10. Chapter 10 #2
My hand tightens around the back of the couch, and the leather groans under my grip.
She reaches behind her back, undoes the clasp of her bikini top, slides it out from under her body, and drops it casually to the side .
My cock stirs instantly, hard and immediate, and I close my eyes to keep from groaning out loud.
Jesus.
She has no fucking idea what she looks like right now. She reaches for her drink and exposes the side of her right breast before her lips wrap around the straw. That tiny motion sends a hot spike straight into my gut.
My cock gets painfully hard. No slow build, no warning. Just—up.
Her ass shifts when she adjusts her legs. I should not be watching her like this through a window like a deranged creep. But my feet don’t move.
I feel the growl before I hear it. She tortures me without even knowing. Or maybe she does, and this is intentional. Maybe she’s trying to drive me insane.
Every cell in my body is laser-focused on every inch of her. A dangerous part of me wants to walk out there, drag my hands down the curve of her back, and flip her over to see the rest of what she’s hiding from the sun.
My breathing gets heavier. I tilt my head, eyes narrowed, devouring her with a hunger I can’t bury .
Something shifts to the right of the yard. Another movement. I blink and refocus.
The gardener. He comes every other week.
Early twenties, quiet, does his job. But right now, he’s not doing his job.
He’s standing beside the hedge, pruning shears slack in his hand, pretending to clip a branch while his eyes keep flicking sideways at Jessica.
He’s waiting. Watching. Hovering and hoping she’ll turn over.
A mix of fury and something territorial spikes in my chest.
The bastard isn’t even subtle. He’s massacring the hedge, new growth scattered at his feet, completely unfocused. His gaze keeps dragging back to the sunbed.
I get it. If you’re a man standing in a backyard with that view, you look, and you imagine.
So yeah, I get him. And I want to kill him for it.
A muscle jumps in my cheek. My heartbeat is a sharp, punching rhythm in my throat.
She did this. She took her top off in my backyard where a man with eyes has every opportunity to stare at what’s mine—or what should be mine. What I’m trying like hell to pretend I don’t want to be mine.
Jessica shifts on the towel again, arching her back, adjusting the strap of her bikini bottom. Her ass lifts just slightly and I see the outline of her pussy through the fabric.
My cock throbs hard against my zipper with anger, desire, jealousy, all twisting together into something dangerously sharp.
My fingers release the couch just long enough to flex. Then I stalk toward the backyard with heavy steps and a cock hard enough to break through the glass doors. The hired help is about to learn that there are lines in this house, and he just stepped over the wrong fucking one.
I shove the sliding door open, already yanking my T-shirt over my head as I step outside.
The gardener snaps his head up and goes pale when he sees me coming. I tilt my head at him, letting him know he’s fucked.
His eyes go wide. He turns so fast he nearly trips over the hose before speed-walking toward the other side of my property .
I let him leave with all his limbs because my focus is laser-set on the woman stretched out on the sunbed.
By the time I reach her, my shirt is hanging from my hand, my pulse a heavy, slow hammer in my ears. My thoughts aren’t thoughts anymore; they’re filthy impulses.
I toss my shirt over her bare back and ass, covering every inch she clearly forgot doesn’t belong to strangers’ eyes.
“What the?” She jerks, startled, lifting her head.
She looks at my T-shirt first, then down my chest. She drags her eyes slowly along my torso before she snaps her attention up to my face.
There’s hunger in her eyes, a need I deeply relate to.
“What’s that for?” She lifts a hand and starts tugging my shirt off her body.
“Don’t.” I step forward, my shadow swallowing her sunbed.
“Are you in a mood again?” She raises a brow. “Look, I’m tanning. Can you move your lecture to later?”
“Cover up,” I warn .
“Me?” She scoffs. “You’re the one who’s half-naked.”
“Yeah,” I say, crossing my arms, “but I’m not the one my gardener was staring at.”
“Oh? I didn’t even notice him.” She smiles again.
The sound that slips out of me is a low rumble.
“He definitely noticed you,” I say.
Her eyes glint. “I was just tanning.”
“Naked.” I raise a brow.
“I don’t like tan lines.” She shrugs, lazy and provocative.
Her fingers pinch my shirt again and she starts lifting it off. I lean down and grab her wrist, stopping her.
“I don’t want you shirtless outside.”
Her lips part, a small involuntary sound escaping.
“Do you want me shirtless inside?” she whispers.
Fuck.
My cock jumps. She wants this fight.
She tilts her head, hair spilling over her shoulder, eyes locked on mine like she’s daring me to do more.
“Or,” she says sweetly, “you can let me finish my tan. ”
“So you can continue with your show?” I release her wrist. “Cover the fuck up.”
Her chin lifts in defiance.
“You know,” she says casually, “you’ve barely talked to me these past two days. Who knew all it took to get your attention was taking my top off?”
My brows dip together. She’s the one who’s been avoiding me, not the other way around.
I drop my gaze and do a slow sweep along the curve of her body under my shirt.
“If I gave you the attention you’re asking for,” I say quietly, “you wouldn’t be able to walk back inside on your own.”
The smugness evaporates from her face as she sucks in a breath.
“Oh, how romantic, Captain.” she says quietly. “But maybe you should wait until the cameras start rolling?”
I take a slow breath through my nose.
She hums, almost innocent, and shifts again. The fabric moves enough to expose the faintest hint of the swell of her breast, soft and golden in the sun .
My cock jumps, yet my face stays stoic. I take the sight she’s offering, savor it for a moment, then slowly lift my eyes to hers.
“Put your top back on.”
She props herself up on her elbows, my shirt slipping dangerously low on her frame.
Reaching to the side of the sunbed, she grabs her bikini top from the ground and dangles it between two fingers without breaking eye contact.
Then she flicks it toward me. Its weight is nothing, but the contact is nuclear.
I raise a brow.
Fuck.
This is torture.
She knows exactly what she’s doing now. That smug little look on her face proves it.
I glance down at the bikini top but make no move to hand it back. Instead, I let the silence stretch until she shifts beneath it.
“So?”
“So?” I echo.
“We’re seriously pretending that night didn’t happen? ”
There it is. I fight the smile. “Pretending what didn’t happen?” I keep my voice flat.
“You know what.” Her eyes narrow.
“You brought it up. Finish the sentence.”
She scoffs, rolling her eyes, but her cheeks go bright pink. I wait, letting the silence deepen.
She wets her lips and looks away. “You’re such an ass.”
“And you’re avoiding the question.”
I pocket my hands. “What happened that night?”
“What happened,” she snaps, meeting my eyes, “is that you lost control.”
My mouth curves. “That’s what you think that was?”
“Yes.” She holds her ground.
“That wasn’t even me slipping.” I crouch down. “If I lost control, you couldn’t handle it,” I say.
“You don’t know what I can handle.”
I drag my gaze down her body once—blatant, hungry, vicious.
“You keep asking for things you’re not ready for.”
She tilts her head. “Try me. ”
My restraint hangs by a thread. One small, snapping thread.
And she’s pulling it on purpose.