Chapter Six
Rhys
Good enough. I lean back to close my eyes and go over the key points for the upcoming battles.
Need to convince the old geezers at Ohimesama that it’s in their best interests to work with us.
They’re worried about restructuring, but it can’t be helped when over fifteen percent of their workers have no discernible duties.
Something rustles on the floor, making my eyes fly open.
What the—? A giant rat?
A few seconds later, I hear a soft smacking of lips and a small murmur.
The memory from last night floods my mind. Max. Still sleeping on the floor. Guess no lazing around, the way I prefer in the morning. She might be one of those women who take hours in the bathroom.
I start to get up, then hear her smack her lips in the dark again.
“Ex’ra cheese, mmmm. Pickles,” she murmurs.
Is she dreaming about food? Amused, I lean over from the bed. I can barely make out her shape from the small strip of night lights along the edge of the floor. She’s holding a pillow to her mouth and moving her chin like she’s chewing.
“What are you eating?” I whisper.
“Cheeseburghmmm. Go ’way.” She makes a small movement with her hand, then turns over, still holding the pillow.
I have to stifle a laugh. That’s…cute. Almost as cute as her freckles.
But I sympathize with her dream of a good, juicy cheeseburger.
The food in London was okay, but not the best. The situation at Beissen was complicated, and with the EmPo deal in the States also requiring my attention, there was no time to go out for dinner at nice restaurants.
Which doesn’t necessarily mean bad food.
But for some reason Roger, the vice president of marketing, kept buying us Korean food from this place he swore was fabulous.
Except it was weird. It’s what Roger, who is whiter than hotel bedsheets and slightly better traveled, thought was authentic.
Having been living in L.A., which has some of the best Korean restaurants in the world, Max looked at the offerings like she was being poisoned.
I slip quietly out of bed, grab a change of clothes for the day, then pad to the bathroom and lock the door behind me.
That done, I switch on the light and blink to adjust to the blinding illumination off the beige marble and white porcelain.
The bathroom’s shockingly light in color, even though the suite and the lobby are fairly dark.
Unlike Western hotels, this one has a massive glass stall that contains not just a shower but a huge tub.
Behind the tub is a giant beige tile with an ancient-style Japanese tree painting etched in burnt orange, while a TV sits in front of the tub.
After using the high-tech toilet that somehow knows I’m a man and automatically lifts both the lid and the seat, I wash my hands and start brushing my teeth.
My brain starts to awaken. I study my body as the foam forms in my mouth.
Still lean with a respectable amount of muscles and strength.
Even got a six-pack. Nobody would think I’m in my late thirties.
As I spit out the minty foam, I catch something black in the mirror in my peripheral vision. I almost jump. A cockroach?!
No, wait, it’s not moving at all. I rinse out my mouth, my eyes on the thing. What the hell is that hanging over the shower door?
I place the toothbrush on the counter and head over to see. Don’t remember seeing anything like this last night. Is this—?
I pick it up. Then raise an eyebrow with the wicked delight of a tomcat discovering a brand-new toy. Well, well, well. Isn’t this interesting?
A thong. Not just any thong, but the lacy kind.
I hold it by the side strap, my mind fritzing.
Did I somehow get transported to some wild party Dad had with one of his women?
They’re the type to leave their underwear everywhere.
I blink and look around in a slight daze.
The labels in the bathroom are in Japanese.
And the thong looks to be just the right size for Max.
Holy shit. I always thought she was sexy, but never realized she wore something this erotic under her office clothes. Now I’ll never be able to avoid thinking about what she has on beneath her skirts.
I run a hand over my jaw. I also didn’t think she’d be the type to fling her dirty underwear over the shower stall. Shows how little I really know my assistant.
Given her insistence on being professional at all times, I presumed she took off her underwear and placed it demurely in a laundry bag. Or at least didn’t leave it out where I would see it the next day.
Did she do it on purpose?
Heat tightens my skin, stiffens my dick. Good God, get a hold of yourself. She wasn’t even interested in fake-dating because she’s too devoted to that damn boyfriend of hers—which darkens my mood. Doubt she left a thong out as a tease. Not that it’s going to stop me from ragging her a little.
Regardless, it can’t stay in its current location—I need my morning shower to fully wake up. Coffee is great, but it isn’t enough, especially when I’m doing a lot of back-to-back international trips.
I leave the thong on the counter and shower with water colder than I normally like, but the cool spray fails to dampen the heat in my veins.
I close my eyes, trying to gather my thoughts about the upcoming meetings.
It doesn’t work; the only thing filling my head is the image of Max on her hands and knees on that blanket.
But rather than the pajama bottoms, she’s in the thong, showing me the magnificent expanse of her pert ass.
My dick grows harder. Damn it. This is not what I need, especially not when Max is still sleeping right on the other side of the door. Besides, she’s going to wake up soon.
Don’t worry about it. The door’s locked.
Shit. Giving up, I shut my eyes. In my mind, she looks at me over her bare shoulder.
Her glittering green eyes roam over me, taking me in from head to toe, then travel back up, more slowly as though to savor the view.
Bracing a forearm against the smooth marble wall, I adjust the water so it’s icy cold, but the fire in my gut only burns hotter.
My free hand wraps tightly around my dick, the fantasy running wild as I pump viciously.
Max rubs an index finger over her plump lower lip, while arching her lower back.
I get a peek of glistening pink. My cockhead tingles like she’s running her tongue over the tip of my dick, which isn’t just wet with water but with slick precum.
She moves the slim finger in and out like she’s trying to fuck her mouth with it, while rocking her pelvis like she’s humping against an imaginary dick. My dick—from the way she can’t tear her eyes off me.
I imagine gripping her hips, then ripping the thong off. The flimsy fabric turns to little bits of lace and straps, showing me she’s ready for me.
I move in a more frenzied rhythm, my breathing more labored. I no longer feel the chill of the water, just the seduction of her eyes and warm, pliant smoothness of her flesh under my fingers.
My temptress—dangerous and hot.
I imagine the way her body bounces every time I slam into her. The way her hair shivers. The little sounds she makes trying to stay quiet as I—
“Fuuuuuck. Max.” I clench my hand as a scorching orgasm slams into me and I spurt against the stall. The water jets over the wall and cleans it away. This isn’t the first time I’ve jerked off while thinking of Max, but knowing she’s on the other side of the door makes it a thousand times hotter.
I spend a minute recovering, then finish my shower. Unlike yesterday, today’s off to a fantastic start.