Page 24 of His Temptation
“True. But there’s no time like the present to learn. Remember what your therapist said, by the way. Slow down when you talk. Take some deep breaths.”
“I … know. Sometimes … it’s … hard,” he replies. “I … don’t … want … to … take … too … long … and … annoy … you.”
I turn around and give him a stern look. “You’ll never annoy me, buddy. What do you think about Gretchen’s temporary replacement? Are you comfortable with them?”
His face lights up as he tells me all about how the therapist used to have a stutter when he was younger. It brings me so much joy to see my brother with a smile on his face. There were years that I don’t think he smiled for anything.
“I found a pretty decent place in Greenwich Village. It’s closer to work, bigger, safer. You would have to switch schools though. What do you think about that?”
His eyes gleam with excitement. “I … would … like … that. If therapy … works … I could … make friends.”
My eyes glisten with sadness. I turn back to the tray so he doesn’t see how much his words tear me up.
“That would be great. You’re an amazing kid. Anybody would be lucky to call you a friend. I’ll take a look at the apartment this week.”
Sometime during my cursing out the lasagna noodles, which I cooked slightly before layering, Benny escaped to his room to read. I pop the tray into the oven and close it with a huff. I don’t remember my mom looking this out of sorts and exhausted after cooking. This took it out of me.
I glance around the kitchen. It’s like my kitchen has staged a rebellion against me. Flour explosions, detonated pasta sauce, cheese everywhere. But I’m far too tired to clean it right now. I’ll make Benny help me after dinner.
I grab the book I got at The Ripped Bodice the other day. It’s a billionaire romance book. I haven’t read a billionaire romance in years. For a while, I was stuck on the small-town romance books. As of late, I’ve been finding them kind of boring. The hero is too sweet and says the same romantic things over and over. I need something different.
I only manage to get through a chapter before my eyes begin to feel heavy. It’s not until a buzzer goes off that I’m pulled from my sleep on the couch. I look around to gather my bearings.
“Shit,” I mutter to myself as I run to the kitchen—all five steps that it takes to get there—and open the oven. “Oh,” I sigh, “thank God.”
It actually doesn’t look bad. The cheese on top has the perfect display of golden patches, giving it just enough of a melted but not burned look. I grab my oven mitts and pull it out.
By the time Benny and I are sitting at the table, my stomach is growling. I skipped lunch, trying to make this damn dinner.
I’m touched when he tells me the lasagna looks really good. He says it slowly and without a stutter. I’ve lost count of the number of times I thought I was failing him as a guardian. To see things begin to turn around for the both of us, it’s everything.
And to think, it’s all because of that grumpy CEO who has somehow been willing to let me keep my job despite finding out I have zero qualifications and a big mouth.
Benny and I manage to clean the kitchen a lot faster than I anticipated. I suppose it looked worse than it was.
After a shower—short and cold because our building sucks—I get cozy in my pajamas and jump under my fleece blanket on my bed to warm up.
I pull out my book, my eye catching on the man on the cover. He’s wearing a business vest, and his forearms are the center of the cover. The veins that run along his arms remind me of Mr. Monroe’s. He actually looks a lot like Mr. Monroe. From the dark hair to the stubble on his face. Not too long, but long enough to show he’s man enough to grow one.
I shake the thought from my head. I don’t know how I feel about Mr. Monroe sneaking into my thoughts when I’m just about to dive into my dirty book.
I do my best to push him to the back of my mind and start on chapter two. But the similarities between the two of them begin to make it impossible for me to picture anyone but him.
As I read about this sharp man in a suit, who is an enigmatic and brooding CEO, Lincoln is front and center in my thoughts.
It’s him.
My billionaire boss.
The descriptions hit me in the gut and travel south. The strong jaw. The way he can command a room. His icy eyes that can make one forget their own name with one glance. A sexy smirk that promises he can do naughty things to reprimand someone for their fiery responses.
My cheeks burn as I get further into the book. The writer starts describing the way his hands move possessively along the heroine’s collarbone. Then they start to dip down until they graze the top of her breasts, teasing her with what they can do. Wetness pools in my panties as I read, each line more scandalous than the last.
I look around the room like someone is about to catch me doing something I shouldn’t, but I know I’m alone. What would it feel like to finally let myself give in to these urges? For years, I’ve worried about Benny walking in because he had a bad dream or couldn’t fall asleep. As a result, I’ve deprived myself of the simple pleasures of being human.
Not once have I experienced what an orgasm is like, though I’ve read about it in excruciating detail in my books. The way the woman clutches the sheets and arches her back. How she says it starts low in her belly, then explodes throughout her body like a tidal wave.
I continue to read about the hero as he crawls down her body. The way he talks so dirty to her, telling her the things he’s going to do to her.
