It’s damn near impossible to take my eyes off her gorgeous figure. It’s always been like this, but now that my blinders are off, it feels like so much more.
A low and pleasant hum warms me as I continue to watch her long blonde waves swish through the air as she picks up speed, becoming more and more passionate about what she’s explaining to her client.
My eyes sweep up her killer legs to where her tight, black, designer, knee-length skirt runs over every perfect curve of her body, with a slit so high that when she bends over, I get a glimpse of her purple-and-black lace panties.
The things I would do to be able to run my hands up the inside of her toned thighs, to trail my fingers over her sensitive area, teasing and taunting, except, instead of granting her any pleasure, I would continue my journey, grabbing her plump juicy ass until she begs for more.
Fuck.
I adjust myself before she catches meagainsince I’ve been perpetually hard, watching her work like the badass boss she is.
My Queen B.
Once I admitted my feelings—that were regrettably locked away for far too long—something unraveled inside of me. Every feeling I have suppressed over the years is coming out in spades.
I’m utterly obsessed with this woman and am not afraid to admit it.
And to be honest, even before I confessed my feelings, I see now that I might have been obsessed with her all along.
No matter where we are—my sister’s house, the club, literally anywhere—I’m constantly tracking her, needing to know exactly where she is in the room at any given time.
Forever craving to know what’s going on with her, the yearning to spend as much time together as possible has been constant throughout the years.
It’s almost embarrassing that neither of us realized it before, because as much as Annabelle puts on a front, it’s the same for her, I can feel it.
Now that my eyes are open, I see us both, not just me.
And according to Bucks, it was onlyusblind to it all.
Annabelle spins toward me and places a hand on her heart, blowing me an exaggerated kiss, whispering a “thank you” for the espresso she wasn’t expecting, and the next moment mouthing “one more minute,” and rolling her eyes at whoever is on the phone.
She’s been nonstop business, all day.
Earlier, she met with one of her big-time clients who happened to be in Paris this morning, hence the work attire, then met up with the wedding planner to make sure everything was in order. Now she’s on a call with another client until we leave for our cooking class.
She didn’t understand the assignment that we were supposed to be taking a few days off.
“Yes, we’ll have our crisis PR team handle it. Make sure your client keeps his dick in his pants next time.” She slams the phone down on her desk and mumbles a bunch of curses. “Fucking piece of shit, it’s endless.” She slams her phone again for good measure. “I fucking hate athletes. We got the lucky trifecta this time: cheating, drugs, and a divorce.” She turns her venom toward me. “And why are you standing there staring at me like that? I saw you tracking my every move. You were making me nervous the whole call.”
Ignoring her question, I cross my arms, sweeping my tongue over my bottom lip, taking in the rise of her chest and the outline of her perfect breasts against her silk top.
“What?” she asks curiously, with a tilt of her head. “What’s with you?”
“It turns me on watching your dominant CEO side. The tone of your raspy voice and the confidence you exude makes me rock hard.” I adjust myself,again, this time not trying to hide it.
She smirks, biting her lip, letting her eyes linger longer than she would probably like to admit.
When she finally snaps out of it, she turns, pretending to straighten up her work.
I let her have this. I told myself I wouldn’t push her.Yet.
“Two of your best friends are athletes, by the way.”
She whips her head around, confusion gracing her face. “Huh?”
“You said you hate athletes.”
She huffs and slams her bag down. “They’re the exception. You know I hate this part, cleaning up the messes of married men. If not for Wills, I would have already backed out of the relationship with The Taylored Group. I can’t stand the cheating and pompous insolence anymore, and it seems like a common denominator with all these bastard athletes.” She pauses and narrows her eyes. “Why aren’t you working? You’re usually glued to your phone at all times.”
