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Being alone with Payton is not a good idea. I’ve already proven that. Images of her with her thighs spread and her naked, shaven wet pussy glistening at me return as we walk silently to the elevator.
Fortunately, my father hasn’t said a word, but then again, there’s no way he could know what happened.
No one can.
Payton lifts her face to mine. “Are you sure you have time for this? I can just head back to the StoryCraft office if you are busy.”
“No,” I answer too quickly. I don’t want her...away from me. Or near me.
Jesus.
She already spent one day away from the WME office this week and I noticed every single hour.
“No, I’ve carved out the time in my calendar, so we’ll go. As have the design team.”
“Okay.”
When the elevator opens and we both step in, I add, “We don’t need a chaperone, if that’s what you are worried about.”
“Don’t we?” Payton mutters.
Yes. We do, and we both know it.
Today she’s wearing a body-hugging navy jumpsuit with a neckline that plunges a little lower than is probably necessary.
Ignoring the urge to tug her against my body, I press the button and ignore her comment. But my eyes dip and take in her cleavage and draw in the spicy scent she’s wearing.
“Was Alexandra a problem?” I ask huskily.
Payton shakes her head. “No. Thank you.”
I nod.
“And we should—”
“Payton,” I interrupt her. “Whatever you’re going to say next. Don’t.”
Her face bursts into flames and I nearly smile and tug her against me, kissing those embarrassed lips.
“God, I’m sorry. It’s just been days of feeling so awkward.” She drops her face into her hands.
Shit.
I punch the stop button and turn. I take her hands and turn her to me, forcing her to look at me.
“I crossed the line and I’m sorry,” I lie and her questioning eyes study me. “Fuck. Okay, no, I’m not sorry, but it cannot happen again,” I rumble. “Tell me you are okay.”
“I’m not going to tell anyone.” Payton scrunches her nose, and it’s fucking adorable.
“I’m not asking that. I want to know if you are... shit. I don’t know. Just tell me you are okay.” I shake my head.
I’ve never cared about a woman after the fact. Jesus, maybe I am a prick. But I do care. I want to know if she was happy. Or mad. Or wanted more, like I do.
She looks confused, and I don’t blame her.
“Yes. I’m okay,” she replies softly.
Tell me. Tell me you want to feel my cock deep inside you.
