Sometimes, I’d find myself stroking my length—fuckin’ hard as a rock—while watching her sleep. And on several occasions, I came so close to waking her up with a kiss. However,I tapped into my inner strength, and although it was tough as hell, I always emerged triumphant.
I might have been a cruel bastard, but I wasn’t a pervert. It was my decision to stay away, and I intended to do just that. It didn’t matter how tempting her body was; I wasn’t going to make a move simply because I was horny.
It wasn’t pride. It was an act of fairness.
Considering how I made her feel the last time we were together, it was only logical to conclude that there must have been times when she wanted me and I wasn’t there for her.
If I were unavailable when she needed me, why should she make herself available when I needed her?
The fact that I was now starting to see things from a different perspective was as intriguing as it was disturbing. This only showed the extent to which her personality was rubbing off on me, and that awareness unsettled me in so many ways.
I’d heard that sometimes, through sex, couples exchange traits with each other and that over time, they begin to act or even look alike. I honestly hoped that wasn’t the case with me. Because the last thing I needed right now was her soft traits clashing with mine.
Recently, I noticed that she often disappeared for hours at a stretch. And although I had no idea where she spent all that time, I didn’t bother because I knew she was close. She was always within the confines of the mansion.
This obsession with her was starting to piss me off, especially because there wasn’t a switch I could flip and end it all. She’d slipped into my heart and had crawled even deeper under my skin, making it nearly impossible to get her out.
The only way I could think of to detach was to bury myself in work, ignoring the pull toward her.
I was in my study that afternoon, eyes fixed on my laptop screen, reviewing some files and barking orders into the phone.I’d been distracted for a while, but I was back now, and everyone around me must be up and doing.
The front door busted open, and she walked in. “Surprise!” she giggled, striking a seductive pose at the door.
I recognized that voice long before I lifted my head. “Oh, fuck,” I murmured, fingers massaging my temples as I met her gaze.
Her familiar perfume wafted through the air, her heels clicking against the floor. I’d almost forgotten that scent, almost forgotten that she even existed. Yet, there she was, sashaying into my study like she owned the place.
“Let me call you back,” I said to Sergei on the other line and ended the call. “Anya,” I called, reclining in my chair. “What’re you doing here?”
“Oh, come on, that’s no way to treat your sugar pie, now is it?” she teased, tossing her handbag on my table.
Meet Anya Vesalov, an old flame I thought I extinguished months ago. She was my lover, my 4:00 p.m. booty call for as long as I could remember. It had all been fun and games until Scarlett stepped into the picture and ruined what Anya and I shared.
It wasn’t anything serious, just two people benefiting from each other. If I wanted sex, I’d call, and she’d show up immediately, ready to please me.
If she wanted money, she’d call, and I’d wire it to her. It was a mutually beneficial relationship, one in which both parties benefited with no strings attached.
However, after Scarlett arrived at the mansion, I grew tired of Anya and gradually forgot all about her. I stopped calling because I no longer needed her services. She tried to reach out a few times but stopped soon after noticing my lack of interest.
For a while, I thought she’d moved on, that my coldness toward her and the distance between us had created a rift that had pushed us apart.
I was wrong, because here she was, standing in front of me with that seductive smile on her face. She was wearing a black dress that hugged her in all the right places but revealed way too much skin.
Her gown featured a long, daring slit that almost bared her entire right leg. The neckline dipped so low that it exposed the lush swell of her breasts, which seemed rather inappropriate.
Anya had always loved to put her curves on display without apology, and I used to like it too. But somehow, I now thought it looked indecent.
She walked around my desk, trailing her fingers along the table as she cast an alluring glance at me. “I’ve missed you, Roman,” she began, her voice low and seductive. “I’ve missed you so much.” She halted in front of me, her green eyes boring into mine.
I stared at her in silence, waiting for her actions to ignite a flame within me. But so far, I hadn’t felt anything—no spark, no desire. Nothing. My cock didn’t even twitch in my pants.
“Haven’t you missed me too?” She lifted the hem of her dress, teasing her hand along her thighs.
“What’re you doing here, Anya? What do you want?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” She leaned in, her face mirroring mine, her breath warm against my skin. “I want you. That’s why I’m here.”
I tried to push her away as politely as I could, but her hands were already all over my body.
