16. Graham #2
“Sure, son. Nothing’s going to happen. The Cowboys will still be losers come Sunday.”
I chuckle at his love-hate relationship with his football team. “I love you, Dad.”
“Love you too.”
The door is unlocked, and music floats down the stairs, luring me in like a snake charmer.
I slip off my shoes by the door and creep up the stairs, hoping to catch her off guard.
She’s perched against the headboard in a white lace camisole, her hair thrown up into a messy bun with thick-rimmed black glasses on her face and her smooth legs crossed at the ankles.
Her nose is stuck to a notebook where she’s scribbling furiously, a look of concentration pulling her eyebrows to the center.
“Solving world hunger over there?” I ask, sauntering toward the bed.
All the air vacates my lungs as she glances up at me from behind her glasses. She’s fucking gorgeous, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to sleep in this bed beside her knowing that while she’s mine outside of these walls, inside she wants nothing to do with me.
“More like torturing myself.” She sets down her red pen, huffing an exasperated sigh. “How bad did you beat him?”
I shrug. “Only by a few strokes.”
“You blew him out of the water, didn’t you?” Her cheeks split, showcasing her beautiful smile.
I try to ignore the butterfly conservatory that takes root in my chest by changing into my sweatpants. Do I leave my shirt off in hopes that I’ll catch her checking me out? Absolutely.
“I wouldn’t say I blew him out of the water. Most of the time he was stuck in the sand dune.” I sit at the end of the bed, giving her space to move if I’m too close. “How was your night?”
She slides her feet into my lap, wiggling her painted toes as if in request. I playfully glare at her before picking up her foot and rubbing my thumb down the side of it. Her groan makes me dig my toes into the soft carpet, grounding myself.
“It was actually a really nice time,” she says, letting her head fall back as I continue massaging her feet. “I kind of wish we did it more often.”
Everything about this should feel foreign to me, that moment in a dream where you finally understand it’s not real and force yourself to wake up. But there’s a peace that settles over me, and I realize it feels natural to be settled in bed together, chatting about our days.
“I’m sure you’ll have plenty more opportunities to hang out this weekend. We’re playing paintball tomorrow.”
“Ugh, I know. Winnie told me.” She hops up from the bed and saunters into the bathroom, leaving the door wide open. “I think it’s her way of getting back at Kieran and Waverly for picking on us when we were younger.”
I follow her and lean on the door. “Were you one of the bullies or the one who got picked on?”
“I was Switzerland, though as Waverly likes to recall, I wasn't around all that much."
"If you don't mind me asking, what's the deal between you two?"
"Honestly? I don't really know. She was always really nice in school growing up." A small frown tugs at the corners of her beautiful lips. "But when our parents got together and I took a dive off the grief deep end, it's like any warmth she had towards me vanished."
I shift against the door. "That had to be difficult to navigate."
"You can come in. I’m just going to wash my face.”
With her permission, I take up residence at the other sink to brush my teeth. Rosay pumps foam into her hand and rubs it into her cheeks.
“For the most part, we all got along pretty well as kids. Since Kieran and Waverly are older they always thought it was their responsibility to assert dominance any time Wendy or Dad weren’t home, as if we weren’t all teenagers who could drive.”
Mint tingles on my tongue as I brush it, spitting the remainder into the sink and pouring a cup of mouthwash. “Sounds like normal sibling stuff.”
She scoffs. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be sometimes. Siblings are always up in your business, they steal your clothes, and you don’t find them until w eeks later crumpled in the back of their closets, and they’re always trying to embarrass you, as you saw earlier.”
“Can’t relate. Though I’m all for hearing any embarrassing stories you want to tell me,” I say, leaning on the sink top.
“Not much to know about me. I’m a simple gal.”
I laugh, and she flicks my arm. There’s nothing simple about the woman standing in front of me.
Her coffee order requires at least three pumps of three different flavored syrups and must be heated to a certain temperature, she hates tight spaces—noted by how many times she bitched about the Xerox machine being in such a tiny room—yet she invades my personal space on a daily basis, and she can probably solve more complex Algebra equations then Einstein himself yet refuses to take a promotion.
In short, she’s a conundrum.
“Whatever,” she says, bending over the sink to splash water on her face. “Shit.”
“What’s wrong?” I move to her side, hand hovering above her back. “You okay?”
She looks at me with one eye open and the other pressed tightly closed. “Got the product in my eye. Can you hand me a towel?”
I grab a towel and wet it, but I don’t hand it to her.
Tilting her chin up, I pat her face dry and press the fibers softly onto the affected eye.
Rosay’s hands brush mine, holding onto my wrist with a light touch.
My heart thunders across my chest as I catalogue the smooth apples of her cheeks, the barely-there freckles, and the parted soft lips just waiting for mine.
Our minty breaths mix as we stand close, locked in this moment.
I’m not sure who moves first, but we crash together, knocking over all her beauty products on the counter.
Her fingers slide into my hair, gripping the strands at the nape of my neck.
My cock throbs when she licks across the seam of my lips, commanding me to open for her.
Usually I’m the one taking charge, but with Rosay, there’s not a single thing I feel in charge of—definitely not my own emotions.
Our tongues dip and slide, chasing each other like we're playing a game of tag. I let myself have this moment with her. Heat licks up my spine, and I lift her onto the counter and wrap her legs around my waist. My hand cradles her face as I lean into the kiss.
“Fuck, Graham,” she moans, baring her neck to me.
Seconds pass in a haze of nips and licks before we’re basically dry humping each other against the counter. I try to focus on anything but how good she feels in my arms, how warm her core is pressed against me, and how badly I want to be inside her.
Spreadsheets. Profit and loss statements, Alex Trebek.
Fuck, nothing works. My brain is a pile of goo, only able to be molded by the whims of her tongue.
Her fingers score a line down my back, and I grasp her thighs, thumbs gliding just beneath her shorts, touching the lace covering her pussy.
Every thought empties from my mind, replaced with pure need as she sucks on my neck and her hand lands on my throbbing erection.
I pride myself on control, something I’ve worked long and hard on over years of being in the public eye, but it’s laughable to think in this moment I hold any.
I’m under her spell, barreling towards a total demise of self-control, and I’m too far gone to stop it.
She grips my cock, firm yet soft as she strokes me once, twice, and the moment her thumb slides over my piercing I shudder.
Every muscle in my body tenses, hoping against hope that I can stop the cum spurting out of me.
Shame rises like a tidal wave, washing away every moment of euphoria.
I just came in my pants like a teenager.
Jerking a way from her, I turn around and drop my chin to my chest. A dark spot spreads at the crotch of my pants, evidence I have absolutely no control while in her presence.
How could I let this happen?
“I’m sorry,” she rasps, out of breath. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
I’m unable to meet her gaze, crumpling under the scrutiny I’m sure is written all over her face.
“It’s not your fault.” My arms hang at my sides, and there’s a heavy thickness in my throat. “We…we shouldn’t blur the lines any more than they already are.”
A part of me rages against that statement, telling myself there’s only a line if I draw it, but the rational part of my brain reminds me that we still have to work together when this is over.
If I cross that line and things don’t work out, I’m not only risking my reputation again, but the ability to rebuild my retirement savings after paying for my dad’s care.
She sighs, and I swear I feel it in my chest. “Yeah, you’re right. Better not to complicate things with mind-blowing sex.”
I cough out a laugh and stare at her over my shoulder with an arched brow. She hops down from the sink and heads out of the bathroom, leaving me speechless and sticky.