I see James from the corner of my eye, his tall frame moving toward my office. I brace myself, unsure if he’s here to add more to my plate or just to remind me how far behind I am.
He stops at my door, his expression unreadable. “I’m going to order some dinner. Do you want anything?”
“No, I’m just finishing up here and heading home,” I say, my voice sharp.
He nods, a slight dip of his head, and turns to leave.
“So when are you going to stop punishing me?” I blurt.
He stops cold, then slowly turns back to me. I can see him working to interpret my words.
I let out a breath, steeling myself.
“I’ll elaborate since you look so confused.”
I probably shouldn’t take this tone with my boss, but there’s something about James that has always made me stand a little taller, be a little bolder, even when I shouldn’t be.
He folds his arms over his broad chest and quirks a brow, clearly disapproving of my attitude, but I push on.
“These ridiculous deadlines you keep giving me. All these meetings you’re always calling me into. It feels a lot like I’m being punished for something we both willingly did that we still haven’t talked about.”
He unfolds his arms and slowly stalks toward me where I sit in my desk chair. I feel a flicker of heat rise up my neck as I squeak the wheels of my chair back an inch.
It doesn’t stop him.
He looms over me, planting both hands firmly on the armrests, trapping me there. His eyes lock onto mine, daring me to speak.
I can hardly breathe, his presence overwhelming in this small space. I catch the faint, familiar scent of his cologne and sink back into my seat, trying to distance myself just enough to regain some composure.
He tilts his face down close to mine, his proximity making me squirm in my seat beneath his unrelenting gaze.
“You think this is me punishing you?” he asks.
I swallow, not breaking eye contact. I’m not going to let him intimidate me.
“No,” he continues. “Seeing you come into work every day in your tight little skirts and blush at everything your fucking paralegal says is a punishment. Meeting with you in my office, sitting close enough to smell your perfume, is a punishment. Being here late with you most nights and keeping my hands off of you is a punishment. For me. Because I want what I can’t have.”
My breath hitches at his admission.
“Why not?” I ask barely above a whisper.
He breathes out, frustrated.
“I’m your boss, Avery.” He pauses, the weight of his words hanging between us. “If you want to think this is punishment, fine. But know it’s not even close to the way I want to punish you,” he growls.
He stands up straight, looking at me with an intensity that makes my heart beat faster. I’m not sure if it’s anger or desire simmering beneath his cool exterior, but I can feel the heat of it, the way it unsettles me.
I watch him leave my office, his shoulders tense. He doesn’t look back.
I gather my things, closing my laptop and stuffing it into my bag. Then I leave without looking anywhere close to James’s office, my mind a jumble of thoughts I’m too exhausted to sort through right now.
Chapter 13
Is it possible to die from sexual frustration?
If it is, Nash and I are both at risk.
We’ve been going over case strategy all morning, and I’m not sure how much longer I can keep my thoughts on topic. Especially when he keeps finding ways to brush his leg against mine under the table.
