My alarm has just gone off. It's 5:45 in the morning. I'm alone in bed. I crack my eyes open, slap the alarm into blessedsilence, and sit up, peering out my floor-to-ceiling windows at the Manhattan skyline. After sitting and stretching, I roll out of bed and shuffle to the bathroom. Pee, wash my hands, shuffle to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.
Jakob is already there, mug in hands, steam swirling up from the rim. He's shirtless in a pair of tight running shorts, sweat dripping down the cleft between his bulging, anvil-hard pecs. He's breathing hard, his powerful torso swelling and contracting with each breath.
Wait. How did he get there?
Try again.
At work. In my office, lights low, classical music playing softly, cruising through a pile of reports from various departments, sipping from a sweating bottle of Dasani from the vending machine in the breakroom. It's after eight in the evening, and I’m the only one left on the floor, except for a janitor pushing a large gray rolling trash can from cubicle to cubicle.
Too bad all the temps went home—the new guy is pretty hot, in a fit-but-nerdy sort of way. I bet he'd be an eager beaver eater.
I hear a rustling from the doorway and assume it's the janitor coming to empty my wastebasket—I set mine on my desk without looking up.
"What am I meant to do with that?" His voice is low and amused and dark with erotic promise.
I look up at him. He's in a three-piece suit, or the remnants of one—he's removed his jacket and tie, vest buttoned, and top shirt button undone; the jacket and tie are folded and draped over one arm. He's so fucking gorgeous I just want to eat him all up, devour him, crawl inside him and stay there—
Good lord.
I suppose that must be a sign of some sort, if he's showing up in my imagination.
I feel a prickling sensation and pull my gaze over to Jakob. He's staring at me, his dark eyes glittering and intense and full of arousal.
Nico is reclined in a seat with Tatiana beside him—she's holding his hand in hers, kissing his knuckles, murmuring to him.
Saxon has Terra on his lap with his hands under her shirt, playing with her tits. Just, like, in front of everyone. Cool, cool.
Annika is resting her head on Chance's shoulder; he has her cane in one hand with the butt on the floor, and he's spinning it idly, gazing out the window. His other arm is around her shoulders and slung over her waist.
Everywhere I look, it's the same. Cozy, affectionate couples stroking hands and murmuring sweet nothings to each other, silently enjoying each other’s company, and gazing at each other with saccharine adoration.
Part of me is irritated by this garish display of love everywhere I look, but I am self-aware enough to recognize that this feeling is most likely rooted in jealousy. I'm uncomfortable with it because I have never felt about anyone the way these people feel about each other. I have never gazed at anyone like he hung the fucking moon in the sky just for me. No one has ever held my head on his lap and petted my hair while I doze like Maria with Solomon four rows forward. Maria, the badass black ops bitch who crossed the Darién Gap on foot as a child, survived a brothel, escaped, and can murder a dozen men with a toothpick in less than sixty seconds. Cozied up on her man's lap.
It has never once occurred to me to rest my head on a man's lap. If it had been suggested, I'd likely have responded with a not-quite-a-joke about biting his dick off.
I've never whispered sweet nothings. Like, what do you say? What happens in those whispered conversations?
And PDA.
They're all so openly affectionate—openly sexual. No one is outright fucking, but I'm pretty sure Saxon has Terra's bra unhooked, and from this angle, it sure does look like Maria's head is moving, so maybe it's less of a cute head-on-the-lap thing and more of a sucking-his-brains-out on-the-sly thing.
I feel the uneasy prickling of Jakob's stare again; I find his gaze.
He crooks a finger at me.Come here, he mouths.Now.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
Okay.
I get to my feet and prowl toward him, putting extra sway in my hips. Stop in front of him.
"Yes, Jakob?" I pitch my voice low, just for his ears.
"Sit." It's a command. I sit in the seat beside him, glance sidelong at him. Wait for the next command. "Not there."
Oh.
