Page 42 of Objection
He had lowered me into the steaming hot bath slowly, letting me acclimate to the shocking temperature change. The water felt almost tingly as it soothed my muscles and warmed me. I was surprised at how cold I had felt. He had washed me, every inch of my skin, slowly and with what seemed to be gratitude.
He peppered kisses over my skin as he rinsed the soapy suds away.
As I came back out of that dreamy headspace, I found my words again. We spoke for a long time, talking about how the scene was from each of our perspectives. It was so much better than I had anticipated, and hearing his own story of our shared experience made me feel closer to him; made me feel calm and at ease.
Once I was finished bathing, and we were finished talking, he had helped me out and dried me off with possibly the fluffiest towel I had ever felt. He had laughed when I commented on it and threatened to steal all his towels. The laughter broke what little tension was left in me and all I wanted to do was sleep.
He carried me up to my room, in spite of my incessant protests. With a dizzying kiss, he told me goodnight, and left me to my own thoughts for the rest of the night. I was shocked when I saw that the clock read 2:00 a.m.
I had slept better that night than I think I ever had before. He checked in with me multiple times on Sunday, making sure I had no discomfort and that I had no doubts either. It was lovely.
Now, bright and early Monday morning, all lovely thoughts of our time had been replaced with a burning need to be right back there in that playroom once again. To be under his touch again. To be under his lips again.
But that’s not where I was. Instead, I was at my desk, pretending to work while I fantasized about all the things I wanted to do to him. Dear God, did I have a list going. Spending yesterday mostly to myself, I had plenty of time to think of all number of twisted and sordid and delightful things I wanted to do to this man, with this man. Or things I wanted him to do to me.
Was it hot in here?
No, that would just be Soren in a gorgeous suit, sans jacket, with a navy-blue button up, offsetting the smoky gray of his suit. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of him. I wish I could have had my hands on him.
Honestly, I had come to work this morning with so much energy. I had torn through my workload for the day before lunch. Now, I had sat here for hours and hours and hours post lunch, just wishing I were at his knees. Yes, that sounded incredible and much better than staring at my computer screen.
Okay, so maybe it wasn’t hours and hours post lunch. It was currently 1:45 p.m. I was impatient. So, sue me. Perhaps it was time to take matters into my own hands.
I stood up and walked around my desk to retrieve files I easily could have reached from my seat. But that would mean he didn’t see the way I bent over the table in my tight pencil skirt. I waited for a response as I slowly stood.
Nothing.
I put the files in the large filing cabinet before repeating the process. Bending over my desk for some errant papers than needed to be shredded, slowly standing back up, and —
Nothing.
Perhaps the sound of the shredder would shake him out of his trance and bring his focus back on to me for a moment.
I tried one last time, after shredding my small stack of papers, this time grabbing a few books to return to the bookshelf. I even went so far as to make a small moan sound as I reached over.
Still nothing.
The day was dragging on exactly like that. Me trying to get his attention and to no avail. As the work day was coming to a close, I thought for sure things would change. Being out of the work environment would surely put him smack dab into Dom territory, right?
I was borderline exasperated with his complete lack of awareness. Here I was, trying to flirt, trying to get his attention, and nothing. Zilch.
“Ms. Adams, could you please slide that file onto my desk please?” His voice pulled me from my thoughts. Walking the file to his desk, pure genius struck.
With him paying literally no attention, I moved around his desk, sat on top of it, and slidmyselfacross his desk, the file folder held firmly in my hands and a smirk plastered on my face.
“What the —” he exclaimed, pushing back in his seat, staring at me with wide eyes.
“I simply did what you asked,” I shrugged innocently.
“No, I asked you to give me the file,” he argued. This was fun.
“Actually, you asked me to slide the file onto your desk. So, I did,” I chimed happily.
“You did not. You slideyourselfacross my desk,” he countered.
“And I was holding the file, therefore, I slid the file across the desk too. You didn’t specify that I was toonlyslide the file onto your desk.” Was I being sassy? Yes. Did I regret a single word? No. Was I going to stop? Hell no.
The look he pinned me with was pure, fantastic annoyance. I was addicted. I wanted to push his buttons.
