Page 67 of Resting Grump Face
RYKER
“What do you need, Mr. President?” she asks in a teasing tone, and I am not entirely sure if she knows what that’s doing to me.
You.
Bend over my desk.
And then over your desk.
And then pressed against the window so everyone can see that you’re mine.
I mean, not mine-mine. Because that’s not an option. Just mine in a platonic, wanna screw your brains out 7 days of the week, 365 days of the year, 3650 days of the decade sort of way. You know, just… casual.
God damn it, I’m an idiot.
I try to focus and bring the plan back into my mind: revenge and punishment. Revenge and punishment by making her like me, not by starting to like her and punishing myself.
“Credit card,” I say and swallow. “How was food? I meanthefood… at the restaurant.”
Trying to make normal conversation is surprisingly hard when you’re attempting not to picture someone naked.
“Good, good, interesting,” she mutters and obviously contemplates how to say what she actually wants to say while rummaging through her purse. “Barb is nice. You should feel lucky to have her. She didn’t have a single bad thing to say about you. Can you believe that?”
For a moment, I think that Sienna can almost believe it too. She is struggling with what she thought she knew about me. I can tell, and it’s making me happy.
Yes, you just start liking me.
My inner villain is laughing giddily.
She walks over and hands me the card. For some reason, I grab her hand instead. We feel the same sensation, the same tension, the same anticipation. It’s written all over her perfect little face.
But this can’t happen. It just can’t. One time was more than enough.
I let go of her and run my hand over the stubble on my face. I feel rough compared to her silky smoothness.
Sienna, without ever breaking eye contact, carefully places the credit card on my desk. For a millisecond, my eyes dart to her cleavage and I think, maybe, she knows exactly what’s happening to me, at least if I am judging her expression correctly.
I get up and close the distance between us. Her ass is now pressed against my desk. She lets herself slide onto it and places her hands on the surface behind her. I take one more step and watch as her legs part for me instinctually. She is panting audibly and she doesn’t look like someone who hates me anymore. On the contrary, she looks like she could want me as much as I want her.
I close the distance entirely and place myself in between her legs. Our thighs touch and I don’t think I have ever been more turned on in my entire life. It almost hurts.
I want to touch her, to let my thumb glide over her lips, to reach around her neck, to grab her hair, to pull her towards me, to make her mine. I want to do all of that and more.
I’ve never wanted to do anything more.
But I don’t.
Instead, I swallow hard, grab my credit card, and walk away.
When I make it to the bathroom, I lock the door behind me and look down. “No,” I say out loud, as if talking to a sentient being and not my brainless dick. I was never a fan of the joke that men are just guided by their cock, but it sure feels really fucking accurate these days. That’s all this is though. Physical attraction. Nothing more. It can’t be. I can’t set myself up to get betrayed again.
Her presence is haunting me. It’s like it’s radiating through space, following me wherever I go.
Touching her might be out of the question, but I sure as hell don’t need to torture myself like this.Desperate for relief, I unbutton my pants and pull them down. My cock jumps out of my boxers and it’s liberating in more ways than one to finally set it free. It’s pulsating already, without having even been touched. It’s still thinking of her. It’s imagining her warmth, her dripping pussy. It’s imagining what it would feel like to have her fingers reach around it once more, to have her tease it, provoke it, suck it.
I need for her to want me, as much as I want her.
I am clearly not thinking straight right now, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is release, to free my mind, to unburden myself from the haunting images ofher.
