Page 18 of His to Possess
I groan, covering my face in my hands. Iwatchedhim. And he saw me. He knows I was standing there like a creepy pervert, spying on him. God, what is wrong with me?
Even as I groan to myself again, I can’t help focusing on some of the details. I know I should be completely ashamed for what I did, absolutely mortified. And I am, definitely. But there’s also a part of me…I can’t seem to stop thinking about what it had looked like. Whathehad looked like. The broad expanse of his body hunched over, leaning towards the shower wall. The way the muscles in his back and shoulders had tensed and shifted while he worked his hand. The sight of all that water raining down over his trim waist. Over his ass.
Damn, he has a nice ass.
But I shouldn’t be thinking about that right now. And I definitely shouldn’t be thinking about the name I was sure I heard him whisper while he got himself off, and the noises he made when he finally started to come. And I definitely, absolutely should not be thinking about what happened after he heard me bump into the heated towel rack. The way he’d turned and immediately locked eyes on me. The way he’d held that gaze while the last of his cum splashed onto the glass door. An uncontrollable shudder goes through me and I collapse back onto the bed.
There’s something wrong with me. Maybe it’s because I waited too long to have sex. Maybe I’ve unintentionally stunted my development or something. I shouldn’t be this turned on by a guy jerking off. He hadn’t even touched me, but I still nearly came just watching him. I was two seconds away from barging into the shower and dropping to my knees to clean him off with my tongue. Instead I ran from the room like a scared little baby and hid under the covers, where I tossed and turned for most of the night, my face—and lower regions—feeling unbearably hot.
Hiding may have worked for the night, but I can’t stay in this bed forever. At some point I’m going to need to get up and face him. I have no idea what time it is and I fumble on the bedside table in search of my phone. Huh. Not there. Maybe I left it in my purse? Before I can force myself to climb out of the bed, there’s a soft knock at the door and I freeze.
“Uh, come in,” I croak out, face heating all over again at the prospect of seeing Philip when I’m lying in the same bed where I had dirty fantasies of him all night.
But when the door swings open, it isn’t Philip standing there. I gasp, pulling the snowy white comforter up to my chest as a woman I’ve never seen before glides into the room. “Good morning, Miss Cartwright,” she says in a lilting English accent very similar to Philip’s—without the dark sex appeal, of course. Her accent is a little stronger, as well, as Philip has been living mostly in America for years. She holds up a tray. “Mr. Matthews thought you might like some coffee.”
“Oh.” I swallow a few times, trying to pull myself together. “Yes, that would be nice. Thank you.”
She smiles politely and brings the tray over. She hands me a mug then places the tray on the bedside table. “Cream and sugar are there,” she says. “But please let me know if you require anything else. I have soy milk and oat and artificial sweetener and—”
“Cream and sugar are just fine,” I say, bringing the mug to my face. Damn, that smells good. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure. I’m Miss Higgins and you can get in touch with me anytime by pressing one on any of the house phones.”
“Uh, cool,” I stammer, feeling a little overwhelmed. Is this Philip’s penthouse or a swanky hotel?
“Mr. Matthews has arranged for clothes to be brought over for you,” she continues, then pulls a slim phone out of her pocket. “Oh, and he asked me to give you this.” She hands it to me and I realize it’s my own phone. “He said you left it in the kitchen last night.”
I have no memory of using my phone in the kitchen. Then again, I was majorly freaked out last night, so it’s not surprising I lost track of it. “Is Mr. Matthews…I mean Philip…” I shake my head. “Is he here?”
“He’s at the office for a few hours, but he told me to let you know he won’t be gone long. He also told me to insist you stay here until he returns.”
“Of course he did,” I mutter, reaching for the half and half. “Bossy control freak.”
Mrs. Higgins gives me a slightly broader smile, her eyes twinkling at me. “He does have his moments dear. Now. What can I make you for breakfast?”
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
“I always make breakfast for Mr. Matthews. What can I get you? Eggs? Pancakes?”
“I usually eat cereal in the morning.”
She tsks. “You need your protein. I’m going to make you a nice egg. Sunny-side up? Wheat toast?”
I shake my head, that overwhelmed feeling returning. “Sure. That sounds great.”
She beams at me. “Is there anything else you need?”
I need to get out of here. I need to go back to my own apartment and try to figure out what in the hell I’m supposed to do next. I need to call my brother and check in. Then I need to figure out if I’m going right back to the club tonight, or waiting until next weekend to see how things play out with Philip.
I don’t tell Mrs. Higgins any of that, of course. Instead I thank her for the coffee and promise to be out for breakfast as soon as I’ve freshened up. Once she’s gone, I pick up my phone, wondering if I missed anything last night. There’s one message showing on the screen, from half an hour ago.
Philip:I had to go to the office. Mrs. Higgins will take care of you. Don’t leave the apartment. —P
I scowl at my phone. Of course he would enter his contact info and take my number. Control freak barely scratches the surface.
I also note that he didn’t make any mention of what happened in his shower. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or annoyed by that.
I type back a quick message.
