So, I have to leave.
“You have to work?”
I nod. “Yes.”
And Angela Rosseau—my boss’s horrible ex—has now given me the out I need. Never did I think that I would be thanking that awful woman for anything…but tonight the world has gone topsy turvy.
I start turning my leggings right side out, wrestling with the material, my hands shaking from an orgasm that nearly obliterated me. The task is arduous because I’m—and they’re—so twisted up, but it doesn’t take all my focus.
No matter how much I try to make that happen.
I hear him sigh softly as he pushes to his feet.
I hear his footsteps as he disappears down the hall.
Thank fuck he’s not going to fight me on this.
I continue working on the fabric, turning the legs right side out and am just lifting my foot, readying to pull them on when Jace’s hand slips around my waist. “Here, cookie.”
My jump means that my back brushes against his front and combined with his hand on my middle, that phone call from Jean-Michel seems very far away.
Maybe I have time to?—
“Here, gorgeous,” he semi-repeats, and I glance down, my heart convulsing in my chest.
He’s holding up a washcloth.
Adampwashcloth.
Fuck.Fuck.
He brought me a washcloth so I can clean myself.
I…I can’t with this.
Not his big, glorious dick. Not his strong body and teasing words. Not him bringing me a cloth even though I’m leaving when he wants me to stay.
“What is this?” I whisper, even though I know.
Even though I can’t handle something gentle, something sweet, something thoughtful…not like this.
Even though I really want him to lie and say it’s something different.
That it means nothing.
Or maybe…that it meanseverything.
“You need to get to work, cookie,” he reminds me.
“It was one time,” I blurt.
“You’ve said that before.” Still holding the washcloth, he bends, sweats hanging low on his hips and picks up his shirt, pulling it over his head.
“I have to get to the office.”
“You said that too, gorgeous.”
I did. On both counts.
