Page 3 of Devoted
And not even the silly fanny pack she wears around her waist is deterring enough to override my arousal in the moment. I thank whatever deity is listening for the rip being on my jacket and not my trousers. I’m not sure even draping her oversize flannel on my lap would be enough to hide the strain building in my pants.
“I can stitch it up for the gala, but you’ll want to get it to a tailor for a full repair. I can fix it up at the club if you want to hop by sometime.” Her eyes are nearly crossed from the strain of threading her needle, and it evokes a smirk from me.She’s cute.
But it only lasts a moment.
There’s nothing cute about the way Vivianprowlstoward me, needle and thread in hand, with a gaze so intensely focused on her target—me. I feel trapped beneath her, and she hasn’t touched me yet.
“I’m going to need to slide my hand under the shoulder of your jacket. You okay with that?” she asks.
God, please touch me, I think and, thankfully, do not mutter.
“Yes, that’s fine,” I reply instead, trying to keep my voice level.
As cliché as it might sound, a literal spark of something hits me when her fingers skim over the base of my neck before sliding along my clothed shoulder to the ripped seam of my jacket.
She hums a tune as she sews, one I’m not able to place, since my mind is warring between wanting to feel the flesh of her thighs underneath my fingertips and keeping my hands to myself. Her black skirt—flowy and beautiful—sits midthigh on her legs, making my imagination all too close to reality. The temptation of having her body so close to me is making me sweat. Clasping my hands together behind my back is the only way I can ensure I’m not doing something tremendously stupid. I’m well aware I could either accidentally, or rightfully so, be stabbed with her needle if I were to give in to my craving.
Not to mention, Vivian is my employee andat leastfifteen years younger than me.
I cannot be thinking of her like this.
“All right, I’ve put you back together,” she comments. “Just gotta get this cut off.”
I flinch, surprised as she bends at the waist, carefully setting the thread between her lips, and proceeds tobitethe extra material off me.
While I’m not proud of it, I take advantage of her proximity and breathe in her alluring scent. My eyes flutter closed, and my moan is only barely suppressed as I take in the deep, velvety florals of her perfume. Iwanther scent to spread around me, on me, in me at all times.
“Done!” Vivian cheers, pulling me from my depravity.
My eyes are trained on my mended jacket, as I’m too much of a coward to meet her gaze when I was just having indecent thoughts about her.
“It looks wonderful. I’m sure it will hold up fine. Thank you, Vivian.” I speak the words into my shoulder, my eyes only daring to take her in from my periphery.
“Yeah, no problem, Knight,” Vivian comments and brushes her golden hair from where it fell across her forehead. I wonder how she would have reacted if it were my fingers brushing her beautiful hair back.
“Well, I’ve gotta help Alek expedite the food,” Vivian continues. A friendly smile lights her face, a complete contrast to the ratherunfriendlythoughts I’ve been having about her.
Finally finding the courage to meet her gaze, I watch her put away her sewing supplies and zip up her fanny pack. When she finishes, she looks down at me as she runs her finger along my shoulder in one final inspection. Her little content hum tells me she’s pleased with her work.
I want that noise for myself. I want her to be pleased withmeand to look atmethat way, not some fucking jacket.
“Looking good, handsome,” are Vivian’s words of goodbye.
The two pats of her delicate hand against my cheek are how she marks me.
And the flannel she left beneath my knees is how she claims me.
CHAPTER TWO
VIVIAN
Why have a crush when you can stab yourself in the face instead?
Present Day: Early October
There’s a man’s massive, muscular thigh pressed against my face as I grunt and breathe heavily. I wish that were as sexy as it sounds, but I’m just helping one of the new burlesque dancers get his boots on before our show.
“What am I always telling you, guys?” I ask, more to the room than to this individual dancer.
