A trick it loves to play.
The calm before the storm.
One second passes.
Two.
Three.
The voices return with vengeance, becoming louder and louder by the second. The tragic memory of every mistake I ever made and the disappointment I caused in people replay in my head until I’m sweating out.
I shoot upright on the bed and snatch the bottle, taking a long swig. The alcohol doesn’t even burn anymore as it travels down my throat. I gulp it down in one go and throw the bottle away. Despite it, the chaos in my head hasn’t died down.
Opening the bottom drawer, I grab the scotch I keep in there. Twisting the cap, I drink it.
Then I continue until I pass out.
***
ANGEL: When are you returning? I wanted to meet and update you regarding the freelance investigator.
I read Arya’s text she sent three days ago as I walk into the building of her PR firm. It’s been ten days since she showed up at my door to seduce me. She hasn’t asked outright, but I can sense she’s dying to know when I’ll invite her over to meet.
I want to test my restraint as much as keep her on the knife’s edge of lust. To remind myself I am not as affected by her as I like to believe. I guess I’m also torturing myself a little bit by making us both wait. Plus, there’s an undeniable thrill of sneaking around while everyone around us remains oblivious to the truth.
Sauntering to the reception desk, I ask directions to her office. The last time I was here, we met in the conference room.
The receptionist flusters a little peering up at me before answering softly.
I don’t react, immune to the effect I have on women, and move on after thanking her. There’s an urgency in my steps as I march to the elevator.
Why am I so eager to see her?
It’s bad enough that the image of her kneeling and choking on my cock has been imprinted in my brain twenty-four seven. Even during meetings, I wasn’t forsaken.
Stepping out onto her floor, I easily find her corner office. The door is halfway open. When I get closer, I catch a flash of shiny brown hair. The strands were like silk in my fist that I never wanted to stop stroking. My fingers twitch, clamoring to run through them.
There’s no one around. My feet make no sound as I stop right outside and don’t alert her of my presence.
She stands with her back turned to me, bent over her desk while she works.
My starving gaze travels over her feet wrapped in high stilettos, her mile-long legs disappearing underneath the skirt of her burgundy A-line dress stretching around her round ass. Tempting me to take a bite or spank those cheeks until they bounce.
I force myself to continue my slow perusal after feeling my pants tighten around my half-mast dick.
Dragging my eyes upward doesn’t help my state because the material of her dress cinches around her slim waist and wraps around the rest of her body like a second skin.
Arya’s figure is that of a supermodel. A wet dream of every designer.
A tall mirror hangs on the wall opposite her desk, giving me access to her reflection. My heart pumps faster at the sight ofher beautiful face after going without seeing her for days. It’s as mesmerizing in the bright lights as it is under moonlight.
A concentrated frown mars her temple, her bottom lip folded between her teeth as she scribbles on a thick document. One of the shorter strands sticks to her high cheekbone. Yet she makes no move to push it away, too lost in whatever notes she’s writing.
Always giving her all. Her ambition to succeed shines through her actions.
I never got a chance to reply to her and decided to come straight here after I landed in the city early this morning.
A part of me wanting to see how she’ll react when caught off guard.
