Page 2 of Devoted
The intensity of my thoughts surprises me. I suspect the same color rouge might be crawling up my neck from how Vivian is making me feel.
This woman will be the end of me.
Before I have a chance to reply, her gaze shifts to the ripped fabric of my sleeve. Her hazel eyes narrow, and she almost looks offended by the tear.
“Your jacket looks like shit,” she comments, and now I’m the one narrowing my eyes at her.
“A bold statement for someone who is wearing a flannel.” I cross my arms and use my height to stare her down.
“Yeah, well, I was kind of dragged here last minute to help withyourevent, so I’m going to be comfy in myflannel, thank you,” she comments as she starts to dig around in her fanny pack. “Here, let me patch you up.” Suddenly, there’s a sewing kit in her hands, and she is looking up at me with anticipation on her features. “You’ve got an image to uphold and all that.” She shrugs.
Should I tell her how I was about to change into a completely different jacket?
Part of me leans toward stopping her and ending this conversation now. Not only is she an employee, she’s also Alek’s little sister. A louder, unreasonable part of me screamsno. My deviant mind has become obsessed with the thought of her hands on me and her curvaceous body so close to mine.
“I would appreciate that.” Propriety be damned. This might be the only instance I have to give in to the inexplicable pull I feel toward her. My curiosity beats all the other voices running in my mind.
Ineedto be near her.
“My bedroom’s right this way.” Clearing my throat, I brush past her and close the short distance to the door. My movements are choppy as I unlock the door and hold it open for her, hoping she doesn’t notice the twitching of my hands.
Vivian tucks her sewing kit into her open fanny pack and wears an easy smile as she strides in, her eyes hungrily taking in the decor of my bedroom as she crosses the threshold.
I must be losing my fucking mind.
How long has it been since someone other than myself or the staff entered the most intimate space in my house? And I didn’t second-guess inviting Vivian in here.Why?
My current affliction is walking around the small sitting area opposite the bed. I watch as Vivian traces the delicate lines carved into the fireplace mantel. Elegant fingers tipped withthe most captivating combination of fiery red and pitch-black take in every inch of my design. The intimate touch and the admiration of my work make my stomach flutter in a foreign way.
“This place is gorgeous,” Vivian whispers with a soft reverence in her tone. I watch as she retrieves her hand from the mantel and begins to make her way back toward me. “Shoot, sorry. I got carried away. I shouldn’t be touching your stuff like that.”
“Art should be admired,” I reply, but it feels like I’m speaking to myself. All my art has been hidden away from anyone’s eyes but mine for so long.
“Agreed. Now, let me admire that jacket of yours.” Her bright smile is back on her face just as she stands in front of me, wedging me between her body and the entry. Her fingers travel to her oversize flannel, and she begins unbuttoning the eyesore.
“On your knees.”
My body freezes, but my blood heats. Surely, I misheard her. And surely, my guttural reaction to follow her order without question was a fluke.
She raises an eyebrow at me, as if she has any right to be the confused one here.
“You’re too tall. I can’t reach the tear when you’re up there, Knight,” she explains as she strips off her flannel, revealing a black tank top underneath. My eyes can’t decide whether they want to look at the tanned skin of her shoulders or the floor where she is commanding me to go.
“Here,” Vivian sighs, setting down her shirt on the floor space between us. “So you won’t get those designer pants dirty.”
She has got to be fucking with me.
My mind has got to be fucking with me.
Why do I feel so desperate to obey her?
“Knight, on your knees.” Vivian gestures to the floor with an open palm, but this time, her tone is more assertive.
Taking in a quick breath, I sink to my knees before I can think better of it. The change in view is as sudden as it is alarming. Vivian stands in front of me, my face naturally in line with her chest, but my eyes strain upward to meet her gaze.
She digs around for her sewing supplies, apparently oblivious to the tension in the room. Perhaps I’m the only one feeling it, and I’m erupting with frustration. Howdareshe take over my every thought this way? Here I am, imagining all the ways I can draw pleasure from her in this position, and she seems completely unaffected.
Even with the feelings of displeasure simmering within me, I find that my skin crawls with the anticipation of her next order.
