Chapter 16
Titus
Idon't know how long I've been working. Probably a hell of a lot longer than I should have, but the safety of the company my brothers and I run is more important than anything.
Well…
Pushing back from my desk, I dig the heels of my hands into my burning eyes. Normally after a night like this, I would be starving and dehydrated to the point of a headache. I'm not. And that is due to one person and one person only.
I turn in my chair, spinning the seat as I seek Mariah out. I don't find her. What I do find is an office that looks vastly different from the way it did when I walked in.
"God dammit." I turn in my seat again, opening up a secure window so I can transfer more money into Mariah's account.
I can't believe I didn't hear her working around me. I'm not sure my ability to focus is as good of a thing as I once believed it was, because I should have stopped her. Should have sent her to bed so she could get the rest I know she needs. Instead, she likely spent hours cleaning up my mess.
Because I’m an asshole who was once again too wrapped up in his own shit to notice what was happening around him.
Standing from my chair, I stretch, working out the kinks in my back and the tightness in my shoulders.
I lean out my open door to peer down the hall, finding Mariah's door closed.
I want to thank her. Want to tell her how much I appreciate everything she does for me. But I won't wake her up to do it.
Instead, I stumble into my dark bedroom, making my way to the attached bathroom.
While I might not be dried out to the point of a migraine, staring at my computer screen for hours didn't do me any favors, and I can feel the beginnings of a throb at the base of my skull.
So I leave the lights off as I peel away my clothes and step under the hot spray.
After scrubbing down, I quickly dry off, making sure I throw my towel in the hamper since I don't want Mariah to feel like I'm completely incapable of cleaning up after myself.
It just didn't matter before. The state of my home was irrelevant. It didn’t affect anyone but me, and I didn’t give a shit about the mess. Still don’t.
But Mariah does. And I give a shit about her.
Mostly dry, I aim for my bed, dropping to the mattress, ready to get some sleep now that I know all my clients’ and McKinley Security’s private information are safe.
Rolling to one side, I shift around until I find the edge of the covers so I can slide beneath them.
It's not until I'm fully covered that the state of my bed registers.
It's warm.
That’s the only warning I get that I'm not alone before a soft and familiar body scoots close to me.
I freeze. Have I been awake so long I'm hallucinating?
There've been times I worked thirty-six hours straight and didn't even realize it. When I did finally stop, I was almost delirious. Delirium would explain why I believe Mariah’s in my bed, winding her limbs around me as she lets out a soft snore.
It wouldn’t explain the very real press of her skin to mine. Or the horrifyingly fast hardening of my dick as she sighs contentedly.
Fuck. What in the hell do I do?
She’s managed to tangle her body with mine so quickly there wasn’t an opportunity to stop her. If I move now, it'll wake her up. If Mariah wakes up, she's going to notice I'm naked. And if she notices I'm naked...
There's no scenario that could follow that up where I won't make very bad decisions.
Waiting to make my move was the wrong choice, because Mariah has taken full advantage of the additional seconds. Her face is now burrowed against my chest, her warm breath coasting over my skin as she settles back into a deep sleep.
There hasn't been a woman in my bed in years. Not since Kara. I haven't been naked next to one in just as long. And after such a long dry spell, my body is reacting in a big way.
Even as tired as I am, I can't help but notice the way Mariah feels against me.
The way her scent surrounds me. And I can't help but wonder what it would be like if she was always here.
If this wasn't just an accidental situation where she likely sat down thinking she'd keep me company and conked out waiting for me to finish.
What would it be like if Mariah came to my bed on purpose? With intent. Would I send her away?
Or would I do exactly what I'm going to do now? Pull her closer. Keep her. Pretend I'm capable of being everything she deserves. That I'm not so terrified of what could happen to her that I frequently can't breathe.
I tell myself that’s why I don’t let her go. Why I don’t scoop Mariah up and carry her to the bed in her rooms.
Because I need to know she’s safe. That her baby’s safe.
And maybe I do. Because having them here with me makes it way too easy to close my eyes and slide into sleep.
At first I don't know what wakes me up. Whether it's a strange noise or my phone vibrating in the other room. Possibly the ping of an email being received on my laptop.
I pull in a deep breath as I try to come around. Attempt to get my brain functioning a little faster. It doesn't seem like I've been asleep for very long, but time has been pretty arbitrary for me for a while, so it's possible I just slept the clock around.
I hope not, because I need to get back to work. Figure out a way to safeguard the data my company has collected from whoever seems intent on accessing it.
But when I shift, planning to get up, all thoughts of work and code and firewalls fly right out of my mind.
Because Mariah is in my bed. A fact I remember when she wiggles around, rubbing her body against mine in a way that has me stifling a groan.
I’m positive she has no clue how intimately her body is pressed against mine.
And since I don't want her to feel weird around me if she discovers it, I carefully wrap a hand behind the knee of the leg she has slung over my hip.
Slowly, I lift it up so I can shift her into a spot where her pussy won't be right against my dick.
A dick that is as hard now as it was last night when I fell asleep.
I'm actually a little concerned it's been this way the entire time, because I’m pretty sure that would put me at risk for needing medical intervention.
I speed up the process of what I'm doing a little, moving faster than I should in an attempt to escape the situation as quickly as possible.
I need to protect Mariah from embarrassment, and myself from humiliation.
Thankfully, she seems to be a deep sleeper, and I’m able to get her positioned comfortably, replacing my body with a pillow as I slide free.
Covering as much of my dick as possible with one hand, I practically run to the bathroom, ducking inside before quietly closing the door behind me. I lean back against the wood, closing my eyes as I pull in a deep breath, trying to calm the race of blood pumping through my veins.
Thinking about Mariah waking up and discovering the way we slept had me equal parts terrified and aroused.
I don't ever want her to feel uncomfortable around me.
But then again, I can't deny that her reactions when I've accidentally behaved in a way I shouldn't haven't exactly seemed uncomfortable.
If anything, Mariah has been eager. For my touch.
For my mouth. Even in her sleep she was anything but uninterested in my body against hers.
And I’d be a liar if I said I wasn't imagining what would've happened if she woke up. If she would have been just as eager this morning in my bed as she was last night in the coat closet.
The hand still gripping my cock flexes, squeezing the hard line of it. I know it's wrong to think about her like this—especially when she's right on the other side of the door, asleep in my bed—but standing in the dark it's easy to let my mind run through what could have been.
I wouldn't have fucked her. I know there would be no coming back from that. I might not even have let her touch me. In some ways that could be even worse than fucking. But I would have touched her. Taken care of her. Shown her how good I can make her feel.
My hand is moving and I can't stop it. Can't push away the images of Mariah beneath me. Every inch of her body bared as I worship the perfection she presents.
It's so easy to imagine her hands in my hair—I already know how incredible that feels. The way they would pull tight as I buried my face between her thighs, tasting, licking, sucking. She would writhe beneath me, chasing down what I’m so fucking ready to give her.
And when she comes, her thighs would clench against my ears and my name would be on her lips.
Titus.
I can almost hear it, and imagining her sweet voice tight with pleasure as she comes undone sends me over the edge, dick jerking in my grip as I come in sharp spurts that hit the tile at my feet.
Titus. I fucking love imagining her moaning my name.
Titus.
“Titus?” There’s a soft knock on the door just beside my head. “Is everything okay?”
Fuck. “Everything’s fine.” Can jacking off to thoughts of licking my pregnant private chef’s pussy be considered fine?
Probably not by anyone’s standards.
I flip on the light and curse myself at the mess I made across the floor Mariah obviously mopped last night while I was oblivious to anything besides what was happening on my computer screen.
I grab the towel I was so proud of putting in the hamper and drop it to the tile, using one foot to clean away my jizz as I wrap a fresh towel around my waist, tucking it into place because all my clothes are in the closet and I can’t just greet Mariah with my dick out.
Once the mess I made is handled, I put the dirty towel back in the hamper and fling open the door, coming face to face with a sleepy looking, but still smiling, Mariah.
Her eyes dip, widening more and more as they drift down my chest, skating across the puckered scars covering my right shoulder and bicep before coming to rest on my stomach. “You have abs.” The observation is breathy and soft.
I don’t know why I stand straighter, tightening my core just a little to accentuate the lines cutting down and across my middle. “It’s because you won’t make me another caramel cake.”
Mariah’s eyes jump to my face. “What is?”
My brain trips a little over her question. “The reason I have abs is because I haven’t had enough caramel cake.”
A flush blooms across her skin as she lifts her eyes to the ceiling. “I, umm…” Her gaze drops to my stomach again, the pink of her cheeks deepening as she quickly turns away. “Do you want some caramel cake?”
I rub one hand over my stomach, trying to quell the disappointment of no longer having her look at me the way she was. “If you’re offering to make me one for breakfast—”
Mariah peeks my way over one shoulder, taking in my body for long enough to soothe my discontent. “I made one last night while you were working.” She gives me a small smile. “I thought it might be a little reward for all your hard work.”
Having her in my bed was more than reward enough, but I keep that to myself. “You didn’t have to do that.” I look around my room and the office beyond it. “You didn’t have to clean up in here either.”
Mariah angles a brow at me. “Did you see what it looked like in here? I absolutely had to clean up.” She gives me a grin. “And it’s not like I don’t get anything out of it. I’ve noticed extra money seems to appear in my bank account every time I mop a floor or scrub a toilet.”
“That’s strange.” It’s also strange that I got off not even five minutes ago and my dick is already trying to join the conversation. Like the sight of Mariah in my room is all it takes to get me hard, regardless of the circumstances.
Actually, that’s probably accurate.
Mariah gifts me with a smile so bright I swear it illuminates my whole fucking life. “Sure it is.” She takes a step away from me and I can feel the distance. “Why don’t you cover up all that ridiculousness while I make breakfast?”
“I thought I got to eat cake for breakfast?”
Mariah’s brows lift. “Do you want to eat only cake for breakfast?”
I don’t know how the fuck it happens, but my eyes lower all on their own. Along with my voice as I say, “No. I don’t want to only eat cake for breakfast.”
It’s been so long since I’ve wanted someone the way I want her, and I don’t know how to unpack all that means. All it entails.
And as much as I’ve been trying to avoid it, I think I’m going to have to figure it out.
Because my plan of ignoring her—and my reactions to her—doesn’t seem to be going very well.
Not considering I just jacked off a few feet from where she slept and am now making very thinly veiled offers to lick her to completion.
Definitely not winning any awards for my professionalism as an employer.
Mariah’s full lips flatten as she presses them together, the silence that stretches between us growing tighter and tighter with each passing second. At some point, one of us is going to snap. And I’m pretty confident it’s going to be me.
Mariah’s plush lips part as she takes a shaky breath, and I want to kick my own ass for being so fucking stupid. For putting her in what is probably one hell of an uncomfortable position. “Mariah, I—”
“You can have whatever you want for breakfast.” The words tumble from her mouth.
And they quash my good intentions in the blink of an eye.
“Whatever I want?” I’m already moving toward her. Hungry in a way I’ve never been.
Mariah nods, her head barely bobbing. “Yes.”
I stop right in front of her, the tuck of the towel at my waist barely brushing the front of her pajama top.
“What if I want you?” I let my fingers tease across the curve of one hip.
Not grabbing—not yet, not until I know she genuinely wants my touch—as I trace a path down the outside of one thigh.
“Back on my bed, your pretty thighs squeezing my head while you come against my tongue.”
Holy hell. Did I really just say that? Someone needs to save her from me. From all the things I want to do to her.
I thought I could simply take care of her. Be someone she could rely on while I tried to heal a little of the pain I continue to carry. That I could help Mariah and myself at the same time. But I’m pretty sure offers like the one I’m making don’t fall into the ‘helpful’ category. If anything—
“Okay.”
My racing thoughts stutter to a stop. “Okay?”
Mariah gives me another barely perceptible nod. “You can have that.”