I tried to forget about Jaxson Bell and his curvy hips.
It should have been easy enough to ignore one man because I had more than my fair share of shit to deal with after the weekend. We really did have to set up and make sure that all of the police stations were implementing the training we’d promised the public they would receive—whatever the fucktrainingmeant in the long run—but I kept thinking about my belly boy out there, walking around alone.
He was perfectly safe. It was the middle of the day. I glanced at the sunshine streaming in around the drawn curtains at the windows.
But I hated him out there by himself, just like I hated him alone in his apartment. I thought I’d shaken this disgusting new desire to have him pampered and sitting pretty, especially since he didn’t seem to like it, but vivid memories of him on his back and under me while I pumped into his hot body, with his shirt barely covering his rounded stomach, kept popping into my head whenever I wasn’t busy. Guilt ate at me. Could I really let my anger get the best of me when he was dealing with pregnancy hormones? I was feeding into my own fantasy and actually making myself feel bad about something that wasn’t real like a deranged person, but I didn’t care.
I made myself refrain from chasing him to his apartment after work.
I hated Jaxson being gone from the office on Tuesday. By Wednesday I was a twitchy wreck, from the time I sent him out by himself again in the morning, until five o’clock that evening. I was more than ready to get the hell out of work for the day. I stormed into the outer office, and Jean-Paul was gathering his things to leave. He didn’t seem very excited to see me, so I must have outdone myself today, even though I couldn’t remember specifically being an asshole to him.
“Good work.”
He shook his head. “You didn’t even notice me.”
“Still, I assume you did a good job. You always do.”
He laughed, and at least that got him to smile in my direction. We didn’t flirt, per se, but I enjoyed Jean-Paul and liked seeing him happy. Maybe he was a friend? What the hell did I know about that, though? He smirked and then frowned down at a bag at his feet.
“Where’s your newest… employee?” He gave me a knowing look I refused to acknowledge.
“He’s not back yet?”
“No. Did you scare him into quitting?” Jean-Paul perked up at that, and I narrowed my eyes on him.
“No. Is that his?” I asked and slung the bag over my arm. “He’s out trying to secure permission to place signs. Just like he has been the last few days.”
“Oh, he made you mad somehow.” Jean-Paul nodded wisely, and I had to laugh.
“No… maybe. Go home. You don’t fucking know me, son.”
He gave me a sassy salute and sashayed himself toward the elevator. I flipped him off with one hand and thumbed open my phone with the other. I made myself wait until the elevator had closed over Jean-Paul’s judging eyes and then typed out:
I’ll beat your place in twenty minutes. I’m bringing your bag.
My thumb hovered over Send.I’d really intended to make Jaxson sweat this because I was pretty sure he liked being fucked by me as much as I liked drilling his ass, but… I found myself not wanting to play games with him. This new urge to not be a prick had me feeling like ants were crawling under my clothes. I plucked at my collar.
And maybe when we were fighting, Jaxson might have had one or two small points. He did deserve to have input on things. Maybe. I deleted my message and started over.
I have your bag.Can I bring it over to your apartment?
I scowled.That still wasn’t right. Sighing, I glared at the fucking phone screen. Deleting, I swore under my breath.
I have your bag.Join me for dinner?
No,that was too much like begging for his time… I just couldn’t. I tried again.
I have your bag.Meet me at my place to get it back. We’re eating dinner there.
I added my address,since he wanted to be independent and take the bus instead of riding in my perfectly good car, and hit Send. Afterward, I stood around feeling like an eighteen-year-old boy sniffing after his first fuck. This was as good as it got, and if he didn’t want it, well fuck him. I found myself typing again.
I’ll bringyour stuff to your place if you need me to do that instead.
Fuck,I was losing it. I sent the message and glared at my phone. I didn’t get an answer back, and was out in the cold, drizzly gray afternoon and almost to my car when my phone buzzed in my hand.
Thank you,Daddy. I’ll come to your apartment.
Tingles raced through me.There was no way I’d have him in my home and still hold out until this weekend. I wanted himnow. The point I was trying to prove wasn’t a difficult one to learn. I hoped it had sunk in already. I’d certainly learned a thing or two about what I was and wasn’t going to allow to happen again. He wouldn’t be overworked from here on out, but I’d be subtle about it. He needed a light touch, which made sense. Sometimes when every relationship problem I had was a nail—one I wanted to give, or one who wanted to get it—a hammer started to seem like the only solution. I couldn’t be a dick to get my way with him, but maybe I could use my dick to smooth this over.
