Page 26 of His Curvy Obsession

“You can keep it,” she says. She leans forward, tucking the pink burst of feathers into my jacket pocket. “There.”

“How do I look?” I ask.

“Very handsome,” she says. Her eyes rise from the hair piece to my face. “But then, you always look handsome.”

She begins to pull her hand away from my chest. I grab it, and then pull her along the pew so that she’s sitting right next to me.

“I didn’t get to finish what I started earlier,” I say to her.

“I know,” she says softly.

She rests her hand on my thigh. Just like the night of the company party, her touch doesn’t seem to bother me. I look down at her hand on my leg and wonder what the hell is different about her, what she’s got that others don’t, how the fuck she manages to get past my barriers, without me even realizing she’s doing it.

My cock is hard. It wouldn’t be difficult, fucking her. She wouldn’t even have to take the dress off. I’d pull it up, bend her over the back of this pew, and take her from behind.

“I want you,” I say. “But once we cross that line, there’s no going back to how things were before. We work together. We see each other every day, Monday through Friday. This changes things.”

Her eyes tell me she knows what I’m talking about. And her body tells me she doesn’t care, that she wants me just as much as I want her right now.

“It doesn’t matter to me,” she says. “We both want the same thing. It’s like you said. We’re both lonely. We both want love. I know we’re not in love and I know that you can’t promise me love. But we could have…something else. We could have this.”

She squeezes my thigh gently, and then her hand wanders up to my groin, brushing against my cock.

She’s too perfect to be real. How can this be? How can she look at me with so much acceptance? No expectations. No judgment.

She looks at me like it’s not a problem for her. Like she can deal with me and all of my idiosyncrasies, in the way that I can’t give her the things that women need. But I’ve been through this enough to know that even if she can do that for a while, she can’t do it forever. Nobody can.

The scene plays out in front of me like a movie. Three months from now, the resentment boils over and she’s walking out on me. Telling me she needs more, that I’m too distant, too disconnected. Telling me that it’s not enough. That I’m not enough. Saying she needs more than I can give.

I can provide for her.

I can even protect her as I did last week when I saw that fucker put his hands on her.

But these things are not enough. And Rebecca is too sweet, too kind to tie herself down to a guy like me. To waste her time, waste her years with me knowing that we’re incompatible.

I know all of this, and yet I still want her. Is that selfish?

Maybe.

My skin is heated, burning for her, demanding to brush against hers. She’s right here, looking up at me like I’m some kind of fucking hero, like I’m the Prince Charming she’s been waiting for all her life, and I know I should correct her. I know I should tell her that she’s got the wrong guy, remind her of what we talked about at my house, about how I can’t be what she needs me to be.

This would be the right thing to do, but dammit, I don’t want to do what’s right.

Not now. Not with her pressed against me, her hand cupping me, looking up at me with thisplease fuck meexpression on her beautiful face.

“Once we cross this line…” I begin.

“We can’t undo it,” she says.

“Right.”

“Is it bad that I don’t care?” she asks.

“Yes. But I don’t care either, and that’s worse,” I say. “I’m your boss. I should know better.”

“But you don’t care,” she says, her hand gripping my cock, now solidly hard, through my pants.

“I don’t care about anything right now,” I say quietly. “Nothing but you.”

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