Chapter 19
Morgan
I'd be a liar if I said my last conversation with Robert didn't hurt my feelings.
I spent the rest of Thursday irritated. Friday at work was an absolute disaster. When I got home, I avoided everyone altogether, choosing to stay in my room and think about every choice I've made in life that has put me exactly where I am—butt-hurt over a guy telling me exactly how he feels.
It was such a change to what I'm used to that I just didn't know what to do with myself.
I realize there's value in doing whatever the hell you want in life.
If you want the sexual freedom to go out and have sex as often as you like with as many partners as you want, then I don't see an issue with it.
What I didn't realize, and what took me sitting down and actually working through some of my feelings, is that how I've acted has left me feeling empty, as if I got nothing from what I've been doing.
Then I had to figure out if I actually felt that way or if I was projecting because of the conversation that we had.
I know that I’ve hooked up with guys. Although I didn't want or expect more from them than what I got, there have been instances where I felt like maybe I should've just stayed home rather than going out and finding someone to sleep with.
Maybe my issue has more to do with not being comfortable with myself enough to be alone in my own thoughts without looking for a distraction.
It has sent me on this spiral of reflection for the last two days.
All because I've met a man who values the time he spends with a woman, and I've never come across that before. I mean, maybe I have but I never stuck around with someone long enough to see it.
I also have to consider that I'm feeling this way in order to combat the rejection, another thing I can't recall ever facing before in life.
Men are simple creatures. Have a little fun with them, empty their balls enough, and move on.
Robert is so different. I just don't know what to do with myself.
He was right Thursday evening. Had he gotten back into the hot tub, I would've been all over him, trying to get him to take things further than he told me he wanted to go. That makes me no less of an asshole than a guy pressuring his girlfriend after junior prom to take the next step. And then getting pissed and accusing her of being a cock tease before using the blue balls excuse to see if that tact would work.
"I'm a fucking frat boy," I mutter as I look at my reflection in the mirror, the early Saturday light filtering in through the small bathroom window.
My face is void of makeup, but instead of pulling my bag out to add a little color to my face, I decide against applying anything before leaving the room.
My t-shirt and leggings will just have to do. Instead of feeling down on myself for being comfortable, I remind my head that I don't have to impress everyone I come into contact with. If they have a problem with how I look, that's a reflection of them, not me.
Instead of heading to the kitchen when I notice it's empty, I turn toward the conference room door.
I avoided Robert all day yesterday while trying to wrap my head around meeting a guy who's different from every other man who has been in my path. I don't want to avoid him any longer. I have a million questions. I know I should probably have this conversation with a therapist rather than a guy I want to fuck, but my options are limited right now.
I knock on the door when I see him watching his computer screen while his hands work furiously over the keyboard.
His eyes grow brighter when he looks over at me, and I feel my face transform into a smile when the corners of his mouth turn up in one.
"Good morning," he says, looking at me the same way he did when I was in a dress and a face full of makeup, ready for work.
"Morning," I return. "I've been avoiding you."
"I noticed," he says without judgment in his tone.
"You sort of threw me for a loop the other night."
"I figured I did."
I sort of love that he isn't making apologies for telling me exactly how he feels. I swear the man is more enlightened than anyone I've ever met, and it's both refreshing and a little frustrating. But I know that has more to do with where I am in my head than a reflection of him.
I just don't think I've ever met a man who isn’t controlled by what his dick wants at any given moment. It's a shock to my system, for sure.
"Am I interrupting you? I don't want to bother you if you're busy."
He glances from me to his computer screens before looking back at me.
His hands work over the keyboard, and a second later, some animated game fills the massive television on the wall.
"What is that?" I ask, taking a step further inside the room.
"Farmer's Delight," he says, grinning at me. "And as sexual as that sounds, I promise you it's very wholesome. I'm waiting for my cabbage to grow so I can make coleslaw."
"You have to wait?"
"I do."
"I'm sure you could manipulate the program to make it go faster," I argue.
"I could, but that would be cheating."
"I don't think I've ever met someone with such…"
"Patience?" he says, and it sounds like a hint of challenge in his tone.
"Restraint," I clarify.
His laughter is quick, and I find myself smiling even wider. The guy lights up the fucking room when he's happy, and it makes me want to earn as many smiles and laughs from him as I can.
"Grab a seat," he says, angling his hand toward the closest chair to him at the conference table.
I pull out the rolling chair and drop into it.
"I've been thinking," I begin, unsure how to start this conversation without just diving right into it. "Is this not wanting to hook up a ploy?"
"It's not, and before you internalize this any further, please know that I do want to fuck you."
"You do?" I question, turning my eyes from the animated farm on the television to him.
He smiles even wider, another chuckle falling from his lips.
"Of course I do. You're gorgeous. I've hardly been able to think of anything else since that first morning that you were here and pressed your hands to my chest. My restraint, as you put it, isn't because I don't want to. It's because I'd like to see if things could go further than that. If we aren't in the same spot, then one of us is going to either end up hurt or feeling manipulated."
I consider this, and it doesn't take me long to agree that he's right, and that wouldn't be fair to either of us.
"And if I said I was willing to see where it would go, does that mean we wait to hook up?"
He pulls in a deep breath, and I have no idea what's going through his head because the man is a fucking vault.
"We don't have to be madly in love to share a bed," he says.
"What stops me from saying I want to see if there's a possibility of more just to get you naked?"
That's the most frat boy fucking reasoning I've thought.
"I would have to hope that your integrity is enough that you wouldn't do that."
"Are you horny right now?" I ask, needing to know just where both of us are.
He swallows again before speaking. "It's not as bad as Thursday evening when you were wet in the hot tub."
"Who's to say I'm not wet right now?"
My cheeks heat because shit, I just can't seem to turn it off around this guy.
"You're a deviant," he says with humor.
"You didn't answer my question," I prod, watching his mouth as his tongue sneaks out, the tip tracing the outer corner of his mouth.
Instead of using words, he slides his chair out from under his desk, rotating in my direction. Evidence of just how he feels is right there, pressing against the denim of his jeans, and I swear I could trace the outline of his cock head because it's so prominent.
"Does it bother you that I've been with your brother?"
"I hate that he manipulated you into sleeping with him," he answers without hesitation.
I huff a laugh. "He didn't. I promise. I was a more than willing participant."
There's no sense in placing blame where it doesn't belong.
"I'm not going to insult you by saying he only slept with you to get to me because you're stunningly beautiful, but you're not Henry's type."
I don't bother asking him what his brother's type is because I'm not concerned about that.
"He did it because I'm your type."
The thought that his brother has been playing matchmaker thrills me probably more than it should.
"I'm a gift," I whisper.
He pulls in a deep breath before speaking again. "Henry has never been generous for the sake of making others happy. What he gives, he always takes away."
"I feel like there's a story behind that."
"There is," he says but doesn't expand.
"I'd never go back to your brother," I assure him.
His smile grows weaker, making me wonder if my making a choice between the two is not what he’s worried about. The concept that Henry could take me away even if it wasn't my choice makes a wave of goosebumps roll down my arms, and I immediately work my hands up and down to ease them.
"How do we... move forward?"
"I don't want you to think we even have to do that. If it's not something you want, then—"
"I'm not saying it isn't," I interrupt. "I just know I don't want to walk away."
"Because you're wet and horny?" he challenges. "The long game of fucking me just for the sake of fucking me doesn't alter the fact that you're doing it because that's all you want."
"First, could you not say fucking? It messes with my brain chemistry. Second, I feel like if I tell you now after these conversations about it, that I want to see where it goes and that it could be more it won't sound genuine."
"If I can't trust your words, then we're setting ourselves up for failure."
"And if I don't know exactly how I feel enough to put it into words?"
He spends a few breaths considering this before responding. "Maybe just be honest with yourself before you act on anything."
"What does the next step even look like?"
His smile is slow, and I swear the man is trying to seduce me right now. Maybe that's his game. Maybe he wants me begging, which I would've done Thursday night had he stuck around long enough.
"We'd spend time together, get to know each other better. See if it's something we'd want to pursue."
"You mean pursue a relationship?"
"Right. What else is there?"
I roll my lips between my teeth and look away. His laughter swarms around me.
"We already know we're going to be sexually compatible, Morgan."
I look back at him. "How do we know that?"
His eyes sweep down my body, spending a little extra time on my chest before dropping to my legs.
"Jesus," I mutter, fighting the urge to shift in my seat.
"Exactly," he says, not bothering to resist reaching down and adjusting himself.
"Wh-what about kissing?" I manage. "Do you kiss on the first date?"
His gaze drifts to my lips, and I swear I can feel the pressure of his mouth there already.
"I like kissing."
I squeeze my legs together, and of course, it draws his attention there. I don't know if I'm just wound tight or if he means kissing down there, too.
"Both," he whispers as if he can read my mind. "But one has to wait."
"I need to brush my teeth anyway," I tease.
He laughs again, shaking his head, and I swear it hits me just then. I really like this guy.
Is this what I've been missing out on by not really getting to know other men from my past?
"I don't think I've ever sat down and had such an intellectual conversation about this stuff before."
"I don't think a lot of people have, but how else do you know the other's intentions? If you don't talk, you'll never know where the other person's head is at. I hate miscommunication when just simply talking to someone solves a lot of problems," he says.
"I can agree with that," I tell him. "When do you think the kissing might start?"
His eyes drop to my mouth, and I feel it all over my body. When he shrugs, an easy smile on his lips, I want to stomp my foot like a toddler not getting their way.