Three #2
After jerking off twice, he was still too wired to go to sleep and too much of a pussy to venture outside of his room.
Watching his phone like a teenage boy watches the hot neighbor’s windows, he settled into bed.
After hours of stalking the cameras for any movement outside of Nadia’s room—there was none—he managed to fall asleep sometime around three.
The following morning, as he dressed and knotted his tie in a perfect half Windsor, his gaze continuously drifted to his cell, which still had the security app open. He was leaving in a few minutes and feared he wouldn’t see her before he left for work.
Once his shoes were on, he paused at his bedroom door and returned to the desk. Pulling out a sheet of paper, he hesitated...
Nadia,
I hope you slept well. There is cereal in the pantry and eggs in the refrigerator. You may help yourself to whatever you need. Martha is my maid and she will be here between 10:00am and 3:00pm. She knows where everything is kept. My cell number is
“Shit.” He crumpled the note. Letters were so impersonal.
Brushing a frustrated hand over his hair, he moved to the dresser, and smoothed out his part, hesitating as he faced the door once more.
With a huff, he marched down the hall, pausing outside of the Ivy Suite. Their proximity produced a sort of diaphoresis, and he couldn’t remember ever sweating to such a degree outside of gym class.
Raising his hand he tapped lightly and waited.
Muffled shuffling met his ears and light filtered beneath the wood of the door.
Stepping back, he braced himself, directing his gaze at the carpet.
The door opened and two small feet stepped into view.
Her second toe was a smidge longer than the first, but her nails were painted in the sexiest shade of red, the skin on the top of her feet as dusky and striking as all the rest.
“Good morning, Elliot.”
His regard traveled upward over tapered calves, feminine knees, and lush thighs.
He’d never seen so much flawless skin and his heart rate accelerated the higher his eyes traveled.
He’d yet to run into a stitch of clothing.
His breath gusted out of him when he reached the apex of her thighs, covered in tight little black shorts that looked more like men’s underwear than actual attire.
Blinking, he stared a moment too long at the expanse of satin flesh shown at her flat belly. This was what she slept in? Men’s briefs and a tank top?
His face went numb as his attention rose to the peaks of her unconstrained breasts. And there were her nipples. “Um…”
“Are you okay? You look irritated.” She stepped forward and he sucked in a sharp breath as the back of her cool knuckles pressed to his clammy brow. “Your skin’s warm. Are you sick?”
“Yes.” What?
He seemed to have no control over his words at the moment. But she was wearing glasses, wearing the fuck out of them, and he couldn’t fathom how a woman as sexy as Nadia had gotten more attractive overnight.
“You should rest. Let me use the bathroom and I’ll take care of you.”
Her hand pulled away, leaving him dizzy as she turned. His attention fastened on her toned ass stretching the material thin and his dick throbbed. Did she say she was going to take care of him?
“You might have a fever, but I have just the thing.” She gazed over her slender shoulder and smiled, knocking the breath out of him again. Beautiful torture.
“Go on back to bed. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
She was coming to his bed? “Okay.” Another word he had no control over.
He didn’t move.
“Go on. Bed.”
When she disappeared into the guest bath, he looked down the hall, his vision narrowing to pinholes. What are you waiting for?
His brisk steps carried him back to his room where he turned in a confused circle in the same place over and over again like a dog seeking its resting spot. Lowering himself to the edge of the mattress, he pulled out his phone and dialed.
“Think Tank.”
“Jet, it’s Elliot.”
His friend waited as Elliot tried to focus, capable only of the simplest facts. “I won’t be in today.”
“Everything all right?”
He hadn’t taken a day off in … eleven years. “Yes. I’ll call you later.” He ended the call as he heard her soft steps brushing over the carpet.
The door opened and she tsked. “I said, back to bed. You need rest. Under the covers you go, mister.”
Without paying him much attention, she straightened his bed covers and fluffed his pillows. As she folded back the sheet, she looked at him and clucked her tongue. “Do you plan on wearing your suit and shoes to bed?”
She nudged him back and gracefully kneeled at his feet, her big brown eyes flashing as her gaze seemed to physically stroke over him before lowering to his feet. Her small fingers untied the laces as she slipped the shoes off his feet.
His mind jumped to a forgotten place in time, the shoe store his mother used to take him back when shoe salesmen actually measured customers’ feet. There was a fish tank he liked in that store. But he liked this better.
As she rose, her elegant motions put him in a trance.
Her body moved so gracefully as if gravity didn’t have a hold on her the way it held everyone else.
Every motion its own dance. His gaze tripped over her breasts and his chest tightened with desire as his fingers twitched to feel her supple flesh.
The leather soled shoes clopped to the floor, jarring him out of his head. She leaned close and he held his breath as she clutched his tie, loosening the knot and sliding the material free with a practiced pull.
“No need in wrinkling your dress clothes. Where do you keep your lounge pants and t-shirts? I’ll grab some for you.”
He blinked at her, afraid if he moved he might spontaneously combust. “I don’t have lounge pants.” Or t-shirts for that matter. His undershirts were as close to casual as he got, and he never wore them without something on top.
“What about sweatpants?”
He shook his head as she stripped him of his jacket.
“Pajamas?”
He couldn’t tell her he slept nude. Making a mental note to pick up loungewear—whatever that was—he rasped, “These pants are fine.”
“Don’t be silly. They’re dress slacks. They’ll get creases.”
Her hand went to his belt and he sucked in a breath, catching her brazen fingers, and stilling her progress. “What are you doing?”
An inch south and she’d realize what a depraved pig he really was. Her dark eyes widened. Fuck. Did she already know?
Her hair was down, tumbling all the way to her hips and over her shoulders. She still wore those ridiculous boy shorts. Her full lips formed a shy smile. “I’m just helping you.”
He pressed her hands away, panic driving his heart into a frantic hum. “I can undress myself.”
Her arm drew back and she frowned. Did she honestly expect him to disrobe in front of her? This was totally inappropriate. He wedged a pillow over his lap.
“Perhaps you could find some tea?” Anything to get her out of there and away from his constricting pants.
Seeming to understand she’d crossed a line, she nodded and backed to the door. “Okay.” Her dainty fingers rested on the frame, drawing his attention to the slope of her hip. “But you stay in bed. I’ll be back in a few minutes with something. We don’t want you getting the flu.”
The door closed and he stared dumbly at the empty room, as helpless as a child under the decree of a stern mother. This was not at all what he wanted. He didn’t need her to think him some feeble man who couldn’t handle a slight cold.
You’re not even sick!
Disturbed by his pathetic appeal to her good nature, he stood and marched to his dresser, opening a drawer and snapping it shut when he found nothing but well-ordered socks and briefs.
“Why don’t you have normal clothes?” He unlatched his leather belt, coiling it with the others in the top drawer. “Ridiculous. And now she thinks you’re sick. Pathetic.”
He continued to berate himself as he stripped out of his dress shirt and tossed it in the hamper. As he climbed into bed still wearing his slacks and undershirt, he fussed with the pillows, refusing to lie there like an invalid. Now what?
Being that he couldn’t alleviate the pressure in his pants, he did the next best thing and reached for his phone.