Page 14 of Seductive Swimmer
“You know, I won’t mind if you just take the sweater off.” A deep, teasing rumble of a voice interrupts my cursing. Without looking up, I know that my awkward moment was witnessed by the one person I’d like to have avoided at all cost.
“I don’t think Brayden would agree,” I mumble, refusing to meet his gaze. I’m sure he’s got a perfectly smirky smile on his face, and I’m equally sure I’ll trip again if I look into his eyes right now.
“Brayden isn’t here, Savannah. But I’m just teasing you. That’s what you get for taking the last apple fritter.”
My eyes shoot up to him at that, and sure enough, there’s that smile. That cocky, disarmingly handsome smile.
“They’re my favorite.”
Great plan, Van. Talk about donuts with the hot man you’re trying not to drool over.God, I’m such an idiot sometimes.
“Mine too.” He winks at me, then grabs a different donut from the box and walks away, leaving me stunned and stupidly turned on.
Maybe I should take off my sweater. The ratty Wonder Woman tank top I’ve got on underneath might have put an end to his flirting.
That’s assuming I want it to end.
Why are men so complicated?
As happens many evenings in my thrilling life, I’m on my couch, a bowl of reheated Chinese food in my lap as I scroll through some reports on my phone from Forever Grey. What I’m not doing is thinking about Alex.
Yeah. Right. I don’t even believe myself.
Thank God entering payroll is easy, although time consuming. I’ve been asking them to upgrade to an automated payroll system for a year now, but the Board of Directors isn’t interested. On the one hand, that means more guaranteed work for me, but it’s mindless drudgery. The kind of data entry I could do in my sleep.
Now, the reports from Fortune, that’s the kind of stuff I live for. I feel like a detective solving a money mystery.Elementary, my dear Watson.
God, I love Sherlock Holmes. Benedict Cumberbatch, not Robert Downey Jr.
But when I catch myself picturing Alex and I solving crimes together in London, him the Watson to my Sherlock, it becomes clear that my brain isn’t even capable of data entry at this point. I’m beyond fried; I’m completely emotionally drained from keeping it together all week. And the result is my concocting fantasies involving far too much tweed for my liking.
I slam my laptop shut with more force than necessary and take my bowl to the kitchen. Opening my meager liquor cabinet, I pour a shot of tequila and drink it quickly before I can question my sanity. A second shot follows the first, and finally the tendrils of relaxed warmth steal through me. Alcohol-induced peace isn’t the healthiest choice, but in this instance, it works.
I head to my bedroom, turning off all the lights in my apartment as I go. Once I’m underneath my covers with my eyes closed, I start trying to will myself to go to sleep. But even with the tequila dulling my senses, sleep still evades me.
Instead, behind my closed eyes, my slightly tipsy imagination runs even more freely. Now, instead of stiff-upper-lip Alex, I see sexy-morning-after Alex. Or at least what I imagine he looks like. His hair rumpled, his eyes hooded, his arms encircling my body, tugging me back until I’m tightly fitted against his hard chest. His hand slipping down, brushing my sensitive nipples, circling my belly button, then finally dipping in between my legs.
I let out a gasp as my eyes fly open. This fantasy is going farther than I’ve ever let myself go while awake. I should stop. I know I should. But I also know I can’t.
For one agonizing moment I make myself think through the ramifications of using my new boss as inspiration for my inevitable masturbation. I’m so turned on, so aroused, that even thinking the wordmasturbationsends a shudder through me. Sexy dreams aside, I haven’t given myself an orgasm in over a week.
Not since I started working with Alex.
I knew there was no way I could resist picturing him while pleasuring myself. He’s too sexy, too charming, too irresistible, too…not right for me.
Tonight, I don’t give a flying fuck about any of that. Maybe the tequila has lowered my inhibitions, or maybe I’m weak.
Whatever the reason, tonight I’m going to give in to that temptation. I throw open the bottom drawer of my nightstand and rummage around for a second before finding what I need. Then, settling back against my pillows, I allow myself to go back to the fantasy.
And moments later, when my trusty vibrator sends me flying, it’s his name that sneaks past my lips.
“Alex.”
