Chapter 6 #2
Which was why it had been awhile, probably years since I’d let myself stare at him like this, and the only reason I was letting myself do it now was because I was drunk, this night was crazy, and as far as I was concerned, nothing I did, said, or thought right now counted.
I was still completely rattled, having been tossed into the head bitch of emotional wringers tonight, and when you topped that with whiskey, it was grounds for a mental free-for-all.
So I gave myself a pass. Even went ahead and checked Adam out when he got up ten minutes later to send a work email from his laptop.
As he leaned over the table, I observed the stone-carved straightness of his nose, his finely etched lips, and the annoying perfection of his tan against his white T-shirt—along with every little twitch and flex of his muscled forearms as he quickly typed away.
Ridiculous. Imagine being this effortlessly good-looking, I thought to no one in particular.
Well. Maybe to Georgia.
It was at that point I decided it was time to text my best friend about all that had happened tonight, because the sooner she knew about Caspar, the sooner I could tell her about Adam—in particular, that moment we had by the door.
Along with the whole impromptu sleepover situation that was going on right now.
And the fact that I was currently willing myself not to stare at his package under those sweats.
“Oop—fuck,” I cursed as I knocked my purse onto the floor while trying to grab my phone. Serves you right for not looking where you’re reaching since you’re too busy staring at forbidden boss dick, I scolded myself just as Adam looked up from his laptop and snorted at my purse on the floor.
“Seems like more than you’d need for a weekend,” he remarked as I pulled myself over the side of the bed to grab my toppled purse, which had ejected a comically long strip of condoms on its way to the ground.
“Yeah, probably,” I laughed, because it had clearly been wishful thinking that compelled me to pack three dozen rubbers for less than forty-eight hours with Caspar.
“I guess I can admit now that he was shit in bed,” I snorted as I put my purse back onto the nightstand and snuggled back into the covers.
Adam laughed. “I mean I always knew that, but I’m glad you finally got to get it off your chest.”
“Shut up, you did not always know that,” I retorted. But Adam said nothing in response, only wearing a self-satisfied smirk as he shut his laptop—which was a specific type of Adam smugness that meant he was telling the truth. I squinted at him. “How?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I know what women look like when they’ve been thoroughly fucked,” he said as he ambled over to the bar.
“What wrong way would I take that?”
“I have no idea. I was just putting some kind of preface on the statement since we don’t usually talk about this shit, and I don’t know how weird you’re going to be about it,” he said, lobbing a water bottle onto the bed. “Drink that.”
I scoffed. “I’m not going to be weird. We talk plenty about your overactive sex life,” I said as I uncapped the bottle and took a swig.
“We talk plenty about the women I go on dates with. Not how good I am in bed and how good you haven’t had it for years.”
I paused, something about that sentence bringing heat to my cheeks.
“Okay. Fair,” I relented, clearing my throat. “So, fine—you know what women look like when they’ve been thoroughly fucked. And you’re saying in the five years you’ve known me, I’ve never once looked that way to you?”
Adam wore a dubious look as he leaned against the bar. “You really want me to answer that?”
“Yes,” I said. And for the next two-and-a-half seconds, I did my best to withstand the pressure of his gaze as he tried to decide if I could in fact handle the truth. For some reason, it was making my pulse pick up.
But then with a smirk and swig of his water, Adam finally spoke.
“I saw you look like that once. But not because of Caspar.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ace Hotel in Chicago. Two years ago.”
I paused. Then my eyes went wide.
Oh, shit.
That was all he had to say for me to know exactly what he was talking about, because that had in fact been a particularly stellar orgasm thanks to the two-hundred-dollar vibrator I’d bought on that business trip. My cheeks heated up as I ignored the look of sheer entertainment on Adam’s face.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I answered the door a good twenty minutes after I… finished. So I’m really not sure how you could’ve known.”
“Like I said, I just know what it looks like.”
“Of course. Because you’re the king of orgasms and every woman you’ve ever slept with has woken up all fresh-faced and glowing.”
“You’re mocking me right now, but you know it’s true.”
“Only because you’ve subjected me to being in the hotel room right next to yours for the past five years. I swear to God there were times the moaning was so dramatic I thought you were blasting porn.”
“Nah. I don’t even watch porn.”
“Yeah, right,” I laughed. But when I looked at him, I could tell he was being serious. “Shut up,” I said. “You don’t watch porn, Adam? I don’t believe you.”
He only smiled at me. “You don’t have to.”
“Okay. So basically, you’re saying you never…” I trailed off, suddenly realizing exactly what I was asking a man who was very much my boss.
Adam cocked an eyebrow. “Never what?”
I wrung my hands behind my pillow as I tried to figure out my phrasing. “Never… take care of yourself,” I finally said.
He eyed me with amusement. “You’re asking if I ever jerk off?”
My stomach clenched.
God, was I? Was I really asking my boss if he masturbated? How did this conversation even get here?
My toes curled under the sheets as I forced myself not to bite my lip. “Yes. That,” I confirmed, to which he smirked.
“I do.” He held his glinting gaze on me as he took another long pull of water. “I just use my imagination.”
I nodded.
“Huh,” I said, making some vague sound of acknowledgment to play off the sudden pulsing between my legs—and the fact that my boss was literally watching me right now as I thought about him jerking off.
Dear God, stop, stop, stop, I chanted in my head, but my insides clenched without mercy as my traitor brain flashed with images of twitching forearms and nine-inch dicks.
Adam laughed. “You good?” he asked.
I was legitimately burning up inside, but despite the internal chaos, I narrowed my eyes at him. “Yes? Why wouldn’t I be?”
He was still leaning there casually in those goddamned sweats, that dimple showing as he capped his empty bottle and tossed it in the bin. He let the silence stretch another tormenting few seconds before he finally answered. “No reason,” he said before pushing off the bar and going to the bathroom.
Only once I heard the electric whir of his toothbrush going did I finally exhale.
Because we both knew he was lying.
He knew well that my mind had just gone deep in the gutter—that I had just been picturing him in ways that were so beyond inappropriate for our relationship that I was literally staring at the ceiling mouthing what the fuck because I needed someone, something to react to.
Unsurprisingly, the ceiling did not suffice.
So with a groan, I yanked the covers over my head and burrowed myself deep into the sheets. I was never one to go to bed without getting ready, but clearly, tonight was the night for all the firsts.
Brushing my teeth be damned. It was time to sleep all this away.