Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 120189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Seriously, I just want to put this adorably bumbling guy in my lap and play show-and-tell with his butt so he can know intimately the tent I’m making in my pants for him.
Fuck. Again?? I cross my legs tightly.
Really, I’m always the man who takes charge in situations like this. Why am I letting him get to me so easily?
“You’re surrounded by hot guys all the time,” Trevor pushes on, oblivious (or uncaring) of my quickly angering expression—and tenting jeans. “It was the only thing I noticed my first day. Each intern I saw was hotter than the last. All of them young. All of them college guys. All of them muscled and sexy and clean-cut. I must be blind to not notice that. Is that your type?” he finishes, arriving at his point. “And if so, how the hell do I fit in to that? Why am I the one you’re inviting to your stupid penthouse?”
My stupid penthouse.
Humor floods back into me, washing away the anger. Even all riled up as he is, Trevor doesn’t realize how totally irresistible he is—and that makes him so much hotter to me. I have seen a thousand guys pass through the doors of Gage Communications who look like all the other dolled-up, greased-up, starched-up interns—muscular, modelesque, tall and strapping—but no one like Trevor. In a lot of ways, he reminds me of myself when I was his age.
Y’know. Thirteen years ago.
Fuck. He’s such a kid. I keep forgetting that.
“I suppose I don’t really have a type,” I admit to him, “despite the people Rebekah keeps hiring into my office every summer.”
He bites his bottom lip—his big, plush lip—then looks away.
I want to be sitting so much closer to him right now. I want to put my arm around him, pull him against me, and resume right where we left off. I want to be the one biting that lip of his, feeling it pressing against mine, soft and wet and sweet.
You can’t, a stubborn voice reminds me. You’re his boss. You ought to be his mentor, not his sex-thing. You need to behave, because you know damn well that if you don’t, he won’t.
Yet that last word of warning in my head does more to turn me on than ward me away. I know if I slid over on this couch right now and put my mouth to his, he would not resist.
It would be so easy.
So easy.
“But … I like what I see in you,” I finish, my words slow and certain, my eyes drawing a line up his sexy body. “You’re smart. You’re insightful. And you work. Hard.”
He lifts his gaze back to mine. His teeth let go of his bottom lip, leaving his mouth parted, ready for a kiss, ready for a word of encouragement, ready for fucking anything.
Then the door buzzer rings.
I smile ruefully. “Food’s here.”
17
Trevor is craving steak. His steak.
I stand by the back of the couch, clinging to it like a life raft, watching as Ben sorts through the food in the bags.
Or, more accurately, watching Ben’s ass as it hypnotically moves in those loose, low-hanging light blue jeans, showing a hint of his ass crack.
Yes, he’s not wearing underwear. Yes, I noticed the second he came down the stairs and headed to the kitchen. Yes, it’s all that’s been on my mind: sex, butt, and Ben.
It has to be deliberate. He is trying to drive me crazy, and it is working. Just that little tease of his crack makes my cock swell in my already too-tight underwear.
This is not a healthy combination to endure if I want to honor my plan of behaving and treating him like my boss, nothing more.
Not to mention my stupid freak-out about him checking out other guys. Really? I just agreed to be nothing but boss and intern with him, and then I go off like a jealous boyfriend?
I shake off all of my worries (or pretend to) and decide to play it cool. I think about what an actual, totally-platonic situation with an employee at his boss’s place might be like. With that in mind, I calmly stroll over to the kitchen counter where he sorts the two bags of food the delivery boy dropped off.
“If you had ordered already before I arrived,” I ask, “then how do you have enough for both of us? I don’t have to stay, really.”
“I always order too much. You see these two bags?” He lifts his gaze to me, his eyes piercing and bright. “Besides, I can … put down a lot of food.”
Everything he says bleeds with innuendo. Like, does he mean that he literally eats a lot of food? Or is he actually talking about being able to sexually “take” a lot? And why is either answer as sexy as the other?