But she doesn’t wheeze as hard as she did on the first day. She could be getting used to this, which won’t do. Maybe I should pick up the pace a bit.
When we’re done, she puts her hand on her back but doesn’t double over. The arched-back pose is difficult to ignore. Her breasts are fuller, and I itch to free them from their sports bra and run my thumbs over the tips. My dick perks up at the thought.
Damn it. I absolutely refuseto jerk off to her again!
My jaw tight, I stalk into my house and slam the door in her face. I take three long, steadying breaths. My dick doesn’t drop down. No, the fucker’s rising higher.
Traitor! Quisling! There’s a reason Benedict Arnold haddickin his name.
I march to the shower. The only—minor—consolation is that Aspen’s never going to know I’ve been blowing loads thinking of her.
* * *
“You didn’t go to the office yesterday,” Aspen says accusingly in the Monday morning darkness. She’s still sporting those bruise-colored circles under her eyes, which have to be from makeup because she had all day to get caught up on sleep. “You also didn’t answer any of my texts.” She rolls her ankles. The movements show off her long, shapely legs.
I give her a thin smile. Whatever come-hither move she’s going to pull today isn’t going to work. I got up extra early to jerk off before she showed up. I pictured her naked body again while I gripped my dick, but I’m not going to think about that now. “I never said we were working on Sunday. It’s your fault for not asking.”
The smile on her face stays, but her eyes scream,Fuck you, asshole.
“And as for texting… Need I remind you I’m the boss?”
“So?”
“That means I don’t answer to you.”
Her face scrunches. It must be hard to purse her lips and smile at the same time.
“If you don’t like it, you can go elsewhere, whereyoucan be the boss.” I put so much condescension in my tone that it’s impossible to miss the skepticism that she could be a boss anywhere.
Today, I set a faster pace. She does her damnedest to keep up. I have to admit she’s got more resolve than most of my associates. She hasn’t said a single word of complaint, which is also something. Larry would’ve been on his knees begging for mercy—but then, he’s soft.
When the run’s over, I go into my house before she can stick her tits out again. But my dick’s already hard at the mere thought of her in a sexy pose. I glare at it.What the hell is wrong with you?
The fact that my dick isn’t cooperating puts me in a foul mood. Maybe I should just get laid. Sex with Yvette was getting stale, and I suspect that not having decent sex in a while is what’s making me have dirty thoughts about Aspen. She isn’tthatspecial. My libido keeps insisting that sex with her was the best I’ve ever had, but it’s because my libido has the IQ of a turkey that was dropped on its head when it hatched. It was hot, but notthathot. It certainly wasn’t the best. It couldn’t be. Life can’t be that cruel.
Still erect, I thumb through my contacts for a woman I can see later today or tomorrow for quick, no-strings-attached sex.
Damn it. None of them interest me. They’re all pretty, but…
Shit.I feel like a guy who just wants a nice steak, but is surrounded by over-fried fish sticks. I toss the phone on the bed and get in the shower.I will not touch my dick.It’s gotten into a bad habit. It got to come once, and I won’t do it again.
Who’s in charge now, dick?
I leave the house smug, but the feeling doesn’t last long. Not because my penis stays up the entire time—it eventually gets the hint and behaves. The problem is I feel like there’s a needle tip sliding across my nerves like a plectrum. Everything seems irritating. Even the sound of Bradley’s voice annoys me as he goes over some numbers.
I glare at Aspen working on some bullshit task I gave her. Just look at her. Cool and collected, her eyes focused on the monitor. She occasionally tucks her hair behind her ear, a mannerism she had when she studied in the library for midterms. I hate it that I remember. And I loathe recalling how hot it was when her arm brushed mine, how felt like I was the king of the world when she looked at me with shining eyes as I explained econometrics to her. How exuberantly she kissed me.
There must be something seriously wrong with my brain. It hangs on to things I want to scrub from memory, then pulls those events out for me to relive like they’re something precious.
With a great deal of pettiness, I focus on finding flaws in her. Other than the fact that she’s a shitty gold digger who can’t even latch on to a sugar daddy correctly… No, that thought isn’t doing the job. Her clothes are…bad, as usual. Where is she finding them? They don’t fit her as well as they should—she should have them altered—and they sort of make her look frumpy and boring.
Do you want her hot and exciting?
I scowl. Of course not, but it doesn’t add up. She should be in her sexiest outfit and doing her best to sleep with me again. As a matter of fact, she should’ve been on her knees the moment she saw me, her lips around my dick. Or maybe she doesn’t want to do that until I buy her a nice outfit, like I did before?
If that’s the case, she’s in for a severe disappointment.
After Bradley leaves, my phone pings.
