It’s a curse.
Her entire body was on display downstairs. The bikini bottom was just small enough that I could see the curves of her ass peeking out at me. The top was even smaller and not nearly enough to hold her growing breasts. How is a man supposed to enjoy an evening drink with that in front of him?
I fist myself harder, gritting my teeth as new jolts of pleasure rush through my body. Every single jolt is directly connected to her.
She clearly dressed for me. She was clearly waiting for me—waiting for a reaction, a jab, a spark of pain in my eyes. It was easy enough to resist… until she brought me my drink like a dutiful little wife. Placed it down right in front of me, with a self-conscious smile that was begging for attention.
That was strike one.
Strike two came when she brushed up against me. It wasn’t even skin on skin and yet it was still the most erotic thing I’ve felt in weeks.
I grip the edge of the table tighter as I start pumping harder. If it weren’t for the fact that I can’t afford to lose this battle, I’d have hurled that damn drink into the wall, lifted her onto the counter, shoved those insolent bikini bottoms to the side, and fucked the life out of her.
I would’ve—
My God. I grit my teeth as the orgasm comes. I can hear her phantom moans in my ears, ringing louder and louder until the climax consumes me.
I make a mess of my hand as I erupt. The satisfaction lasts a few blissful minutes before it fades back into annoyance.
Alyssa accomplished exactly what she set out to do tonight: she got under my skin.
Well, if she wants to play games, I’ll show her that I can play games, too.
And when I play… I always win.
The next morning, I’m sitting at the kitchen island with a freshly brewed cup of coffee when she walks in. Just as I suspected, she’s dressed for attention.
Neon-green bikini that barely covers her tits.
String bottoms that barely cover her ass.
And a see-through cover-up that doesn’t cover up a goddamn thing.
My hand tightens around my mug but I refuse to give her more than a spare glance. She can push those breasts up all the way to fucking Canada—I’m not going to cave.
“Good morning,” she chimes. I grunt in response and continue scrolling through the news on my phone. “Have you had breakfast yet?”
“Not hungry.”
She opens the fridge and pulls out the homemade scones that the chefs prepared yesterday. The kitchen staff tend to disappear the moment I appear. It’s a well-oiled system we’ve got going on.
“You need to eat.”
“I said I’m not hungry.”
She’s left her hair loose. It tumbles down her shoulders in messy ways that are begging to be yanked up in my fist so I can expose the curve of her neck and pass my tongue over every inch of her.
She sighs. “I can smell your coffee from here.”
“Is it making you nauseous?” I drawl. “Because if that’s the case, the door’s right there.”
The asshole in me is in fine form today. Mostly because I masturbated to her twice last night and totaled about four hours of choppy sleep in between five cups of the strongest black coffee known to man.
“It doesn’t have to be this hard, you know,” she says softly.
I have to suppress a snort. We’re not playing Freudian mind games in this house. Not as long as I’m still in charge.
Well, I’m not playing them.
Alyssa, it seems, wants to continue. “If you’re not gonna sleep, you can at least eat something substantial.”
She goes back to the fridge and bends low at the waist to grab something from the bottom drawer. Despite the fact that I’ve rubbed two out in the last twelve hours, I’m rock hard in five seconds flat.
She starts putting together a plate for me. To a neutral observer, it’d seem that she’s oblivious to how she’s practically naked in my kitchen. Ha—oblivious, my ass.
The woman knows exactly what she’s doing.
Mischa, one of the members of the gardening crew, walks past the French doors and does a double take when he sees Alyssa. He’s so engrossed in ogling her that he doesn’t even notice me sitting here.
If Alyssa notices her admirer, she pretends not to. She simply goes about the kitchen, putting together a plate I never asked for, pleading for attention in those invisible scraps she calls a bathing suit.
So much for the shy kitten I once thought she was.
I hold out for as long as I can, but the moment Miguel licks his lips, I snap. I jerk to my feet and that gets his attention. He goes beet red and then he pales just as fast. He trips twice in his hurry to get the fuck away from the window and away from the consequences of ogling my woman.