Literally harder. Very hard, in fact. I brace my hands against the wall and glare down at my overly enthusiastic dick. “Seriously? After Adler’s whole routine? Remy’s already got one guy making it weird, and at least she doesn’t have to work directly with Adler. I’mnotgonna be that guy.”
The one she has to watch out for. The one she has to manage instead of trust.
But once again, I’m imagining Remy looking up at me through her lashes, licking her lips. Opening her mouth. Taking the head of my cock in her mouth.
“How do you see me?”I asked her. She didn’t answer right away. At the time, I thought it was because she didn’t want to upset me, but for just a moment, I let myself imagine that she said something wonderful and impossible.
Not just the physical part. The part where she looks at me like she did yesterday. Like she sees something worth defending.
“I see you as someone worth getting to know. Someone I could love.”
“Dammit!” I push off from the wall and shuffle out into the hallway. When all else fails, it’s time for a cold shower. I strip off in my bedroom, taking extra care not to touch myself in any way that will encourage my unwanted erection. I turn the water pressure to high and the temperature all the way down so that the droplets are frigid against my fevered skin.
It’s no use. My body doesn’t care about logic. Or timing. Or the fact that this is a spectacularly bad idea. In my attempts to block out my obsession with Remy’s mouth, I overcompensate. For this fantasy, I’m onmyknees in Remy’s office, tonguing her clit while she tells me exactly what to do. The addition of a flowchart to this fantasy doesn’t dull its urgency. In fact, it makes the whole thing more believable, which only makes it hotter.
“You’ve been very bad, Owen. What will people think? You’d better make it up to me.”
“No.” I shake my head. “Nope, I’m not going to touch myself.”
“Good. I don’t want you to. I want you to focus on me.”
“Fuck.” I scrub my hands over my face. My nipples are so cold they actually hurt, but even the arctic temperatures of this shower can’t compete with my redirected blood flow.
“If you make me come on your tongue, I’ll let you fuck me.”
I groan, remembering how she smelled in the car, all floral sweetness with a hint of fruit. She’d taste so damn good. Would she let me use my fingers? Would she let me work her open so that she’d be ready for me?
No, she would not, because if she knew I was thinking about her this way, she’d kill me. Or, maybe worse, she’d quit. She stood up to Dante on my behalf, but this is worse than his temper tantrum. I don’t want to be someone she needs to guard herself from.
“If I thought you were dangerous, I wouldn’t have agreed to this insane new contract.”
“Remy.” I press my palms to my eyes. It’s wrong to have this fantasy, isn’t it? Even if I never act on it? Not because of the sex. Because it’sher.
But oh, God, I imagine how she’d feel coming around my fingers, the way her North Shore accent would slip out as she called my name, and my resolve crumbles.
I steady myself against the wall with one hand and wrap the other around my dick. I picture Remy’s flushed face and how large her pupils would be so freshly post-orgasm. I imagine her telling me that I’ve been good, that she’s proud of me, and then turning around so that she’s bent over the desk, presenting herself to me. I picture how tight and wet she’d be, her cunt still twitching from release as I enter her, and—
I come so hard that I almost lose my footing. In the haze of relief that follows, I chastise fantasy-Owen for failing to imagine a condom.
As ifthat’sthe problem. And yes, it’s an issue, because the idea of coming inside her is part of what sent me over the edge, but what about all that other shit? What about the fact that I apparently have a praise kink, and that I want Remy to tug my hair and call me a good boy while I eat her out? That I want her approval more than I want the release.
“There are so many problems with this,” I say out loud, giving my dick one last tug, because at this point, why the hell not?
Remy can never know about this. If she does, it changes everything. The way she looks at me. The way she trusts me. I willnotmake this her problem. Maybe it’s out of my system now.
I sure hope it is, or I’m going to have a real problem on my hands.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, wearing fresh sweats and a black t-shirt, I grab a family-sized bag of Cheetos and plop myself down on the couch to watchTed Lasso.Shutout snores on the floor beside me.
I loveTed Lasso. A guy who leads without tearing people down. Who doesn’t lose control when things get hard. I could recite the whole show by heart, but it’s comforting to watch it again for the who-knows-how-manyth time. Do I just like watching a wholesome father figure doing his thing? I plead the fifth. Take it up with my non-existent therapist.
There is literally not a single sexy thing about watchingTed Lassowhile chowing down on cheesy snacks, and yet, within agallingly short time, my mind wanders to Remy once again. Like everything circles back to her whether I want it to or not.
“For real?” I glare at my half-hard dick already tenting my sweats. “Come on, this is outrageous.”
Shutout raises his head and cocks his ears at me with a whine.
