“No,” a man declares from the other side of the door.
“Fuck. I have to see him.” He rubs a hand through his hair, messing it just the perfect amount.
“I-I have to go. Congratulations again,” I stammer.
I grab my purse, and he follows me to the door, saying, “I want to see you again.” I start to pull it open, but he shuts it as he hovers behind me, his hand finding my waist again, and a whisper ghosts over my ear. “Tonight.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head and trying the door again. He pulls me back against him, and my ass cradles his hard cock.
“I don’t beg,” he states.
“Good, neither do I.” When I pull a third time, the door opens, and standing on the other side is a tall man with tattoos on his knuckles. He locks eyes with me before his gaze slides behind me to where Arlo is standing. I can still feel the burn of his presence on my back.
“Have a good day,” I blurt out, then rush off as fast as I can without actually running.
From him. From me.
From everything.
Fuck!
TWELVE
ARLO
She doesn’t look back as I watch her go. Fuck. If it were anyone else but Reon, I would have turned them away, but since it’s him, I can’t. For the first time in a long while, I watch a smirk touch his lips.
“Where is your receptionist?” he asks, raising a brow.
“Lunch,” I tell him, and walk back into my office.
“Pretty late lunch.” I take a seat on my chair, and he remains standing. “Can’t say I’d ever imagined the day when you’d fawn over a woman.”
“Fawn? What the fuck?”
“You want her. Do you intend to invite her to the party this weekend?”
I shift in discomfort. “You know she can’t attend.”
“She could,” he says. We can bring dates if we’re willing to share them.
“I’m not sharing her when I haven’t even had a taste myself.”
“Interesting.” He finally takes a seat.
“There is nothing interesting about it. It’s facts,” I snap as he lifts one foot and puts it on his knee.
“Yes, if you say so.” He looks around the office and then back at me. “And how is my wife doing in your sessions?”
“You know I can’t discuss that. Ask your wife if you want to know,” I repeat for what feels like the hundredth time. Of course, that’s the reason he’s here. He wants information on his wife. Who, I might add, is as fucked up as he is. Both of them like dark and depraved things. However, I don’t judge because I do as well.
“She won’t tell me either,” he complains.
I shrug. “That seems like a you problem,” I smirk at him.
“Yeah, you could say that.” He taps his fingers on the side of the couch.
“Why are you really here, Reon?”
