32. Lilly
CHAPTER 32
LILLY
There’s movement in the bed, so I grumpily open an eye.
“Morning,” Bruce murmurs.
“Shit.” I open the second eye. “Did I brush my teeth last night?”
He snorts. “We didn’t shower either—something I’m about to rectify.”
He throws off his part of the blanket, and the sight of him naked is like mainlining espresso—especially since Titan is hard for some unfathomable reason.
If I didn’t feel super gross, I’d jump him.
Wait. Did he just invite me into that shower with him?
Before I can sleuth out the answer, I hear the pitter-patter of tiny claws on the hardwood floor, followed by the tapping of paws on the mattress.
Bruce grins. “Guess who’s awake too?”
I lean off the bed and come eye to eye with Colossus—who wags his tail like it’s his whole purpose in life before plopping onto his back.
Belly rub. Now. Chop-chop. It’s been ages since I got some TLC.
I scratch the proffered belly with a wide grin.
“You’ve got him, right?” Bruce asks, still mouthwateringly naked. “I have a meeting in a few minutes.”
“Yeah,” I say with a sigh and watch the marvel that is Bruce’s muscled ass walk away.
As soon as he’s out of sight, I throw on my sorceress outfit, grab the puppy, and rush to my room, feeling like I’m doing the walk of shame as I go.
“Here.” I give Colossus some dehydrated sweet potato chews the chef created.
As the dog works on the treat, I do my morning routine and ponder what’s quickly becoming a bigger and bigger question.
What is going on between me and Bruce?
I know what it’s not anymore—a one-night stand. Is there such a thing as a two-night stand? No idea, and I know I should talk to him about this, but I’m not sure how to bring it up.
Maybe I’ll find the courage later today?
For now, I need to take the dog for a walk.
When Colossus and I return, Bruce is about to leave with his family to play golf.
“Why don’t you join us?” Theodora asks.
I shake my head, smiling politely. “Colossus and I have a lot of training to do.”
Is that disappointment on Bruce’s face? Regardless, the puppy and I haven’t had breakfast either—and more importantly, I don’t want to intrude on Bruce’s family time.
As promised, I work with my charge the whole day, stopping only for meals, and tragically, without bumping into Bruce even once.
When it’s time to go to sleep, I take a shower, brush my teeth, and shave my legs and other necessary placesbefore throwing on the sexiest pajamas I own: a tiny nightie. Then, properly primped, I take Colossus to his bed.
When we enter, the lights are on and Bruce isn’t there, but I spot something new.
A TV sticking out of the foot of the bed. Or maybe it’s not new? Maybe all Bruce needs to do is press a button and the TV slides out from somewhere.
Bruce steps out of his bathroom, wearing a robe. “We’re all set to watch the show. Assuming you still want to.”
Do I want some Netflix and chill? With him? Doesn’t my outfit answer that for me?
“What about this one?” I lift Colossus.
Bruce walks over and rubs his fur child’s belly. “How about we do some of that training we talked about?”
“You mean his reaction to kissing?” I ask, doing my best not to jump up and down in my excitement.
Bruce nods, grabs the puppy, and brings him to the bed.
Colossus plops down between Bruce’s legs and seems to pass out.
“Let’s see,” Bruce says, then grabs me and gives me a loud kiss that would knock my socks (and panties) off—if I were wearing any.
Upon hearing the smooch, Colossus turns to investigate but then lies back down.
“He’s tired,” I say with a grin. “I think we can use this to our advantage.”
With that, I kiss Bruce again.
We get a glance from the dog, but that’s it.
On the next kiss, Colossus doesn’t even bother getting up, so I take him to his bed.
“TV?” Bruce asks.
“Let’s makes sure he’s asleep,” I say and loudly kiss Bruce.
When the dog doesn’t react, Bruce kisses my neck, then my collarbone, and by the time he’s sucking my nipple, I forget all about TV.
The next day passes in a similar manner. I wake up in Bruce’s bed, he splits his day between work and his family, and I meet him in his room to watch The Witcher . Which is really just code for lots and lots of sex, as no TV gets watched. The only issue is that I still haven’t found a way to bring up the big question.
What exactly is going on with us?
Also, shouldn’t he bring it up at some point? Why is this on me? Or is this just a meaningless fling for him and not worthy of discussion?
I push the thought away, and we spend the following day the same way—except we do finally get to watch some fifteen minutes of The Witcher before Bruce fucks my brains out once again.
Still no discussion of anything.
Alrighty then.
The next day, I learn that his family is going to stay for another week—a week that starts off in much the same vein, with only sporadic watching of The Witcher and lots of orgasms for me. By now, I’ve had more orgasms with Bruce than in all of my previous relationships combined.
By day six, I’m mad at myself for not braving the conversation, but even madder at Bruce for not sparing me the need to do so.
I’m so pissed at him that I’m actually rehearsing the possible things I’ll say to him in chastisement as I walk with Colossus in the morning. Every other morning before today, I played out the different versions of the “what’s going on between us” talk instead, but making choices has never been my strong suit.
“Call me old-fashioned,” I’ll say to him as I start, “but isn’t it usually the guy’s responsibility to ask a woman out?”
No. Weak. I’ll need something punchier if I really want to go down that route. Maybe call him?—
“Hey,” a familiar voice says, bringing me out of my thoughts.
Oh. Great.
It’s Champ, smoking a cigarette.
Grr. Since the party, I’ve done my best to prevent Colossus and Champ from meeting, and as a bonus, I’ve also been spared from having to accidentally smell Champ’s horrid breath again.
Despite all the socialization training, Colossus doesn’t run to Champ, but he also doesn’t bark at him or anything. The puppy simply couldn’t care less about this particular human, which, for this now-friendly dog, is almost equivalent to pure hate.
“I’m glad I’ve finally run into you,” Champ says.
Finally? How often has he smoked here in the hopes of meeting us?
“Aren’t you allergic?” I gesture at the dog.
Champ frowns at Colossus. “I wanted to run into you , not it. Not that I can inhale fur in the great outdoors.”
Usually dander and saliva cause the allergies, not fur, but I don’t want to needlessly prolong this conversation, so I keep quiet and look at Champ expectantly.
Champ looks furtively around before loudly whispering, “Can we talk?”
I think fast. “Sorry. Maybe another time? Colossus is thirsty, and so am I.”
“Ah.” Champ throws his cigarette on the ground and stomps on it with his tennis shoe. “I guess I’ll catch you later.”
Hopefully not. I only need to avoid him for one more day.
Heading straight for the garage, I unhook Colossus’s leash and take him to the kitchen for drinks and snacks.
As we enter, I see the strategic mistake I made outside. By mentioning thirst, I all but told Champ where I was headed.
And he really wants to chat because here he is, pretending like he’s in the kitchen by accident.
Ignoring him, I pour Colossus some water and take out a lick mat with his breakfast.
Before I can take my own food out, Champ walks over and looks around before whispering, “Can I now have a moment of your time?”
I breathe through my mouth. “What’s up?”
“I was wondering about your… rates,” Champ says, still in a whisper.
I blink at him. “My rates?” He’s allergic to dogs, so why would he care?
“The price,” he explains. “For… you know.”
I take a step back. “I don’t think I do know.” And a gut feeling is telling me that I would not like to find out.
Champ advances on me, so I’m hit with his breath again and wonder how he has managed to eat so much garlic so early in the day. “I know about your trips to Bruce’s bedroom… at night.”
“Excuse me?” I don’t think I’d be this shaken if he’d put out a cigarette on my forehead.
“Please, keep it down.” He backs up a step. “I’m not saying there is anything wrong with… sex work. It’s?—”
My blood feels like it’s about to explode. “I’m not a whore!” My hands ball into tight fists, and I’m itching to punch him right in the little bit of space between his eyes.
Champ frowns. “Why throw nasty labels around? I was just asking if you could do for me what you do for Bruce.”
My nostrils flare. “I don’t do sex work for him.”
He rolls his eyes. “You and he are not a couple, right? He pays you, right? You sleep with him, right? Whatever you call that arrangement, I want one too, while we’re still here.”
I eye the knife rack and enjoy some fleeting mental images of me using the large carving one to slice into Champ’s soft belly, like in a slasher movie. At my feet, I hear Colossus growling—he seems to be picking up on my murderous mood.
“Shut up,” Champ snaps at Colossus and raises his foot threateningly.
That’s it. Something inside me snaps, and my knee smashes into Champ’s crotch.
Doubling over, Champ drops to the ground, face going green. Grabbing Colossus, I run to my room and lock the door behind me.
Purely on autopilot, I give the puppy a chew toy to play with before giving in to the fury that overwhelms me. Fury at Champ for what he said, but also at Bruce and at myself for ending up in this stupid situation: sleeping with my boss who doesn’t seem to have any intention of making this a relationship.
I don’t even know what I’m doing when my hands reach for the closet door, but it seems like my body has done something I’ve never been able to do on my own: make a decision.
And that decision is to pack up my shit.