Page 27 of Sexy Bad Boss

I reach out to close the door just as the cat darts into the room with me. “Get out,” I say, but the thing trots over and makes itself comfortable on the plush, dark blue mat parked in front of the shower stall. “Seriously?” I look over my shoulder at Myra, who’s trying not to giggle.

“I’m sure she’s housetrained,” she assures me. “I’ll go get your shorts.”

I slam the door and scowl at the feline. “I don’t like anyone looking at me while I pee.”

The cat blinks. I deliberately position myself so it’s behind me. I’m not kidding about the shy bladder.

A few minutes later, Myra’s back. She changed into another one of my white undershirts and a pair of black running shorts with a white stripe down each side. The shorts are made of nylon and accentuate the ridiculous length of her legs. She hands me my swim trunks and then retreats again.

“Give me a shout when you’re ready,” she says through the closed door.

By the time I get the shorts on and the boot and bandages off, I’m sweaty and exhausted and in dire need of that shower I’d originally intended to simply be a cover for relieving the ache in my balls. Which is the one thing I’m now not going to be able to do. I hobble to the shower and twist the spigots while calling out, “I’m ready.” More than she’ll ever know. More than I should be.

She steps back into the room and the cat hops onto the counter, like it’s looking forward to a show or something. I’ll never understand animals. Which is fine, since I don’t really care to.

“How do you want to do this?” I ask while I adjust the water temperature. She doesn’t immediately say anything. “Why don’t you wash my hair first? That way you don’t have to stay in here for my entire shower,” I suggest. And I’ll have some privacy to take care of my own business.

“I don’t mind staying.”

I don’t respond. Instead, I laboriously climb into the shower and let the hot water beat down on me. Lifting my face to the spray, I use my good hand to sluice the wetness through my hair. Turning around, I open my eyes; Myra is standing in front of the shower, staring at me, her mouth lax, her eyes wide and bright. One hand is pressed against her chest above her breasts while the other is bunched around the hem of her—my—shirt. I…

The cat mewls.

Myra clears her throat and rakes a hand through her hair. “I’ll let her out. I’ll-I’ll be right back.” She practically runs from the room.

While she’s gone, I try to soap up as much as I can with one good hand. Which gets the job done well enough, I suppose, but it also gives me serious wood. Probably because that was my intention with this shower, and my body doesn’t quite get the concept of what’s appropriate and what’s not.

When Myra returns sans cat, I twist toward the wall so she won’t notice the erection I can’t seem to control no matter what I try. It’s like my damned body wants her to figure out I’m attracted to her.

“Are you ready?” she asks. I nod, and she opens the shower door and plucks the shampoo bottle from its perch on one of the small nooks built into the ceramic tiles. I lean against the wall and bend forward so she can soap up my hair.

I close my eyes while her fingers stroke through the strands, her nails gently scraping my scalp, creating tingles that shoot to every extremity in my body, including and especially my dick. It’s now at full attention, throbbing, aching for her to shift lower, to take it into hand, or maybe her mouth. Or better yet, between her legs. What would she do if I wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her into the shower with me? If I tugged off those shorts, flipped her around, pushed her legs apart, and thrust into her? If I reached around and thrummed her clit while sliding in and out of her hot, wet pussy? Would she cry out? Would she shudder with pleasure while her inner muscles contracted, squeezing me, milking my cock until—

“James? James, are you all right?”

I come out of my lust-clouded haze with my good hand thrust into the waist of my swim trunks and my hips pumping air, mimicking sex. I jerk my hand away and press it against the wall while I lean into the stream of water to rinse shampoo out of my hair.

“Sorry,” I mumble without looking at her. “It’s just…that felt really good and I, uh…”

“Haven’t had sex in a while?”

I glance up sharply and wince when a drop of soap gets into my eye.

“It’s okay,” she says while I flush out my eyeball. “I’m in the same boat.”

“You are?” Her shirt is damp from the shower spray, rendering it practically see-through. Her nipples are stabbing at the fabric molded to her dainty, feminine torso.

She shrugs, but I know Myra and at the moment, she’s not nonchalant. She’s so rigid her body could compete with my dick in a game of Who’s Hard as a Rock? “I’ve been holding out.”

“For the perfect guy?” That’s something Myra would do. And in truth, she deserves nothing less than perfect. Someone who will treat her like a queen, who will see her for the priceless woman she is.

Nodding, she drops her gaze and licks her lips. What is she looking at? I follow her line of vision…to my dick. At least, it sure looks like that’s what she’s staring at. Snapping my gaze up to her face, I stare as intently as she’s looking at me.

“Are you…?”

She doesn’t say anything as she sucks in a breath and steps into the shower, pulling the glass door closed behind her. She doesn’t look me in the eye, although maybe she’s trying to, but mine are glued to that shirt that’s now completely soaked, outlining small globes with dark points thrusting at me, all but begging me to suckle them.

Her hand crosses into my line of vision, and then the shirt flips over her head. She twists away from me for a moment to drop it into the bottom of the tub, and I’m taken back to when she bent over my desk to fix my email and that heart-shaped ass was practically in my face for a moment. Five years ago, I was able to squash those thoughts before they even truly formed. There’s no way in hell I can now.