36

Chapter 36

I was reading a book in bed—or at least trying to. The words blurred together, my brain refusing to absorb anything. I'd spent far too long rereading the same page over and over. I am distracted like hell.  New Year's Eve had come and gone, but the memory of Richard's lips on mine lingered. His hands had explored places I didn't even know could come alive. Damn it. I shouldn't even be this affected.

The soft buzz of my phone broke the silence. I grabbed it, and my heart skipped when I saw Richard's name flash across the screen. Great. Now I'm already smiling like an idiot before I even opened the message.

Richard: I can't wait to be home. This business dinner is torture. Counting the minutes until I can see you.

My heart fluttered, and I bit back a grin, quickly typing out a reply.

Me: You really shouldn't be texting me stuff like this.

I asked Richard to tone it down and not to interact with me that much, especially with that reckless stunt he pulled on New Years Day. It's been days since we last had an encounter that lasted more than an hour. Just to be on the safe side. I wanted to keep things entirely professional. I know people have eyes and some are more perceptive than others.

His response came almost immediately.

Richard:  I want to spend the night with you.

I froze, my fingers hovering over the screen. My heart pounded, and I tried to focus on crafting a proper response instead of letting the words linger in my head.

Me:  No. We agreed to be careful, remember?

I waited, my eyes fixed on the screen, watching as the three dots  indicating that he's typing, flicker on and off. When his reply finally came, it sent my pulse racing.

Richard: Careful doesn't mean I can't be with you, Carl.

A vivid memory of New Year's Eve flashed in my mind—the way his hands had claimed me, the heat of his body pressed against mine. I clenched my jaw, trying to push those thoughts away, but my body betrayed me. My fingers trembled as I typed back.

Me: Richard, we can't. It's too risky.

The dots appeared again, staying visible longer than before. I swallowed hard, staring at the screen as his next message came through.

Richard: It's more than a week. Don't you miss me?

I let the phone rest against my chest, staring at the ceiling. Did I miss him? Of course, I did. The way he made me feel wanted, alive—like I was the only thing that mattered. It was terrifying and thrilling all at once. Wrong, yes, but in ways that felt so damn good.

I closed my eyes, trying to sort through the conflict in my head. After a long moment, I forced myself to type.

Me: Goodnight, Richard. Good luck with your business dinner.

I set the phone down and exhaled deeply. This was for the best. We couldn't keep doing this. Maybe I should have ended it that day. I should have nipped it in the bud before it got to this point.

My phone rang again. This time, it wasn't a text but a call. I groaned, debating whether to pick it up or not. I knew it was Richard. Of course it was Richard. After another buzz, I gave in and pressed the answer button.

"Yes?" I said, keeping my tone neutral.

In the background, I could hear the faint sound of conversations, clinking silverwares and restaurant noise. He took a breath, and his voice dropped.

"Damn, I missed you so much," he whispered.

I bit my lip. No. No. No. Why am I starting to grin like a lovestruck high schooler?

"Why are you calling me? Aren't you in a meeting?" I tried to sound annoyed, but it came out whiny.

"I said I was going to the washroom but the truth is, I just needed to hear your voice."

I pinched my leg to calm the butterflies in my stomach. "Go back to the meeting, Richard."

"I want to see you. To touch you."

"Richard, it's late," I said, my voice softer this time. I was trying to hint that he should end the call, give me an out.

"Late enough that everyone's asleep," he countered, "Carl, why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?" I replied, though I knew exactly what he meant.

"You keep pushing me away," he said, frustration seeping through his words. "I'm not asking for much. I just want to see you."

I sighed, pressing the phone harder against my ear. "Richard..."

"No one's going to see me," he interrupted firmly. "The house is quiet, everyone's asleep. It'll be fine."

"It's not fine," I argued. "If they catch you sneaking into my room, it'll be a disaster."

He was silent for a moment, but when he spoke again, his tone was softer, almost pleading. "Carl, please. I just want to be near you. That's all. You don't know how desperate I am to feel your touch."

My heart felt like it was at war with my head. The way he said he wanted to touch me, to be with me. It was too much. And yet, it wasn't enough.

I closed my eyes, biting my lip. The sincerity in his voice made my chest ache. I know I'm going to regret this again in the morning.

"Okay." I finally said hesitantly. "But you have to promise to be careful."

"I swear," he said quickly, like he was afraid I'd change my mind. "No one will know."

"Fine," I muttered under my breath "Just for tonight and that's it."

"Just for tonight," he echoed, and I could hear the relief and elation in his voice. "I'll see you soon."

The line went dead, and I stared at my phone for a long moment before setting it on the nightstand.

I couldn't sit still as I waited, the silence of the room suddenly feeling too loud. Why do I always give in to him? Why was it so damn hard to say no?

The soft knock on my door came minutes later. I opened it cautiously, and there he was, standing in the dim hallway light. His suit was slightly rumpled, his tie loosened around his neck. He looked... unfairly good.

"Come in," I whispered, stepping aside to let him in.

Richard closed the door behind him, his eyes locking onto mine. "You look like you've been overthinking again," he teased lightly.

"Wonder why that is," I muttered, crossing my arms in an attempt to keep some distance.

He chuckled quietly and stepped closer. "Carl, why do you always have to overcomplicate things?"

"Because they are complicated," I shot back, though my voice lacked the conviction I wanted. He was too close now, his cologne wrapping around me and making it hard to think straight.

"Do you want me to leave?" he asked, his voice low, almost vulnerable.

I opened my mouth to say yes, but the word wouldn't come out. Did I want him to leave? No. No, I didn't. But admitting that felt like giving up on every logical thought I had.

Richard must have seen my hesitation because he stepped even closer. "I'm not leaving. We made a deal."

"You can't be here," I whispered, but my gaze betrayed me, tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, the way his suit clung to his broad shoulders. He looked... delicious. I hated that I was thinking that. Or maybe I didn't.

"Carl, stop fighting this."

I didn't know if he meant him being in my room or my own conflicted feelings. Probably both.

"I'm not fighting anything," I answered, but it sounded weak, even to me.

"You are," he said, taking another step closer until there was barely any space between us. "You keep pushing me away, acting like this is wrong. But it's not."

He reached out, his hand brushing my cheek, and I closed my eyes. "You missed me too, didn't you?" he murmured, his lips so close to my ear I could feel the warmth of his breath. "Don't you want this? Don't you want me?"

My hands balled into fists at my sides, every fiber of my being screaming at me to push him away, to tell him to leave. But instead, I found myself whispering, "Richard..."

"Yes?"

"We should stop this."

"I don't think so." he countered, his hand sliding to the back of my neck. "You want this. You want me."

I was trapped. Trapped between the logical part of me screaming that this was a terrible idea and the part that was screaming louder, telling me to give in.

"Maybe after this" I muttered, already hating myself for relenting. I keep telling myself just this time but I can't seem to end it.

His smile turned victorious as his lips captured mine in a kiss so consuming it left me breathless. My knees buckled, and I grabbed onto his shoulders for support, clutching at the fabric of his suit as I gave in.

When he pulled back, his eyes darkened with something raw and primal

"On your knees, Carl." he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

I froze, my breath hitching as his words sank in. The tension between us was electric, and despite every voice in my head screaming that this was a bad idea, I found myself unable to resist. Slowly, I sank to my knees.