Page 19 of Vicious Temptation

Despite myself, as I slip into bed, my thoughts drift back to that moment in the car. To her face, flushed with adrenaline, her parted lips, that moment when I felt that spark between us. A jolt of chemistry, of attraction, that I haven’t felt in such a long time.

Immediately, I feel a flood of arousal, that spark sliding through my blood and stiffening my cock. The thought of her mouth makes me hard in an instant, the throbbing almost painful; it’s been so long since I’ve done anything about it. I push the thoughts away, reminding myself of my resolve in the car, but my erection remains, stubbornly demanding attention.

It would be better to take the edge off. To make it easier to not have these kinds of thoughts. I feel guilty for having them at all. But my hand slides down, my fingers nudging under the waistband of my pants, finding the straining flesh of my cock. My tip is already damp, pre-cum dripping from the head, my arousal hot and urgent. I haven’t come in weeks. Longer than that, probably. Since the last time I woke up from a fuzzy and unremembered dream, my thighs sticky with the reminder that I can only ignore my own needs for so long before my body will take care of it for me.

My hand closes around my cock, and I let out a hiss through my teeth, pleasure racing up my spine. It wouldn’t take long. A few hard, purposeful strokes, and I’ll find relief. The one benefit of allowing all focus on any kind of sexual pleasure to die is that when I do give in and make myself come, it’s a quick process. And that’s all it is to me any longer—a process. Something I occasionally have to do, for my body’s maintenance. Like going to the doctor, or taking vitamins in the morning.

But it doesn’t feel like maintenance. Not tonight. My cock throbs in my hand, my muscles winding tight, pleasure radiating over my nerves and tightening my balls. I glance at my nightstand drawer, where I’m sure there’s a forgotten bottle of lube, and I feel my cock pulse again at the thought of a slow, wet stroke, of several minutes spent reacquainting myself with actually enjoying making myself come.

And god, I need to fucking come.

I lick my dry lips, sliding down lower in the bed as I tug my pants down around my hips, freeing my heavy cock to lie against my abs. I slide my hand up and down the straining shaft, closing my eyes as I reach for the drawer?—

—and Bella’s face springs into my mind again. I see those parted lips, and as I reach for the lube, all I can imagine is the wet warmth of her mouth, how soft those lips would feel closing around the head of my cock, the rub of her tongue over the throbbing veins.

I snatch my hand away as if I’ve burned myself, gritting my teeth as I yank my pants back up over my hips with one hand. My erection jerks with frustration, pushing against my fly, but I suck in a deep breath, closing my eyes as I will it to go away.

If I touch myself now, I’ll think of her. It’ll be her lips around me instead of my own fingers, her wet mouth slicking my length with her saliva, her heat surrounding me. I don’t know why she’s wedged herself in my thoughts like this, why just the memory of her flushed face and bright eyes has me throbbing painfully, but I have to get a grip on it. I can’t think of her like this, not even in private. Not even if I can explain it away to myself by chalking it up to a few hours spent with a beautiful woman after years of deprivation. Not even if it’s perfectly natural to feel an attraction to her, and to struggle to keep it on a leash when it’s been so long since I’ve been with someone. Since I’ve wanted someone.

My relationship with her has to be strictly professional, even when I’m alone, even in my own mind. No matter what, or it will be a slippery slope, and one day, the fantasy in my head will slip out. I’ll let her see what I’m thinking by mistake, make her uncomfortable in some way, and everyone will get hurt.

I don’t want to hurt her. I’m doing this to help her. And even if I could somehow justify these feelings, even if I thought I could allow myself to enjoy a casual relationship, the reasons why that’s impossible go beyond just the fact that she’s now in my employ.

She deserves better than what I could offer her. Better than a casual fling with a man who has no heart left to give anyone else.

I close my eyes, switching off the light as I repeat one thing over and over in my head, insistent that it sink in. That I remember it, the next time I see her.

Bella D’Amelio is off-limits to me.

7

BELLA

Thursday morning, Clara is at my house, having insisted she was going to call in sick to work in order to come over and help me finish packing, and see me off. I told her she didn’t need to—I was only moving a few miles away, not to another state—but she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Truthfully, I hadn’t expected her to. She’s my best friend for a reason, and I know her well.

My bedroom doesn’t look as empty as I would have thought, considering that I’m effectively moving out. Gabriel said everything I need would be provided—including a furnished room and everything that goes along with that—so all I really need to take are things that are personal.

“So it wasn’t a date at all.” Clara shakes her head, taking a stack of books from me and setting them in a box in front of her. “He asked you out to dinner to give you a job? You were worried for nothing.”

“I definitely didn’t see that coming.” I sort through the books, handing her another few. “He asked me how I felt about children. I didn’t think it was because he needed a nanny.”

“Well, all your problems are solved now, right?” Clara shrugs. “At least for a little while. You don’t have to get married, you move out, and your father will leave you alone.” She wiggles her eyebrows, smirking at me. “Is he hot?”

I roll my eyes at her. “He’s good-looking, yes. But that doesn’t mean anything. He hired me to do a job.”

“A job that requires you to live at his house.” Clara’s smirk widens. “You’re going to live with him, Bella. This young, good-looking?—”

I throw a sweater at her, and she catches it, laughing. “I’m just saying?—”

I shake my head. “It’s not that at all. It’s just a job. He was really clear about not wanting to marry again, too, so it’s not like he’s doing this as some kind of trial run either, in hopes I’ll come around to the idea.”

Clara purses her lips. “I get it. But I stand by what I said the other night, when you thought it was a date. If you like him, and he could be your choice, instead of your father’s?—”

“It doesn’t matter, because he’s not interested either. That’s what makes it perfect,” I insist. “Neither of us wants marriage, so it’s completely off the table. I don’t have to worry about that at all.”

“You’re really excited about this, aren’t you?” Clara looks at me questioningly. “You seem genuinely happy.”

“I’m going to have more freedom, so yeah. And being away from home for the first time, I’m excited about that.” I bite my lip. “It’s a little scary. But I just want to know what it’s like to do something different. To be on my own. And if it works out—” I shrug. “Maybe I can get out of this whole arranged marriage thing for good.”

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