. Leaving now would make it seem like I’m freaked out by this whole thing, which I totally am, but he can’t know that. I need to act like nothing went on and pretend that I never tried to kiss my boss.
God, what was I thinking? Even if he is interested, there’s so much that could go wrong, just from a simple kiss.
But I still want to take the risk.
The baby monitor goes quiet after a while and I hear William coming back down the stairs. He stealthily reenters the room, flopping down on the sofa next to me.
“She’s a little rascal, that girl,” he says, his gaze on the TV screen. I can tell he’s nervous. He’s sitting farther away than before, and his posture is stiff. It only makes me think more that he didn’t want to kiss me. I try for a smile, but I’m struggling to hide my disappointment. William clears his throat. He’s obviously feeling the pressure as much as I am.
“Would you like a drink? I mean, it is the weekend...”
I breathe a sigh of relief. A drink would be great right now. “Sure.”
“Gin and tonic?”
“Perfect.”
William disappears for a few minutes and I try to use the time to pull myself together. Stop being pathetic, I tell myself. Just be grateful Rosie interrupted before you could do something stupid.
William returns with my drink and I dive right in, draining half the glass in one go. William looks a little surprised, but he doesn’t say anything. The film ends and William absentmindedly puts another on, though I can tell that neither of us is interested in watching it. We both finish our first drinks and he pours us another. Then another. I’m beginning to feel confident again. I check him out, staring at his chiseled abs pushing against the fabric his shirt. Then I let my eyes rest on the faint line of stubble on his chin. I check out his bare arms, the veins on them prominent against his tanned skin.
I want him.
I look up and am jolted when I realize he’s looking at me too. Our eyes lock and we watch each other for a moment. I can barely breathe. I want to touch him, but I don’t want to make the first move. Especially since it went so poorly for me last time. No. If he wants this, he can move first.
He’s tentative. I knew he would be, if he made a move at all. But he’s inching closer. He reaches for my chin, holding my face in place. The gesture takes my breath away. Our eyes meet. He looks serious, but impassioned.
“What game are you playing with me, India?” he asks, fiercely.
I breathe a little faster.
I don’t reply for a long moment. William searches my face, his gaze intense.
“Kiss me,” I suddenly breathe, just blurting it out.
I don’t know where that comes from.
It comes from somewhere very hidden, somewhere I never care to visit. But it’s out in the open now. William’s blue eyes flare and my lips part as the full realization of what I just asked of him hits me.
He narrows his eyes as his gaze dips to my mouth. Cursing softly, he shifts his hold on me and drives his fingers into the fall of my hair behind my head. He leans closer and pulls me forward at the same time with one quick, strong jerk.
And just like that, our lips crash together. Just like that, William crushes my mouth beneath his.
I close my eyes. I can taste the gin he’s been drinking and feel the buzz run through me. His tongue touches mine and I groan into him, clawing at his shoulders for more. His breath is hot. His skin is hotter.
He’s kissing me like he’s dying for it.
I’m kissing him back like it’s the only chance I’ll ever get.
But suddenly it’s not enough.
I want everything. Every piece of him.
I take the reins. I awkwardly clamber on top of him, positioning myself over his crotch and grinding against him as I grab fistfuls of his hair and keep on kissing him. He’s clearly not used to this—I can feel his heartbeat as I caress his chest with my free hand. He’s more excited than I am, if that’s possible.
He groans low and deep against my mouth as I grind harder against him. I like that he’s vocal—it’s good to know when you’re turning a man on. I let my hand run down his chest, feeling every single muscle there as I move to unzip his pants.
I want him too much to even bother with foreplay.
And that’s the moment that he stops me.
His lips are gone from mine in an instant, leaving me with a cold and hollow feeling in my chest. We were barely getting started, and he wants to end it? I know logic dictates that we should, but has the relationship between William and me ever been logical or straightforward? Absolutely not. So why, all of a sudden, is he concerned about breaking a few rules?
William pushes me away a couple of inches, shaking his head vehemently, his jaw clenched so hard that a muscle twitches in his cheek. “God, India, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let this happen. This was such a bad idea.”
“A good-bad idea,” I insist, moving to kiss his neck. He doesn’t push me away this time, but he does groan, partly from desire, partly from frustration, as though I’m an irritating child. Maybe that’s how he sees me most of the time.
“Look, this is highly unprofessional of me...” He clutches my shoulders in his big hands again.
God, but he’s so hard, I’m weak everywhere just feeling him beneath me.
“So what? You’re never going to win a boss-of-the-year award. At least this is more fun than you shouting at me or whatever,” I argue, diving to taste the raspy skin on his jaw.
William pushes me off more firmly this time and sets me on my feet. Gasping as he peels me away, I look down at him. He’s breathing hard. I can see him waging a war inside. His erection is visible through his pants, but he quickly covers himself with a cushion.
“Come on, India. You know this is a terrible idea. You’re my assistant.” He drags a hand down his face. He’s flushed, and his eyes are such a brilliant blue, they’re like lasers.
“Not for much longer,” I say quietly, my heart pounding so hard I’m trembling. “And we’re not in the office... Technically I’m not even on work time. This doesn’t have to be a huge thing. Besides, who is going to know?”
He’s watching me hungrily. I can tell he’s close to giving in to me. When a man is so starved of sex, it doesn’t take much, of course. Just a little more of a push and I can have him in the palm of my hand.
And William is a workaholic.
He hasn’t even gone on dates since I started working for him. I can always tell by his schedule; I’ve been the one keeping it all this time. I know he wants it. He’s starved for it. I can find a way to get him to do anything I ask. I want to cajole, beg, plead. But before I can vamp up the seduction, he stands up, shaking his head.
“No one else would know, but I would, India,” he says sternly, straightening his shirt. “My job is everything. I’ve seen what this kind of thing can cause. My brother got into a massive amount of trouble for sleeping with an employee. She had to quit her job to save his, in the end. They resolved it, true, but it wasn’t easy. I’m not going to jeopardize my reputation for...a hookup.”
The comment stings. I mean, I was never expecting marriage and kids after what happens ton
ight, but somehow it hurts to be regarded simply as a hookup. Do the memories we’ve shared this week mean nothing to him? After everything, are we still at the same sad place where we began?
I don’t want to give up because somewhere in his eyes, I see a gleam of need that calls to me, that tells me he wants this as badly as I do, but I don’t want to beg. At the same time... I can’t just leave it like this.
I’m too tipsy, my emotions too much on the surface. And I can tell William is too close to breaking his steely resolve for me to back out.
We stand in silence for a few moments. Then, before I can change my mind, I slowly move my hand to the first button on my shirt. I pop it open with nimble fingers. Then another. Then another. William stares at me, transfixed, as slowly my shirt opens up.
He swallows once.
Then twice.
His voice is thick and raspy. “What are you doing?”
I don’t respond. I wonder if he might try to stop me. For the sake of “professionalism.” He doesn’t. He’s too stunned at first, and then he’s simply gaping. He can’t bring himself to actively touch me or respond to my body, but he’s watching, for sure.
Dizzy with desire and high on my own effect on him—and his effect on me—as I see the unmistakable gleam of desire in his eyes, I pop open the last button and my shirt falls away, revealing my bra. I shrug the shirt off, letting it drop to the floor in a heap. William’s eyes flicker between me and the shirt like he can’t quite believe what’s happening.
I unzip my pants, stepping gracefully out of them. I’m just in my underwear now. I knew there was a good reason to wear a thong today. William’s eyes eat me up, but I wish he’d do something. Grab me, I want to tell him. Do something.
I flick my hair back over my shoulders. This little striptease has gotten me hot and bothered. I run a hand through my hair and over my neck. I stop for a moment to cup my own breast, moving the bra’s material aside to pinch my nipple. William’s intake of breath matches the gasp that I let out. It feels good, but I wish it was William touching me like this. I need to step up my game to entice him.
I never remember wanting a man in this way. Needing his touch like I need his.
Shaking with adrenaline, I perch myself on his coffee table. I can see that he’s anxious to see what I do next.
Too hot to be shy, I spread my legs apart, amazed at my own boldness. I know what will rile him up. I know what will convince him to break his word.
My hand slides inside my underwear. William’s eyes widen. I gasp at the shock of feeling his blue eyes run all over my near-naked form. Then I run my tongue across my lips in a way I hope comes out as seductive rather than nervous. Now I have his attention. My fingers delve into my wetness, exploring my most sensitive area. William stands very still, his eyes focused on the movements of my fingers. I remove them from my panties for a moment. Why isn’t he doing anything? Why isn’t he grabbing me right now?
I stand up and head across the room, and as he watches me approach, William starts to lower himself to the couch.
Is he sitting because he wanted to get away from me and bumped into the couch? Or because he can’t stand straight because of me?
Suddenly it doesn’t matter, and I’m straddling him again. He doesn’t stop me. He’s breathing hard. His hands sliding possessively down my back, cupping my bottom and squeezing as if both to edge me away and pull me closer. I lift my wet fingers up to his lips and his tongue emerges to lick them. I moan softly. Finally. He’s finally getting into this.
I lean closer, brushing his lips with mine. His hands clench on my ass even harder, his erection pulsing against the V-shape of my legs.
“India,” he rasps.
I’m shivering for him. But I can’t just hand him everything. He needs to do some work too.
With gargantuan effort, I stand up, moving slowly away from him. He looks confused as I gather up my clothes. I raise an eyebrow at him, and he blinks as if to clear the fog of alcohol and me.
“If you want this,” I whisper, “then you’ll find me in the spare bedroom.”
When he doesn’t respond, I force myself to walk away. I move slowly, hoping that William might try to catch me up and sweep me off my feet. But as I ascend the stairs, there’s no sign of him. I wonder what the hell he’s waiting for. I couldn’t have made myself any clearer.
Doesn’t he want this?
I let myself into the spare room and arrange myself on the bed. I’m so wet with anticipation that I long to touch myself, but I force myself to wait. I want him to be the one to bring me to a climax. I want him to be the reason my legs are trembling with anticipation. But there’s no sign of him.
I wait. I keep waiting for him to burst through the door and take me. But as the alcohol slowly leaves my system, I begin to sober to the idea that he’s not coming. I did everything to make that man interested, and he’s left me alone with not a shred of dignity left.
As I feel myself drifting off to sleep, the effect of alcohol and nerves too much for me, I ask myself, What have I done?
Fourteen
William
What have I done?
I’ve really fucked this one up. I had one chance to sleep with the woman of my dreams. One chance to prove to her—and myself—that I’m not a waste of time. That I’m worth investing in. She gave me everything I could possibly ask for. She gave me a striptease, for God’s sake. She was sexy, enchanting and naughty as hell...and I passed up the chance to be a part of it.
Why didn’t I follow her to the spare room? Why did I just sit there while she touched herself, smiling at me like she knew exactly what she wanted from me? Why didn’t I give her everything she’s ever yearned for?
Because I’m a fucking idiot, that’s why.
Too uptight.
I was so caught up in my own fears. Fears of being controversial. Fears of stepping over a line that I have created for myself, penning me in with my own rules and insecurities. I managed to convince myself that I was doing the right thing when I watched her walk away and didn’t follow. But after an hour had passed, and she still hadn’t come back to the living room, I went in to check on her and she was sound asleep. I’d completely blown my chance with her.
And now I’ve woken up, alone in my bed with a screaming baby for company. India is alone in the spare bedroom, neglected and surely unsatisfied.
We could have both been winners last night if only I wasn’t such a loser.
I get up as quickly as I can, though the room is spinning. One too many gin and tonics, clearly. I tend to Rosie, who to her credit quietens down as soon as she’s changed and fed. Then I decide I need to find India. That is, if she hasn’t already left. I need to apologize and straighten things out before I dig myself into a deeper hole.
When I head to the spare room, the door is open and the bed is made. No sign of India. I shake my head, running downstairs to see if I can find her. The remnants of our movie night are scattered across the living room. There’s popcorn on the floor and the pizza box is strewn on one of the chairs. Half-full gin glasses litter the table where I watched India touch herself. Just the thought of it makes me hard, but I can’t give in to my emotions right now. I need to figure out where she is.
I hear the coffee machine in the kitchen firing up and head there. India is standing in yesterday’s suit, making herself a large coffee. She glances around as I enter, but quickly looks away again. I may have imagined it, but I’m sure I saw the ghost of a blush on her freckled cheeks.
“India...”
“Good morning, Mr. Walker. I can’t believe I’m still here this morning, but it’s fine. As soon as I have my coffee, I’ll take a car home.”
“Really? You’re just going to pretend like nothing happened.”
India whips around with fire in her eyes, though she keeps her face calm. She sips her coffee, glaring
in my direction.
“Well, you did a pretty good job of pretending nothing was happening while it was happening last night,” India says. “So let’s just forget the whole thing, shall we?”
“Look, I’m sorry—”
“No,” India cuts me off. “I made a mistake. I made a mistake in thinking you were interested. I made a mistake in thinking you were...different. But I was wrong on both counts. So you can drop it right now, and I’ll be on my way.”
“India—”
“Please.”
She raises her eyes to me then, and the pain I see there stuns me. Silences me. Punches me in the damn gut and makes me feel like the worst man in the entire world.
“India,” I repeat, swallowing as I raise my hand to touch her. But we’re interrupted by a loud knock on the door. I frown. Who could it be on a Saturday morning? India raises an eyebrow at me.
“Are you getting that, Mr. Walker, or do you want me to?”
I grit my molars. I know she’s refusing to call me William to piss me off. It’s certainly working. I head for the door, frustrated and not even interested about who might be on the other side. I open it and blink in surprise.
“Dad? What are you doing here?”
My father is standing at the door, holding a large pink plush bunny rabbit. He’s clearly here for Rosie rather than me.
“Do I need an excuse to visit my son and granddaughter?” he asks, glancing around as though Rosie might materialize at any moment. “Where is the little angel?”
“In my room. Asleep.”
“Ah, well then. I suppose you can make me a coffee while she’s resting.”
I awkwardly allow my father to step inside, wondering how I’m going to explain my assistant’s being here in an absolutely foul mood. He heads straight for the living room and finds the mess of last night. He smiles.
“Have you had company? Or has little Rosie been trying out her first gin and tonics?” he asks, tapping one of the glasses with a wiggle of his eyebrows. I’m about to explain when India makes her appearance, looking completely unimpressed.
