Huxley: Your body was easy to command.
I set my phone down for a second and take a deep breath. Okay, yes, the man is attractive, he has a way with words, and when he shows it, his personality is actually one I like, but I need to tread carefully here. Even though this is strictly business, a part of me believes if I let him, if I let him into my room, he wouldn’t think twice about it.
Lottie: It’s a thoughtful body, always wanting to include everyone.
Good God, what does that even mean?
Before he can respond to that, I quickly send him another text.
Lottie: Okay, so what’s the naughtiest thing you’ve ever done?
Huxley: Naughty in my eyes probably isn’t naughty in someone else’s. I’ve fucked women in some pretty weird places, but that’s just fucking. Naughty to me means crossing a line, a line that probably shouldn’t be crossed. Something forbidden.
Lottie: I’d agree with that.
Huxley: So then, the naughtiest thing I’ve ever done was undoing your robe and slipping my fingers inside your sweet cunt.
Blinks.
Swallows.
Nearly chokes on own saliva.
Okay, what’s happening? What is actually happening? Is he flirting? Is he just being blunt? What’s going on in that head of his? Inquiring minds want to know, because his answer is blowing my mind right now.
Lottie: There has to be something naughtier than that. Like, you know, taking someone on your office desk, or maybe whips and chains? I don’t know, I can’t be it.
Huxley: I crossed a line that night. You’re forbidden, off limits, part of a business deal, and I lost control. I allowed myself to give in to temptation. Be happy I only touched your pussy, because if I would’ve had it my way, that robe wouldn’t have stayed on. I have a meeting. I’ll see you for dinner.
I set my phone down and slowly look up. How the hell am I supposed to have dinner with him now?
“Steak and arugula salad with candied pecans, fingerling potatoes, peppers, gorgonzola cheese, and a balsamic glaze. Enjoy,” Reign says before leaving us to our plentiful salads. We had steak last night, but this looks different. Thinly sliced steak and potatoes in a salad . . . I’ve never heard of such a thing, but I’ll be honest, I’m here for it.
When I got back to Huxley’s house, I went straight to the tub, where I took a nice long bath and used one of my vibrators to take the edge off from the text messages. There was no way I’d be coming to dinner all worked up. Nope, I edged myself off and then let the warm water soak into my tense muscles until I was utterly relaxed.
By the time I got out, Huxley was rushing me with a text saying dinner was ready.
I threw on a robe—and a thong, for obvious reasons—and charged down the stairs to where Huxley was sitting at the table wearing a navy-blue button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows and the top two buttons undone. Talk about someone who wears business clothes well.
“This looks so good,” I say while moving the food around on my plate, mixing everything together.
When I glance at Huxley, he looks tense once again, stiff as a board.
“Uh, everything okay over there?” I ask. What could he possibly be angry about now? It never ends with this man. I thought we’d made peace, that we were getting along. But with every dinner, it feels like two steps back.
“Why are you wearing that?” Huxley asks, his eyes falling to the robe.
“Uh, I was in the bathtub again when you texted. I got dressed quickly in the nearest thing. Don’t worry, I put on underwear this time.” I wink, as if that’s supposed to help.
Reign comes back into the dining room and says, “The kitchen is cleaned and set. If you just leave your plates in the sink, the morning staff will tend to them. I’m going to catch my daughter’s recital.”
“There are flowers in the pantry fridge for her,” Huxley says. “Enjoy your evening with your family.”
“Thank you,” Reign says with a smile and then takes off.
“He has a daughter? I didn’t know he had a family.”
“He does. It’s why I eat early, so he can get back to them.”
See . . . there he goes again, being thoughtful. Are you annoyed? Because I am.
After a few moments of silence, Huxley asks, “Are you going to ask your questions?”
“Oh, yeah . . . sure,” I say. “Umm, let me see. A question, a question.” I tap my chin as nothing comes to mind. Not a single freaking thing. All I can think about is the way his steely eyes shot to my robe as he asked why I was wearing it. Dark, sinister, as if he was about to rip the damn thing off my body with his teeth.