Page 25 of Bossing My Holiday
“I’m the softer touch in our threesome, remember?”
He grunts, but for once, doesn’t argue with me.
For a solid hour, we get a ton of work done. It’s quiet back here, and our cell phones don’t seem to work in this part of the building, so we have no interruptions.
It’s heaven.
That is until I hear Waverly’s soft voice from down the hall, “Gerard?”
I sit up and glance around, but there is no Gerard to be found.
“Gerard?” she tries again.
I close my laptop, slip it back into my bag, and stand. “Waverly? Are you okay?”
“Um. Yes. I’m fine. I just need Gerard. Is he out there?”
I glance down at Tristan, who waves for me to do it since he’s working on something.
“No.” I walk down the short hallway until I reach her room. “What’s wrong?” I ask, already grinning at how her face is poking through the smallest crack of the open door.
“Ah! Go away.”
I chuckle. “Not going to happen. What’s wrong?”
She hesitates.
“It’s just me out here. You could wait, but who knows when he’ll return.”
She puffs out an annoyed breath. “I’m stuck. I managed to zip the dress up, but I can’t unzip it, and it’s too tight.”
“Unlock your door. I’ll help you.”
“No way. Gerard? Gerard?!” She screeches on the last one.
“Get over it. Open the door and I’ll help you.”
“Oh my god! But…”
“But?”
“You’re going to have to close your eyes.”
I laugh. “Why?”
“Just do it!”
“I can’t help you if I can’t see.”
“This is so embarrassing. Fine. But you can’t… you know… comment or anything.”
“Promise. I’ll be professional.”
She steps back, and I enter the spacious dressing room. In front of Waverly is a three-way mirror with a stand, and behind her is a couch and a rack filled with different clothes.
Waverly is wearing an emerald green dress that hugs her body like it’s a second skin. It’s low in the front—too low where half of her tits are spilling out—and high at the back hem—too high where half of her ass is showing—and that’s where the problem arises. But fucking hell, does she look sinfully hot in this dress. To the point where my dick instantly takes notice and springs to attention like an eager little bastard.
I swallow thickly, my pulse thrumming through my palms. I step toward her, and she steps up onto the platform thing to help with the height difference and covers her spilling cleavage with her hand as I reach for the zipper at the back of her neck. My fingers thread through her soft hair, and I push the heavy strands over her shoulder. Our gazes lock in the mirror straight ahead of us, but then I take note of the ones on the left and right.
