Page 125 of So This Is War
I trail my hands down to her lower back again, where I knead her spine and the dimples just above her ass. Wylie Wood is perfect in just about every way. Her legs aren’t super skinny, giving her a great plump ass that looks amazing in her shorts.
Her waist is a touch narrower than her hips, showing off an hourglass figure, and then there’s her top half that I think I’ve talked about a whole fucking lot.
Her hair is my undoing, her eyes are soul-searing, and the freckles on her freshly washed face make me fucking weak in the knees. The only negative about this woman is the fact that her father is Coach Wood, the underwear blesser, who sleeps with his eyes partially open and is a scary-as-shit ogre.
“How is the pressure?” I ask.
“Amazing,” she says. “I’d love to know if any other bosses do this for their assistants.”
“The answer would probably be no,” I say as I make circles with my thumbs over the base of her spine, feeling the tension in her muscles. “Is your mattress in the nanny hole okay?”
“Yeah, it’s comfortable,” she answers. “Why?”
“Because your muscles are just tense is all.”
“Like I said, I think it’s because I sleep on my stomach.”
“Yeah, okay.”
I spend the next few minutes working my hands over her back, over her shoulders, against her neck. She groans and shifts and melts farther and farther into the mattress, her relaxation taking over, and I can’t help but feel a slight hint of pride thatshe’s that comfortable with me. That I can relax her to the point of . . . hold on . . .
Leaning forward just a little to look at her face, I notice that, yup . . . she’s sleeping.
Well, there goes the side boob graze. Can’t do it now. If I did it when she was sleeping, that would make me the ultimate pervert, and I already feel pretty low about myself. I don’t need to add pervert into the mix.
I move off the bed and assess the situation. I don’t want to wake her up. That seems cruel since she must be exhausted from all the shit I’ve made her do. And I can’t move her myself because, well, she’s not wearing a shirt, and therefore, I’d be moving around a topless girl, which would give me that pervert mark I’m trying to avoid.
Fuck.
I look over at the cot and then back at the king-sized bed where she’s sleeping diagonally. There’s no way I’d fit on that. And I know climbing into bed with her, with her shirt off, will be a big red flag as a boss.
It looks like I’m going to sleep on the goddamn cot.
Grumbling in annoyance, I find one of the spare blankets kept in the closet, and I drape it over her before I take my phone and charger to the cot. The entire thing creaks under my large body when I sit on it.
I swear to God if I end up folded in half in the morning because this thing has buckled under me, I’m going to have some choice words for the Queens.
Which makes me think . . .
I lie down on the cot, immediately noticing that my calf muscle to my foot is hanging off the end.I’m far too big for this fucking thing.
Could I wake her up? Yeah.
Do I want to wake her up and say, “Excuse me, ma’am, but you seem to have fallen asleep topless on my bed, and I’m going to need you to move it on over to the cot.”
Not going to happen.
I type out a disgruntled text.
Levi:I say this with respect, but you ladies have failed me, and I’m not so sure I can continue this journey with you. I fear your advice is not even a step above what I’d get from the men.
I send it knowing the minute they see the text, they’re going to respond. At least I would. When I was helping desperate Halsey with his love for Blakely, the number of times he told me to fuck off with advice, it cut deep.
And look at him now. He’s lucky I hung around.
My phone buzzes in my hand, and the first text is from Penny—who I consider the leader, although, I’d never say that in fear that she’d assume too much power.
Penny:Excuse me? Did you really just come into this thread to insult us?
