Almost as much as I hate myself for sliding open my nightstand drawer and reaching blindly for my vibrator. I don’t bother to remove my panties because it’s over almost as soon as it begins, my body buckling beneath the hum on my sex. As I crash, I think of Jace. Of his demanding mouth and his rough touch in my hair and pressed against my skin. Of the way I’d wished he hadn’t left earlier today and how I’d escaped to the restroom for longer than necessary to catch my breath.
Because that kiss with Jace—I remember everything about it. Every stroke of his tongue and brush of his fingers. Every second, period.
And it’s a memory I’m not sure will go away, no matter how much I pray it will because he’s made it evident where we stand.
Fifteen
Jace
Every time I look at her—and unfortunately for me, it’s too bloody often—vivid images shoot through my head. When she comes into my office on Tuesday to tell me that Allene wants to interview me on her show next week—for a post-Valentine’s Day special—I picture my hand undoing that prim ponytail falling over one shoulder and the other on the slim column of her throat.
My fingers spasm on my desk.
“I’ll check my schedule,” I say, and she flicks her tongue over her bottom lip, skimming it from one side to the other. She’s wearing red lipstick today—the same color she wore the night of Bailon’s party. My thoughts creep from kissing her to the way she’d molded that curvy body against the glass in the voyeur room so she could watch. She hadn’t been able to look away then, and I can’t now.
I want to watch her. I want her bound and bucking against my tongue and fingers. Then I want more of her.
“You can go now, Williams.” The sooner she leaves, the faster my cock will recover from her presence.
She doesn’t budge. Instead she taps her fingers anxiously on my desk. “Do you think you might not be able to do the interview?” Those hands. Since she first walked into my office, I’ve thought of Lucy Williams in a hundred different positions, but the need to possess her has gotten worse since I touched her, since I tasted her.
And it all started because I asked to use those hands.
“Jace,” she whispers, snapping my attention away from her fingers. “I can email Allene and let her know that—”
“I said I’ll check my schedule.” She flinches at my harsh tone, then wets her lips again. “And don’t do that.”
“My lips are dry.”
“Then buy some Chapstick or pick another lipstick, Williams. I pay you well enough,” I growl because I’m a split second from telling her to close the door so I can clear my schedule right now and wet her lips for her. “Christ, love—” I start, but she nods curtly and stands, filling my office with her sweet scent.
“Let me know what you decide about Allene.”
She leaves without another word, which is better for her.
Better for me.
At least, that’s what I tell myself when my hand is pumping my cock later. But when I close my eyes—right before I blow my load—her face is the only one I see.
“Williams, get over here.”
Her shoulders tighten, but she turns from her office door and approaches the workshop tentatively. I pull off my safety glasses and stuff them into the back pocket of my jeans. “Is there something you need from me?”
A good, hard fuck. My name on your lips. Your taste on mine. There are so many things I need from you, Lucy, that I’m close to exploding.
“Your opinion.” I nod at the gleaming metal table separating our bodies. After sleeping like shit last night, I came in a few hours ago to finish Bailon’s table. I had planned to call him to let him know, but I lost interest the second I saw that she was thirty minutes early. “What do you think?”
She takes a step forward and skims her fingers along the ankle restraints. And she trembles. Fuck, it shouldn’t get to me that she does that, but it does and my dick rises to the occasion when she faces me with parted lips and hooded hazel eyes. “Is this for Mr. B?” I nod and move close to her, and her breath hitches. “It’s … nice.”
“Nice is for the metal fence in your backyard, love. This—this is a masterpiece.”
“Confident, Exley?”
“About this I am.”
She traces her finger along the ankle restraint and then crosses her arms over her chest. “Are you delivering it today?”
“In a few weeks.” Gripping the edge of the table, I lean against it. Her gaze follows, stopping at my bicep. “He’s unveiling it at one of his parties.”
“I see.” When I shift, causing my muscles to flex beneath my flannel sleeve, she blinks and swallows hard. “He’ll love it. After all, it’s a masterpiece and—”
“Look at me, Williams.” What a stupid fucking thing to say to her. But I want her eyes on mine. Want to drink in the sight of her because if I can’t have her—won’t let myself have her—at least I can look at her. “I wanted to apologize for being a shit yesterday.”
Keeping her arms crossed over her tits, she tugs on the top button of her red blouse. “It’s fine. Did you have a chance to check your schedule?”
I slide closer, breathing her in, memorizing her scent. “Look at me, Williams.”
“I’d really like to give Allene an answer today so we can make sure it’s advertised properly. This is such a fantastic opportunity for EXtreme, and—” She gasps as my fingers close around the hand clutching at her buttons. “Jace…”
“If it’s in your way, love,” I start, pushing her hand aside. “Just undo it.”
With a flick of my thumb, the first button parts, exposing her creamy skin. It’s another mistake on my part, and we’re both silent for a beat as she stares down at the tattoos on my knuckles. Finally, she tilts her chin up and our eyes meet. “The interview…” she says hoarsely.
When the sound of Griff and Daisy’s voices pour into the workshop, and I catch a glimpse of both out the corner of my eye, I drop my hand from her blouse. “Schedule it for anytime next week, and I’ll make sure I’m there.”
“Perfect.” She takes a step backward and splays her fingers over her collarbone, rubbing them vigorously over the spot I’d touched. “You won’t regret it, Jace. I promise it will be great.”
But I’m already regretting it.
Regretting hiring her.
Regretting touching her.
Regretting that I can’t have what I want from her.
Sixteen
Lucy
8:32 AM: A BDSM shop, Luce? You’ve got to be shitting me. Is this why you’re not coming home to SF?
“Son of a bitch.” I glare down at Tom’s text and the screenshot of my contact information and photo on our website’s staff page and shake my head incredulously. “Why are you texting me at 5:30 on a Friday morning?” Hell, why is he texting me at all?
8:33 AM: I know you’re getting my messages. We need to talk.
Pausing a few feet from my desk, I fire off a response—It’s not what’s keeping me from returning to San Francisco, but if you want to redirect blame… And we’re talking now. I have no desire to make it verbal.