Page 37 of Peaches

My head falls against the closed door as the last of his words ring through my ears.Well, hell, what happened to attentive and generous?But as I strip myself of my clothes, turn on the shower, and get ready to release some much-needed tension, the fantasy of begging, submitting, indulging in what he said has my earth quickly shattering, my world going black and my toes curling as I bite my lip and try and muffle my scream in the steam filled shower.

One week?

Lord, give me strength, because I’msogoing to need it.

10

Grace

Seven daysdown in this wacky arrangement and my legs have managed to remain closed!

That, and I still haven’t invited Romeo into my bed!

Now, that isn’t for lack of desperately wanting him there, something I’m still attempting to deny, but ultimately, I know it’s no use.

Why?

Because, let’s face it, he’s got the whole “too damn good to be true” thing going for him.

Right? You think so, too? Am I wrong?

Okay! Stop the press. Side note, readers. If he hasn’t made you swoon, your breath catch, your heart race, your panties wet, odds are he probably won’t for the rest of the story. Stop now, or don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Okay, continue printing. Moving on…

If only I could take my own damn advice!

I’m not naive enough to think he’s perfect. No one is flawless. I know he has to have some sort of screwed up imperfection somewhere, but from where I stand, it’s getting insanely harder to find, odds are even after I’ve found it, I’d still go ahead and refuse to look closely enough at whatever blemish makes him human and still want to do things with that body of his my mind really shouldn’t be thinking about.

Truth be told, I’d take him warts and all. A fact thatterrifiesme. My peach will be his, it’s just a matter of time. Might as well tattoo it on my ass now.

Claimed!

Property of Brett Beckett!

Understanding that I have no control is both liberating and alarming. Infatuation is supposed to be just that - an infatuation! Short lived. Intense. An adoration for someone you have a crush on, but never really get close enough to.

I heard somewhere once that infatuation fogs your brain, making you believe thatthatone person is absolutely right for you. They’re Perfect. Blameless. And maybe that’s right. But that is not what I’m wrestling with now. It’s the teetering truth that even after the cloud lifts, even after this intense infatuation is over, I’d still be captivated by the man I’m currently forced to share my life with. Not that I mind it.

This arrangement has me all sorts of up close and personal with Brett Beckett. Nearer than I ever thought possible. I’m sure he feels the same, and it’s all too damn tempting as my intenseinfatuationcontinues to grow every damn day.

Sitting cross legged on the bed in my pajama shorts and tank top, my laptop in front of me, my enticing crush across the room, I attempt to deny the chemistry we’re both refusing to accept as it cracks and sizzles between us. It’s mind consuming as we both try and focus on our late-night work. He feels it. I feel it.We both know it, as we steal glances and let out heavy sighs, reserved for what?

That’s right, self-gratification we’re both denying.

But as I tell myself to focus, as I tell myself to drop this ridiculous infatuation, (because yes, I’m that stupid to think I can manipulate my mind over something I really have no control over), I can’t deny that he totally captivates me from across the room and threatens to crush, bruise, traumatize my already weak heart if I let him.

I type a few more words, not really paying attention as I see him loosen his tie around his gorgeous neck and stare intensely at his own computer sitting on the kitchen counter. He stands in front of it before bracing his strong hands on the granite and sharpening his gaze on the screen, stealing a look in my direction before attempting to hide it. My foot begins to tap, with what - nerves perhaps as my eyes lift under hooded lashes and I stare at him for a moment, too. I feel myself lick my lips on instinct, salivating, drooling, as I take him all in. All man, and fucking ruining me as I fight with myself to not feel the carnal connection between us from where I sit on the bed.

But the way he looks, all dominating business like, mixed with the thoughts of the man inside him that I’m slowly getting to know, I find this little infatuation devastating every last piece of my will to keep him at arm’s length.

I know what is good for my heart, and right now, it can’t take him. Actually, I don’t think it ever can. A man that good-looking, that attentive, is bad news for any girl. Why? Because power. Control. Submission. He’d claim it from me in spades and I’d always let him. A girl has to look after herself after all, am I right?

But as he takes a step back, rolls up his dress sleeves and catches my gaze out of the corner of his eye once again, I groan silently as my eyes close and secretly declare I am about to fucking loose it, all of it, my damn legs sure as hell quickly flying open, if he doesn’t stop looking like the best damn meal I’d ever get the chance to eat. Even if it would be at my heart’s expense.

“What was that?” I hear him say after a moment while my eyes have remained closed and my heart rate spikes knowing I am screwed. He saw. He knows. He said a week, and dammit if he wasn’t right.

Fuck, Grace! You really know how to screw yourself over, don’t you?

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