Page 73 of So This Is War
She cutely tilts her head to the side, her towel dipping just a centimeter. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I say quickly. “Fine. Really just doing fantastic. Are you . . . uh, are you okay? Not that I care if you are because you’re my assistant and I shouldn’t be asking you that kind of stuff, but are you okay?”
“Why shouldn’t you care if I’m okay?”
“Did I say that?” I nervously laugh. “I meant that I care, I care about your well-being but not like . . . you know, other things.”
“Actually, I don’t know. What are you talking about?”
Yeah, Posey, what the hell are you talking about?
Can’t be sure.
I’m distracted.
Her breasts are ready to pop out of that towel. There’s nothing but terrycloth between us, and I can’t stop myself from getting hard.
Pathetic and creepy, I get it!
You don’t have to tell me.
I wish I could smack my dick into shape, but out of fear I might come from a whisper of a breeze, I couldn’t possibly punish it for being out of control.
“You know . . .” I tug on my hair. “I think I’m tired. Sleep-deprived and jet-lagged are not a good combo. So to sum up this conversation, you can use my soap, finish off in my shower, and I care if you’re fine.”
Her gleamingly beautiful smile nearly makes me weep. “Good to know. And thank you. I really appreciate it.”
With that, she takes off down the hallway, and my eyes trail her, watching the towel climb up against the bubble of her ass just as she disappears into my room.
I drag my hands over my face and groan into my palms.
I won’t last this. There is no fucking way.
And did she have to say naked and wet? I mean, it was obvious, but she didn’t have to point it out.
I don’t think I can keep this inside me. I have to tell someone. I need someone to bounce ideas off and combat this internal hell I’m living in.
I consider going into my room to grab my phone, but knowing her, she left the bathroom door wide open. She doesn’t seem to have any issues with privacy. She just lets it all out.
So instead of doing anything, I just sit here, twiddling my fingers and taking calming breaths. I was so desperate to get over this aching feeling inside me that I watched a twenty-minute video on YouTube on how to combat horniness through meditation.
I take deep breaths, envisioning a peaceful meadow, waves of green bristling against the wind. Puffy clouds against a bright blue sky. And Wylie, running toward me, her tits bouncingagainst her threadbare tank top tempting the elasticity of the fabric.
Annnnnnd . . . I’m hard all over.
I pick up a throw pillow, place it against my face, and scream into it, only to lower the pillow and find Wylie standing there, drying her hair while wearing one of my hockey shirts.
Mother.
Of.
God.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
No.
I’m not.
