Page 74 of Love Not Qualified

Was this always his plan with women? Taking care of them, showing them he cared, being nice until they invited him into their bed? Or was he like that only with me?

It felt real. The way he held me in my office that day, even the stupid way he brought me here. And the kiss… the kiss was too powerful to be just an act.

Gosh, he knew how to make a woman desperate.

When he stepped to the door, I almost caught him by his elbow, the word ‘stay’ craved on my tongue, but I knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. I was looking for something serious and he was looking for some fun. And then there was… Chad. Though a part of me knew he couldn’t give me what I wanted, I also grew attached to him and whatever that moment between Mr. Graves and me was, made me feel like a goddamn cheater.

Shit. I was a slut, wasn’t I?

I called out Chad for not inviting me out or not talking to me more and what did I do? Betrayed him.

As much as that realization hurt, I couldn’t make the throb in my panties stop, urging me to go and bring him back inside.

“Stop, stop.” I moved back and forth in my room, hitting my temples with the edge of my palms.

How could I allow something like that to happen? My mother was between life and death and Chad probably replied to my previous text.

But goddamn it, then he kissed me and all my problems disappeared. I was no longer a broken vase, I bloomed and reborn in another world.

Spend some kind of vacation I didn’t deserve nor need with my boss? I practically attacked him, and now my thoughts were swirling in an on-going tornado with one destination—his lap.

No.

I needed to find my anchor. I needed to let the bad thoughts, the merciless memories flood my mind again. I needed to go back to that dark place that kept me grounded. I couldn’t let the illusion of safety and desire blind me.

What I needed to do was remember who I was and what kind of life I had.

Yet nothing worked.

“Goddamn it,” I murmured, then decided to go to the kitchen and grab myself a glass of water, hoping it was going to wake me the hell up.

I opened the door quietly and with each small step I took, the ache between my legs throbbed harder and harder. The first view that came in front of my eyes was the back of the couch where Mr. Graves’ was in the dim light of the night, so instinctively I turned to the left, where the kitchen was.

When a low grunt flew past my ears, I stopped short, vibrations humming in my body. Without putting much thought into it, I whirled on my toes. I only needed one step to the side to see over his couch and when my gaze landed on him, I bit back a gasp.

Mr. Graves barely fit on the three-person sofa and had his knees parted as his head fell down on the armrest, a small frown dancing on his forehead. I slid my eyes down to where his hand was wrapped around his dick which sat out of his boxers and inclined on his stomach. His hand pumped roughly, the movement making a slick noise that had my knees go numb.

He was jerking off, knowing anyone could come at any second and I was standing there like a creep.

Shit. I was staring.

What the hell was I doing, invading his privacy like that?

God, he was hot.

His abdomen glistened with sweat and all I could think about was picking it up with the tip of my tongue as he worked himself in front of me.

I knew I had to leave, but my legs weren’t listening to my brain. I was frozen.

Every muscle in his body tensed and when his fingers curled into his hair, I squeezed my legs together, hungry to watch him finish on his stomach.

But right as he was about to come—with his eyes closed, teeth sunk into his bottom lip, and head thrown back—he let go of his cock, sighing heavily. I didn’t dare move, caught in a trance. When his body stopped pulsing, he grabbed onto his dick again, this time picking up speed.

Was he… building up his orgasm?

My fingers rolled to my nipples and I flicked them as I grew hotter and hotter on the inside. Suddenly, observing him wasn’t enough and before I knew it, I let myself drive by the lust and made my way to the edge of the couch.

“Mr. Graves,” I said in a low murmur.

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