I can’t believe I admitted that. But I need him to know what that moment meant to me.
He groans as he sinks further down onto his couch. “Baby, I’ve been craving you every second since that moment.”
“Craving me?” I ask on a heavy breath.
“Mmhmm,” he says as he rests a hand underneath his head, his biceps now slightly flexed and looking all too good. “I nearly locked the door and jacked off in my office.”
A carefree laugh falls from my lips. “You’re insane! There’s no way you would have done that.”
“Oh, you underestimate the power of my attraction to you.” He smiles slightly, but there’s something deeper there, like he’s completely serious.
I swallow down the growing desire inside of me. “How was your day? Did Mrs. M fill your belly again?”
He laughs. “She went easy on me this time and had a chicken salad waiting for me. I keep telling her I don’t need her to provide food for me.”
“Oh, please. I’m sure you love being spoiled.”
He runs a hand through his wild hair. For a fleeting moment, I see the twenty-one-year-old that I fell in love with. “You caughtme. I’m kind of loving it. But I’m increasing her weekly pay by five hundred.”
Ugh, I resent how nice of a guy he is. It was so much easier when I could hate him from afar, imagining that he was nothing but a slimy corporate lawyer who cared only about himself.
This has really messed up the image I desperately needed to have of him in order to protect my heart.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asks as his voice turns serious.
I shift uncomfortably. It’s like he can nearly read my thoughts. “Nothing,” I lie.
He sighs. “I know it feels messy right now, but what I feel for you isn’t complicated at all. That part’s simple. But if that’s not enough for you, I understand. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”
He’s putting the ball in my court. If I want to put a stop to this, no hard feelings. The logical part of my brain is trying to step in and save me from this mess. But the hopeless, romantic part isn’t letting me get a full sentence in. Because this is the man of my dreams, and if there’s even the slightest possibility that we can find a way to be together, shouldn’t I take the chance on him?
I’m tired of letting fear make my choices. I want to fight for this—for us. Even if it’s messy, even if it’s uncertain, I don’t want to walk away without trying. So, instead of letting my bold, fierce personality take a back seat to fear, I decide I’m going to take charge.
“The only thing making me uncomfortable right now is you lying there without a shirt on and another pair of sexy sweatpants that hang low on your waist. I can’t stop picturing what’s beneath them.”
Pride fills my chest as I watch the shock take over his face at how blunt my words were. This is the Jessie everyone else gets. The one he used to get. It’s about time she comes out to play.
“You can’t say things like that”—he swallows—“and not …”
I turn my head to the side as I watch him squirm, at a loss for words. “And not … what? You don’t think I’d say that without making sure we both got the release we desperately needed?”
“Fuck, are you serious right now? Where is this coming from?”
A lighthearted laugh escapes me. “Maybe I’m done acting like a fragile, doe-eyed girl with you. I’m letting the real me break free. The one who snuck into your room to take what she wanted.”
“And what does this Jessie want right now?” His tone is quiet but weighted, deep enough to wrap around me.
I run my fingers underneath the neck of my T-shirt as my body heats at all the possibilities coming to mind. His teeth scrape over his bottom lip as he patiently waits, watching intently.
“I want to watch you”—my voice wavers—“touch yourself.”
His brow lifts, surprise flashing across his face before his mouth curves into something darker, hungrier. The screen rocks back and forth for a second as he leans forward, then falls back on the couch and lies on his side.
Sweatpants. I knew it. Hanging low. Not gray. Black this time.
He must have placed his phone on the coffee table. The view of his body is causing my panties to dampen.
Next thing I know, he is resting his head on his hand. It feels like he’s a model and I’m about to paint his portrait. I’d buy that shit.
