Chapter 2
BASH
Eight days, three hours, and fifteen minutes since I first saw her.
Standing outside her door day in and day out was a sort of training.
After having the most ridiculous hard-on of my life, one that started the second I laid eyes on her and only disappeared after I had jerked off twice, I had to get used to the sight of her.
To her smell. To the sound of her sighs while she worked.
It wasn’t easy. At all times, I want to get lost in her baby blue eyes and rope her blond hair around my knuckles. Tug on it until her head tilts back, her lips parting. Then I imagine those plump lips wrapped around my cock, and I’m back to the bluest balls of history.
I have never been this attracted to someone.
My entire life was based on surviving, so I never had the time for relationships.
Born on the wrong side of the tracks, left behind by my parents with a much younger sister, I had to work hard to raise her.
Life didn’t give me many chances, so I had to take what I could.
This job put food on our table, and it paid for my sister’s college, and I cannot screw up.
My boss literally saved our lives by giving me a job when no one would.
This is an important duty, for a man who could keep my boss’ pockets full for a long time. No matter how much I desire this woman, there’s no way I can make a move on her.
No matter how pretty she looks. No matter how juicy those curves of hers are.
Shit. I’m doing it again.
Her door opens, and she looks up at me, those blue eyes glinting under the light.
“I’m going shopping,” she informs me, her jaw set.
Anya Taylor spends most of her time in her room, typing away.
From the talks I’ve overheard with her parents, she’s a writer or trying to be a writer. The parents don’t sound happy about it.
I nod at her, then follow her out of the room, keeping a couple of steps behind her.
She deserves a sense of privacy, even if it’s a fake one.
She’s not happy she has someone tagging along with her at all times.
I’m sure she would hate it if she learned I’ve also developed a slight obsession with her.
Anya calls an Uber once she’s outside the building. I slide into the passenger seat, keeping my eyes on the rearview mirror. No matter how obsessed I am with her, her safety is the priority. Whatever threats Mr. Taylor is getting, I’ll make sure these people never touch her.
I’ll make sure no one ever touches her.
Shaking my head, I focus on the surroundings again. It’s a work in progress, keeping my head in the game and away from her. I keep sliding glances at her reflection, my pants tightening at the sight of her absentmindedly licking her lips. Shit. I’m a doomed man.
Anya leaves the Uber once we make it to the mall. I put my sunglasses on, a common strategy so people don’t know who I’m looking at, and Anya slides me a glance. I keep looking ahead, but with my periphery, I catch her sneaking glance after glance at me. It makes my stomach twist.
Anya is much shorter than I am. I’m a tall man, much taller than average, and much bigger, too.
The other boys at school liked to make fun of me, but that stopped once they learned I was also much stronger.
Once I started defending myself, people curled their noses.
I was aggressive, a poor man with poor behavior.
Fuck it. I used that in my favor. I only get violent when I need to, only when I have to defend someone. If that makes me inferior, then so be it.
My size also means girls don’t swoon over me. None of my crushes at school liked me back. I was too tall, too big. Some of them feared me. One-night stands? Doable. But I’m too rough to introduce to the family, and something tells me that’s what Anya thinks.
She comes from a different life. Raised in a gilded cage, she always had everything she wished for.
This might not have made her happy, but she still had a much more comfortable life than I did.
She has better manners, and she absolutely has other, more eligible men ready to put a ring on her finger.
We amble through a clothing store. Anya studies the dresses, then leaves the store behind.
I follow her into a second, then a third one.
Finally, she finds what she’s looking for and with a smile, she picks up several dresses from a hanger and walks to the dressing room area.
The store is crowded with hangers and sofas and the sort, things that could slow me down if I had to act, so I pick up my pace to walk next to her.
She looks up with a soft smile. “Sorry this is taking long. The other stores didn’t have my size.”
Though we’re not supposed to chat with our clients, we’re not forbidden. “I know what that feels like,” I reply.
She shoots me a glance. “Oh, yeah. You’re a big guy.
” And there’s a rough quality to her voice that sends my head spinning as I search for her gaze.
Anya slips away and enters a dressing room.
I stand outside, waiting for her, thinking of disgusting things that should make my hard-on go away. None of them work.
Anya leaves moments later, a yellow dress draping down her full curves to her knees.
The upper part hugs her mouth-watering breasts, the cleavage revealing her creamy skin.
The lower part flows around her legs, and I close my hands into fists.
Fucking hell, what wouldn’t I give to flip that dress up and bury my face between her legs.
She whirls around in front of a mirror. From the corner of my eye, I catch another mirror inside the dressing room. Why didn’t she use that one? Was she trying to show off her delicious curves?
Anya turns to face me. Her cheeks go pink when she meets my eyes. “What do you think? It fits me.”
Fuck, she’s asking for my opinion. My cock twitches in my pants. No, Bash. Keep your head cool. She’s a client, an important client. She’s much younger, younger than my younger sister. The girl is rich and gorgeous. She would never, ever want anything to do with me.
But shit, she looks perfect. At this moment, there’s nothing I want more in this life than to hold her in my arms. Than to taste her lips and soak in the warmth of her body.
I would give a kidney for the chance of touching my nose to her neck.
To smell her skin, lick a stripe up the column of her throat.
My balls are so fucking heavy I grind my teeth together. She whirls around in front of the mirror again, all innocent beauty, radiant as a sunflower. It’s then I notice her nipples marking the thin fabric of the dress. Fucking hell, I’m about to blow just from the sight of her.
Deep breaths. Deep breaths, for God’s sake.
Don’t ruin this. “It fits you well,” I reply, my voice coming out like a roar.
She jerks at the answer, looking up at me with wide eyes.
There’s no way in hell I can stop the growl leaving my chest, the possessiveness running through my veins as I snap my gaze from side to side.
Only I should see this. Only I can watch her tight nipples poking through her dress.
Anya’s cheeks turn red. She murmurs a hesitant ‘thank you’ and then races back into the dressing room.
There she stays for a few minutes, the sound of rustling letting me know she’s changing clothes again.
She doesn’t show me any more dresses. Good.
I can’t jizz in my pants like this. It would be pathetic.
She leaves with the dresses draped over an arm. I follow her to the cashier, where she pays for her stuff. Another Uber takes us home, and I put all my attention on our surroundings. On keeping her safe.
I’m so screwed. There’s no way I can make this woman mine.