Page 28 of It Must Be Love

"Keep it in your pants, Romeo. Naya is off-limits," warned the dude with a halo.

"Why? She's of age. She's got a hot bod. And she already idolizes me." Horny asshole licked his lips lecherously.

"You love Ann," dude with the halo persisted.

"You don't even like her," Horny Asshole chuckled.

"She's an excellent fuck," Halo Dude protested.

"Mr. Westbrook?" My driver’s voice rose above the noise in my head, and I noticed he'd opened my door and was waiting for me to get the fuck out of the car.

"Thanks. Tomorrow, let's make it at seven in the morning, yeah?"

"Okay, Mr. Westbrook."

I walked into my building, feeling more conflicted than I ever had before.

Chapter 11: Naya

"You said you didn't know if you wanted me to touch you again." Amias cupped my cheek.

It was another late night in the office, and I was pinned against the wall of my cubicle. I was hoping no one was around to see us like this.

"I…don't…." Touch me, please, please, please touch me.

He bent his head, and I inhaled his musky cologne. He always smelled so good. Since I first met him years ago in my father's house, I'd lived to be close enough to smell him.

"I want to kiss you, Naya," he murmured, his lips brushing against mine.

I could hardly breathe. We'd gone from a finger under my chin to a kiss in no time. I didn't know what was up and down.

I licked my lips, and he growled. He bent his head and holy mother of god! The man could kiss. My eyes closed and his lips moved against mine and then his tongue slowly licked at the seam of my lips, coaxing me to open to him. And when I did, fire-fucking-works, and I didn't even swear much.

His tongue dueled with mine and I heard him groan. His hands cupped my ass and brought me closer to him. He was so hard, and I whimpered.

He bit my lower lip, suckled it, and then bit it again. "You like that?"

My mouth followed his, and I heard his gruff laugh. "You make me so hard, Tweety Bird."

"Tweety Bird. Tweety Bird. Tweety Bird."

I opened my eyes as my alarm went off. It had been a gag gift from Darren.

God, I was wet from a dream. It wasn't the first time I dreamt of Amias, but it was the first time it had been quite so visual, so erotic. I moved my hand under my sleep shorts and between my legs. I stroked my clitoris, remembering his face, his voice, his smell.

Usually, I needed my vibrator and lots of help from romance novels to get off, but after a dream like the one I had, my body was already primed, and I came with just a few strokes of my fingers.

What the hell was this man doing to me?

That message exchange about how I didn't know if I wanted him to touch me again was a week ago. Since then, I'd heard nothing from him. I hadn't even seen him much in the office because I didn't have any meetings scheduled with him.

I took the day off for my interviews, so I decided to put Amias out of my mind and focus on what was important. I was interviewing with one of the hottest tech companies in the country that was innovative and had an awesome culture from what I'd read on Glassdoor.

I took a shower and stood in a black bra and panties in front of my open closet. I looked down at my legs and sighed. From mid-thigh to my ankles, there were burn marks. Ugly, jagged patterns that mapped out a harsh journey of survival and pain. The skin there bore the brutal results of my accident—the colors a dissonant palette of reds, purples, and browns, weaving into one another in a chaotic symphony of scars. Some areas were raised, ridges formed by the healing flesh, while others were smooth, almost glossy, a stark contrast to the untouched skin nearby.

Despite the passage of years, the sensation of heat and the smell of burning still flickered back to life in my mind, as vivid and invasive as the night it all happened.

"Your scars are not ugly, Sparky," Darren told me once when he'd walked in on me while I was changing at the institute and tried to hide my body, ashamed. "They are proof of your strength, your capacity to endure and heal."

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