by Kate Benson
“Thank you,” I say quietly, taking the few steps that separate me from his bed and giving the items a quick look, grateful again when I find jeans and a simple white t-shirt among them.
“You’re welcome,” he replies, pulling my eyes to his as he holds out a second steaming cup. “Here.”
I give him a smile of appreciation, savoring in the scent of the dark, Italian roast as it invades my senses. I stand in silence, feeling clarity for the first time since my eyes popped open, if only just. I’m more than halfway through the cup when I shake my thoughts clear.
“I’m sorry,” I offer, setting the cup down on the same table he’d taken it from. “I’ll get out of your hair, I just…”
“You’re not in my hair,” he says gently, the way he settles his elbows on his knees making it obvious he’s intent on staying where he is.
Slowly, I untie the sash on his robe, feeling somehow more exposed in the daylight as I acknowledge the familiar feel of silk pooling at my feet in front of him. With shaking hands, I slip the t-shirt over my head, my haste leaving the lace bra that likely costs more than I make in a week untouched.
“You seem different this morning,” he remarks, taking me in unabashedly. “Much shyer than you were last night.”
“Last night, I was drunk,” I confess.
“And now?”
“Well, I’m obviously not drunk anymore,” I chuckle nervously, unable to meet his eyes as I reach for the jeans and step into them. “I guess… I guess I don’t know what I am now.”
“You have regrets?” he asks, his tone somehow forcing my eyes to his questioning gaze.
“No,” I say, almost too quickly as I shake my head, cheeks flaring once more as I watch him sip from his cup. “No, I just might not be as brazen as I was last night is all.”
“Hmm… that’s too bad. I’m typically not a fan of brazen, but it looks good on you,” he says, setting his coffee down next to mine and rising to stand close. “What are you trying to work up the courage to ask me, Isabella?”
“Nothing,” I shake my head, the single word making his jaw tense almost immediately.
“Don’t lie,” he orders, his voice soft despite the sharp edge hiding behind it. “You’re in the unique position to say whatever you want without repercussion,” he promises. “If there’s something you want to ask, something you’d like to say, now’s the time.”
I stare into him, weighing my options, convincing myself I can walk away without making things even more awkward. I’m about to lie again, tell him it’s nothing when his eyebrow arches slightly and the alien desire to please him overtakes me once more.
“Last night,” I start, pulling a nod from him. “We didn’t… Did we…?”
“Fuck?” he cuts me off, his bluntness sending my cheeks into flames. “Absolutely.”
“No,” I shake my head, swallowing hard. “That’s not… I remember that.”
“Hmm,” he gives me a nod as his eyes dance with amusement. “So, then what are you…?”
“The closet,” I blurt, my cheeks flaring with embarrassment. “Did you…?”
“Did I what?” he asks.
It’s obvious in his expression he knows exactly what I want to ask. He could easily answer me, make things easier, but he doesn’t.
It drives me crazy.
“Pieces of last night are a bit of a blur,” I start again slowly, the words only partially true and the way his jaw tenses tells me he knows it. “Did you…”
“I can tell by the blush of your cheeks and the hitch in your breath that very little of last night is a blur to you,” he calls me out in a husk, his eyes slightly heavy as they bore into mine.
“Did you…” I trail off once more, my courage nowhere to be found.
“Isabella.”
“Did you tie me up or use any of that shit on me?”
He surprises me by releasing a low, dark chuckle as he takes a step closer, his chest brushing against mine.
“If I had, I can assure you, you wouldn’t have to ask. You would definitely remember.”
I swallow hard, my eyes fluttering shut slightly as he takes a step behind me.
“Of course, we can always rectify that if you’d like?” he says, pulling my eyes to where he’s peering down over my shoulder at me. He sweeps my still damp hair away from my shoulder and takes in my unsure expression, his lips brushing against my temple as he grips the strands. “I know this wasn’t exactly planned, but I was pleasantly surprised to see how natural it all came to you,” he continues, his fingertips brushing against my stomach as he slips his hand beneath the thin fabric of my t-shirt. “I don’t think either of us can deny we enjoyed ourselves.” As he continues, his hot breath washes over my skin, his touch making me ache with need. “Did you enjoy yourself, Isabella?”
Fuck, he’s got me panting.
“Yes,” I swallow hard as his fingers continue to graze my skin.
“Last night was just a taste,” he promises, his husky voice sending a wave of want through me. “I can show you so much more. I want to show you so much more,” he whispers, his deep voice affecting me on such a carnal level now that I’ve tasted him, I can’t fight the heaviness of my eyes, the small whimper that leaves my chest. He holds me in place with his voice alone, his hands on me promising to destroy me for every man that dares to come after I’ve had him.
How can one man feel like such a good and bad idea all at once?
He brushes against my ass and I feel how hard he is. I know after last night that in two moves, he could be inside me, easing the ache that’s spreading over me like a wildfire doused in whiskey.
I want to drown in him.
I want to belong to him.
I want to be ruined by him.
I have to get out of here.
“Adam,” I manage, clearing my throat and praying it comes out steady on the second try. “I don’t-”
“I’m sure you have questions…”
“Just one,” I cut him off. “You’re a Dom, right?” I ask, pulling a nod from him, the feel of his hand coming to a slow stop just beneath the seam of my jeans both intoxicating and infuriating.
“I am.”
“So, what are you asking me exactly?” I ask, turning to face him. “To be your sub?”
He studies me for a moment, the way he bites gently on his bottom lip in thought making his dimple visible once more.
“It’s too early for that,” he says simply after a moment. “Taking on a submissive isn’t the same as asking someone on a date. The level of trust and commitment needed on both parts… it’s far more complicated than you might think.”
“Okay,” I reply, admittedly breathing a little easier. “Then what are you asking?”
“Right now?” he starts, pulling a nod from me. “Right now, I’m not asking to own you. I’m simply asking you not to run scared. I’m asking you to give us both a chance to see what this has the potential to become.”
“You’re my boss,” I say quietly, swallowing hard past the lump in my throat. “I think that eliminates quite a bit of potential, don’t you?” I ask, forcing myself to take a step away from him, feeling the loss immediately. “I’d say the potential in that closet alone is more than a slight conflict of interest.”
He takes in my words and finally, gives me a subtle nod.
“As you wish,” he says quietly, moving toward what I can only assume is another closet to dress himself. I’m left standing alone in his bedroom for only a moment before I snap myself out of it and move to slide on the shoes he’d brought me. I’m sliding the second one on when he returns in a pair of jeans and a black, button down dress shirt. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll drive you home.”
“I can take a cab,” I offer, pulling an immediate shake from his head.
“I’m not putting you in a cab,” he argues. “I’ll take you myself when you’re ready.”
“Okay,” I nod, following him out into the rest of the house, thanking him when he han
ds me my clutch and phone.
It occurs to me that I’d been lying before when I told him I only had one question. The truth is, I have a million, but as we slip back into his Maserati, the silence surrounding us isn’t as comfortable as I’d grown used to. As he slides into traffic, I can’t seem to make sense of my own thoughts.
I keep feeling as though there will be more time, another opportunity, but deep down, I know better. Before I know it, we’re at my apartment building and my time is up.
“Would you like me to walk you up?” he asks politely, silencing the ringer on his phone for the third time since he’d slipped behind the wheel.
“No, you don’t have to,” I shake my head, giving him a nervous smile. “Thank you, but I’ve got it from here.”
“Okay,” he nods, his gaze dropping to my chest before returning to my eyes. “This stays between us, okay? All of it.”
“Of course,” I agree. “I’ll put it in the vault.”
“Good,” he says, returning my small smile. “That’s the best way to protect us both from scrutiny.”
The weight of his words hit me heavily and as I meet his eyes, his understanding shines through.
“Thank you,” I say low, pulling a nod from him as his fingertips brush mine.
“You’re welcome,” he replies before watching me slip from the car.
I refuse myself the temptation to look over my shoulder as I make my way inside my building, but can’t deny the immediate twinge of regret coursing through me as I hear him pull away from the curb once I’m safely inside.
The walk to the second floor seems more tedious than it had the afternoon before it. As I slide my key into the lock, I can’t help the blush that stains my cheek for a moment before I push my door open without any trouble. I glance down and notice the shiny new lock that adorns my creaky old door.
“Figures. I fuck the city’s most eligible bachelor and I walk away with a new lock,” I whisper to myself with a snort sarcastically. “I should have a t-shirt made.”
Chapter Eleven
Isabella
With the exception of my gown being delivered after a much needed trip to the cleaners, the rest of my weekend is uneventful.
If I’m being honest, it’s downright depressing.
I’m not sure why. I know I did the right thing. Walking away from my boss after one night is the best thing for both of us, especially after my horrible breakup and all the media attention his arrival at the company had garnered. He’s a private person. He doesn’t want a life in the spotlight and frankly, neither do I. This is the right thing to do. It has to be, but for some reason, I just can’t get him out of my head.
This is stupid.
Regardless of the fact that I was having real feelings for him before I’d ever been in his bed, at no point in my time with Adam did I ever expect a relationship to form. It’s ridiculous for me to be upset that he’s yet to pull up to my window like Richard Gere in ‘Pretty Woman,’ professing his love through the top of a limo.
He’d said it himself. He’s no prince and while we’re on the subject, I’m neither Julia Roberts nor am I a hooker.
With a huff, I stab my ice cream with my spoon and settle back in against the couch, shaking my head at myself. I try my best to distract myself with what has become my norm, doing anything and everything to not think about Friday night. It’s useless, though.
Even if I couldn’t taste him every time I close my eyes, there’s only so much housework and Netflix a woman can endure before going crazy.
I consider calling Christie, but with my uncertainty about everything, I think better of it. Besides, there’s still this nagging feeling of not wanting to disappoint Adam. After promising to keep my mouth shut, doing anything else, even confiding in my best friend, feels like a betrayal.
When I get to work on Monday, I’m surprised to find his office empty. Some low-key eavesdropping tells me he’s in meetings all week which should soothe my anxiety, but for some reason has the opposite effect entirely.
It only makes me more desperate to see him.
I’m hoping the feelings I’m having will fade, but by Friday morning, a week has passed and I can think of nothing but him. The memory of his taste, the way my body still ached after having him inside me, the way he rasped my name as he claimed me like no other man ever had before… every detail of him and our night together replays on a reel inside my head. Since the moment I got out of his car, I’ve been looking for hidden meaning where I know there is none. I’ve spent days torturing myself, wondering how many other women he’s done this with since he arrived to take over the company. A part of me hopes I was different, the exception, but the miserable part of me can only pray I haven’t been the only fool to fall for his charm and ridiculously good looks. I know logically there is no one else, there can’t be. Even if there had been, it doesn’t matter. He gave the decision to me and I’m the one who chose to walk away from him and cut my ties. I keep telling myself I’m over it, but that doesn’t matter, either. No matter which way I spin the words, the ache remains the same.
By Friday afternoon, I’m going absolutely batshit crazy.
I’m completing my final report of the day, eager to put this hellacious week behind me, when something internal pulls at me and distracts me from my screen. I try to brush it off, but the sound of a familiar voice distracts me, forcing my eyes up.
It’s Adam.
He walks toward his office and disappears inside with who I have to assume is a business associate, shaking hands with him as they emerge an hour later. He says his goodbyes and his eyes flutter to mine, making me look away childishly. I can feel his gaze on mine for a moment before I hear him address Margaret the temp still working outside his office.
“Yes, sir,” she answers a question I didn’t hear clearly.
Despite how desperate I’ve been to see him all week, now that he’s here I’m hoping he’ll go back into his office and leave me to wallow in privacy. Instead, he approaches my desk, his mere closeness sending a wave through me.
“Mr. Avery,” I nod, praying my voice is steady.
“Miss Baxter,” he replies politely, his gaze smoldering with our secret as his lips quirk up. “Have a nice weekend.”
“You, too,” I manage, swallowing hard as his scent fills my lungs.
I leave shortly after, somehow managing to make it back to my apartment without screaming and am quick to lock myself inside.
“You can do this, Isabella,” I say as I pace the apartment. “You did the right thing. You don’t want him.”
I chant the lies on a never-ending loop, but even as they leave my lips, I know it’s useless.
By Sunday night, I’m climbing the walls.
Adam
I thought I could walk away from her unscathed. One night, amazing as it was, was exactly that. One night.
It doesn’t mean anything. At least it shouldn’t, but that doesn’t seem to matter.
I can’t stop thinking about her.
I’ve never met a woman with this kind of hold on me. I’m desperate to get her off my mind, but all I can think about is getting her back in my bed. Her moans, her taste, the way her pussy stroked my thick shaft as I threw her down on my bed and fucked her into submission… it’s all I can think about. She’s invaded my thoughts at every turn no matter how hard I try to deny it.
I’ve tried everything I can think of and nothing has worked.
I’m not in the habit of bringing women back to my place, so that’s out. Trips to the club normally did the trick, but both times I try end with me back in my car, cursing both Isabella and the way she’s wreaking havoc on my life.
I’ve never been refused before, damn sure not by someone I crave like this. She’s beautiful, intelligent, makes me laugh and is easily the sexiest woman I’ve ever encountered. I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anyone and the fact that I can’t demand her obedience only makes matters even more frustrating.
By the time I p
ull into my parking space on Monday morning, the desire to bend her over my desk and fuck her until she’s bucking beneath me once more is so intense that I know I need an excuse to stay away from the office or I’ll be the one to let our secret spill.
I throw myself back into my work, grateful for the first time for the list of out of town business meetings I’ve been avoiding since my arrival. I hate them, but it gives me the out I need to keep my mind busy. I’m sure by the time I make my way back to the office at the end of the week, I’ll have purged her from my system one way or another. In fact, I feel like a new man until I swing the door open on Friday and see her blue eyes staring back at me from across the office.
Her full lower lip is nestled snugly between her teeth as a strand of her hair brushes over her collarbone. That’s all it takes to have the memory of her heavy pants overtaking my mind. She glances away almost as quickly as the thought barrages me, but the damage is already done.
My cock swells at the memory of being buried in her cunt, my jaw tensing with the craving.
My week away had done nothing to ease my cravings. If anything, I want her even more desperately than I had the morning I took her home.
I know I can’t stay here.
“Margaret, please cancel the rest of my appointments for the day,” I say politely, keeping my voice low. “Something has come up and I need to leave.”
“Yes, sir,” she nods, moving to do as I’ve asked.
If only one of my other employees was so compliant, I think to myself, shaking my head clear in annoyance.
I make my way toward the exit, the temptation to stare blatantly at the way her tits press against the fitted blouse she’s wearing taking more strength to resist than I’d like to admit.
I want to rip it from her skin like I ripped that pretty little thong of hers.
As I approach her desk, her eyes return to mine and she gives me a small smile.
“Mr. Avery,” she rasps out unsteadily, making my cock jolt once more.
Fuck, I want her.
“Miss Baxter,” I reply politely, my lips quirking up at the memory of her screaming my name as I claimed her. “Have a nice weekend.”
