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I smile to myself as I continue to work. Somewhere in his words, the real meaning is hidden. He said I want you all to myself.

The music stops, and I know he’s controlling it from his phone, leaving the room in awkward silence as I work, trying desperately hard to focus.

I have to gulp down air just to swallow. My back is still to him, but I hear him moving, shifting on the leather sofa. Setting the paintbrush down, I pick up another and catch a glimpse of what he’s doing.

He’s moving, writhing slowly against the couch, his hand on his crotch.

“I don’t know how much longer I can fight this, Sunny.”

“I know,” I whisper.

“I don’t want to fight it anymore.”

“Then, don’t.”

My back is still to him, not sure of what he wants me to do next. Should I climb down and sit in his lap? Should I kiss him? Run my fingers through his hair and tell him how much I’m falling for him? I want to do all those things and more.

Then, there’s the sound of a zipper.

My eyes close.

“Do you know what I’m doing, Sunny?”

His words punch the air out of my lungs as I turn my head enough to see the slow movement of his arm and the thick erection in his hand. I’m frozen in place.

“Face the wall,” he commands when he catches me looking. It’s the tone that drives my toes to curl.

I do as I’m told and look back at the still-wet paint on the wall.

“Answer me. Do you know what I’m doing?”

“Yes,” I croak, my mouth feeling dry.

His slow rhythmic movement has my thighs clenching, the muscles in my core pulsing at the thought of him watching me while he does that. Maybe this could be where we draw the line. We can keep our distance and acknowledge the fire between us without burning ourselves on it.

“Does it scare you?” he asks.

My answer is immediate. “No.”

His next words come out in a rasp. “Do you want to touch yourself?”

I have to bite my lip from gasping, and I’m already practically grinding myself on the heel of my foot as I sit on my folded legs in front of him. “Yes,” I breathe.

“Then, do it.”

My body is on fire.

With my eyes closed, I snake my fingers across my thigh to the apex between, feeling immediate relief the moment I touch my sensitive, aching clit at the top. Letting my head hang back, I circle the spot, picturing Alexander palming his own erection. I imagine it’s my hand around his dick, his fingers between my folds.

When he groans, I wait for his next instruction. Every inch of my body is waiting for him to touch me. I hope this is him changing his mind. After this, he couldn’t possibly keep his distance. Once he sees how good he makes me feel and how badly I want him, he’ll give in.

“Lie down.” His voice is deep and hungry, and I can hear the strain. When I recline on the middle level of the scaffolding, I catch a glimpse of his movement, his hand pumping faster. I wish I could see it closer, desperate for the moment he lets me touch it. “I want to watch again, rain cloud. I could watch you do that all fucking day.”

The skin of my cheeks grows hot as I pull up my shirt and slip my fingers into my underwear, writhing on the hardwood platform when they reach the right spot. The muscles of my thighs squeeze around my hand as I move closer to my climax.

His heavy breath as he strokes himself pushes me toward this cliff of pleasure. We’re not even touching, and I’ve never felt closer to him.

“You feel that?” he whispers just loud enough for me to hear it. “That’s me between your legs, Sunny. My fingers are there.”