Page 61 of Full Service

“You want to clean up?”

I don’t want to. I want to walk around all night with evidence of this on my skin, but I do as he says because he looks so grumpy about it. I would be too if I turned down the possibility of sex all night long. Because let me tell you, I’m willing and ready.

But I get why he’s putting up a fight. This is his job on the line, and he’s risking a lot by even entertaining this. Maybe I should quit, but then I think of my bills, of my sunken ceiling caving in precariously after the rainstorm and sigh.

I really can’t afford to live anywhere else at the moment.

And my landlord is probably a criminal. There’s no way any of the issues we’ve brought to him will get fixed.

“Alright, I’m ready,” I say when I pull my pants back on.

I’m rebelling slightly, putting up a bit of a stink. I don’t put my shirt on. I refuse. And I leave my pants unzipped and unbuttoned, so Silas is forced to look at me.

“Put on your fucking clothes,” he grumbles, and I shake my head.

“I don’t feel like it.”

I grin smugly and his eyes narrow. He knows what I’m trying to do. I won’t get away with this.

“At least zip up your pants.”

“No thanks. My dick is getting hard again. I want to let it have some breathing room.”

His eye twitches, and I feel my lips turn up.

“Really, I can’t suffocate it or else it gets claustrophobic.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, and if it were anyone else, I’d push into him, press my lips to his skin, and make him forget all his annoyance. But this is different. He is different. Not only is he older than me, more mature, but he’s also technically my boss. Which puts a damper on things, a real dip in the road.

“I’ll bring you home, claustrophobic dick and all,” he says and then tosses me a sweatshirt from the closet nearest the door. It lands on my chest, and I can’t help but pull it toward my nose and inhale.

Fuck, it smells like him.

This is the only reason I’m putting it on. I want to wear him.

There’s a very good chance that I’ll forget to give this back to him.

More like a one hundred percent chance.

“This way,” he says as he leads me to his car.

I want to refuse, to chain myself to his door, but feel like that might be toeing the line of insane. And while I don’t mind a little light craziness when pursuing someone, I feel like that would just be full-on creepy.

And I want to come off as sexy. Not a serial killer.

I slide into his car and shut the door, pulling the sweatshirt up slightly and sniffing the fabric.

“Put your address in here,” he says, his voice curt. He points to his phone, and I press my address into it.

“You want me to snap you a dick pic, just in case you want it later?”

He sputters slightly, his cheeks flushed red.

“Fuck no. I do not want that.”

“You sure?” I tease.

He stares at me and wets his lips.

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