Page 69 of Love Under the Microscope
“Five more minutes. You wore me out.”
Yes, I did. And I shouldn’t be so proud about doing that. “Which time?”
“All of them.”
Man, she’s addictive. I want to keep kissing her, but I shouldn’t. Although maybe one more on her shoulder wouldn’t hurt. “I hope it was worth it.”
“Totally.” She yawns. “But a few more minutes, please.”
I reach over her, forcing myself not to stop and appreciate her beautiful breasts, and turn off the alarm. “I’ll take a quick shower, then wake you up. While you get ready, I’ll make you breakfast.”
“You’re a good man.” She yawns and seems to zonk out again.
I’d like to be a good man for her, and that realization propels me into the shower. I’m a hot mess. That’s what I am. What the fuck am I doing with Zelda Lowe, a.k.a. Mr. Z, a.k.a. the most important source I’ve ever met in my entire journalistic career? What she’s told me—in confidence, off the record—could be a game changer for me. Yet I’m waxing poetically like a lovesick fool wanting to kiss her awake and fuck her again.
Pathetic.
This isn’t like me.
I’m sorry, Aisha.
I step under the waterfall showerhead, not caring that the water hasn’t heated. I deserve the cold.
What the hell would Aisha think about my actions?
I place my hands on the tile wall and let the water stream down my back.
It’s about goddamn time, you stubborn asshole.
Fuck. She probably would think that and even say it, so is that why I don’t feel guilty for the first time in years? The few anonymous hookups I’ve had left me feeling like the lowest lifeform on the planet. Yet here I am, now torn between wanting to be with Zelda in bed, out of bed, wherever she might be, and needing to get the story.
Why can’t you do both?
That’s what Aisha would tell me. Hell, I’m pretty sure I heard both sentences in her voice. I must be losing my mind.
Or … you’re ready to move on.
But am I? And with Zelda Lowe, a.k.a. Mr. Z?
Aisha and Zelda are different in so many ways, yet there are similarities. Aisha was older than me. Not as much as Zelda, but Aisha would tease me about her robbing the cradle. Guess I like older women. Aisha had a better job than me, but nothing like Zelda, who must earn… I don’t even want to think about how much she makes or what her stock is worth. Still, she lives rather modestly for her position, but maybe that’s part of hiding her real role at Zentello.
Between the thoughts cascading through my brain and the once colder water flowing over my body, my dick’s no longer hard. But I shouldn’t spend too much longer in here.
I quickly wash with Zelda’s body wash, inhaling way too many times for it to be normal, and then I use her fancy shampoo on my hair. That too smells like her, which means her scent will be on me all day.
I rinse, turn off the water, and dry off. My clothes are still strewn across the bedroom floor, so I wrap a plush towel around myself. Forget the cheap, thin towels I buy at a box store. These are fancy, fluffy, and thick. Guess she spends her money on things people can’t see.
Her bathroom is luxurious, and I can’t even compare it to my cheap studio apartment. The truth is she must make millions as Mr. Z. Whereas I struggle to get by on a journalist’s salary.
When I walk out of the bedroom, she’s still asleep. The gentle curve of her mouth makes me think she’s dreaming. I bet I’m playing a starring role. Yes, I can be an egotistical asshole, but I want to be a better man where Zelda Lowe is concerned.
I move quietly to the side of the bed with stealth-like steps that would make a ninja proud. I lean over and kiss my sleeping beauty on the lips. “Time to rise and shine, gorgeous. The world needs your brilliance.”
She opens her eyes, and her gaze locks on mine. The longing I see makes it hard for me to breathe. Something in my chest shifts, and I get the feeling my world is shifting too.
Her smile widens. “I would love to be woken up every morning like this.”
Just say the word. I’m sure if I reply with that, she’ll think I’m joking. I should be, but… I’m not sure I am.
