I look at this beautiful woman splayed across my desk, legs wrapped around me, and I feel weak. Anything she asks of me, I’d do it. Anything she wants, it’s hers. Never have I been so powerless in all my life. She’s different. I don’t know what it is about her, but I’m utterly obsessed with her.
“Sit up.” I pull her up by the elbows and slide her bra straps back on her shoulders, positioning the bra over her breasts. Next, I replace her dress and lean into her so I can zip it from the back. The bottom of her dress still sits high on her waist and, when I finally pull myself from her, I lower it a bit.
My hands grip both sides of her face, and I press my lips to hers. “What are you doing to me?” I whisper against her mouth.
She kisses me back, not answering my question, as she wiggles out of my embrace and slides off the edge of my desk. Her dress falls back into place, and she runs her hands over the wrinkled mess. “I’m going to go use the restroom,” she says, turning toward the door.
“Over there.” I point to a door in the corner, and she looks over her shoulder to see where I’m directing her.
She walks across my office and disappears through the large wooden door. Minutes pass and she finally emerges. Her hair that was once wild is now pulled back into a low ponytail. Her smudged lipstick has been cleaned and reapplied, and her sated eyes are now full of life.
I sit at my desk and watch her as she approaches with those legs that never end—my weakness. “Come home with me,” I tell her softly. I don’t ask. I don’t order. I want her to choose to come home with me.
“Too fast,” she says quietly, reaching for her clutch, which is resting on the edge of my desk. And my heart sinks in disappointment.
“Saige. I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m asking you to come home with me. I like having you there. I like going to bed with you and waking up with you. I like knowing where you are and having you within my reach.”
“You know where I’m at when I’m at my place,” she counters.
“But you’re not within my reach, and I’m surely not waking up next to you.”
“Another night,” she says, leaning in to press a kiss to my lips. “I need to sleep in my own bed tonight.”
I sigh in frustration but don’t want to push her. “Let me at least drive you home.”
“Deal,” she says with a smile and nods.
I grab my wallet and keys, and lock my desk while Saige waits for me just outside my office.
She smiles when I catch up to her. “I’ll never look at your office the same again,” she says, laughing.
I smirk. “I’d hope not.”
“How many other women have you done that with?” She asks, her eyes dropping from mine.
“Zero.”
“I find that hard to believe.” She sighs.
I answer sincerely. “That’s the truth, Saige. I have never mixed business and pleasure.”
“Until now.” She nudges me with a hesitant smile.
“Until now,” I repeat. “But the next time, I want you against the window,” I whisper to her as I press a kiss to her forehead.
“Who says there’s going to be a next time?” She chides.
“Oh, there’ll be a next time. Trust me.” I smack her bottom, and we step into the elevator.
Saige
Hot water pelts my skin as I breathe in the steam while thoughts of Holt assault my mind. “Too much, too fast,” I keep reminding myself. “This is supposed to be fun. Not serious.” It’s not uncommon for me to talk to myself—it’s a coping mechanism my therapist taught me to use. I coach myself and this is good. Except everything I’m telling myself, I’m feeling the complete opposite.
Drinks with Holt was only supposed to be drinks. Nothing more and definitely not sex. But every time I see him, every time I let him touch me, I feel myself slipping into thoughts, possibly hopes, of something more. “Dammit,” I curse at myself.
The hot water helps to relax my tired body as I finish showering and wash my hair. When I’m done, I plug the drain and fill the tub. The water is so hot it’s almost uncomfortable. Almost. Sliding in, I rest my head on the back of the tub and close my eyes, trying to rest my mind, except my mind never rests. Ever.
I sigh in defeat and blow a puff of air from between my lips. My red toenails peek out from the water at the end of the tub, and I notice how wrinkled my skin is. Unplugging the drain? I push myself up and wrap my body in a large bath towel while wrapping my long hair in another towel. I lotion myself, pull on a pair of comfortable cotton pajama shorts and a white tank top, and dry my hair.
As I heat a kettle of water on the stove, I realize I’m still alone in the apartment. Evelyn should’ve been home about an hour ago. I dig my cell phone out of my purse and send her a quick text, checking in on her.
As I pull out the tea bags and a jar of honey, my phone chimes. Evelyn is working late and picking up overtime. She does this often, as the hospital always seems to be short-staffed.