Page 38 of Best Friend's Dirty Ex

“Are you sure this is necessary?” There’s a hint of humor in his voice.

“Oh, don't be such a party pooper. Let me have my fun.” I laugh as I tie the knot loosely. Careful not to lose my balance, I step down off the chair and walk around to the front of him. I wave my hand in front of his eyes to make sure he can’t see me, and when he glances to the side, looking for me in the wrong place and speaks, I’m satisfied he can’t see a thing.

“Where did you go? I don't think I like this.”

“You're lucky I'm not a mean person because I could absolutely be doing awful things to you right now.” As I say the words, an evil grin crosses his lips and I know he absolutely misunderstood what I was saying.

“I'm not about to stop you, little one.” As he says those words, goosebumps race up and down my arms, and I find myself imagining being on my knees. In front of him, his hand wraps in my ponytail and I taste him before taking him deep.

I inhale, trying to get a hold on myself. I want to please him, taste him, touch him, feel him, feel him inside me. But there's no way we should be doing that. Not after everything that's happened.

“Stop it, you. Are you ready to see your new office?”

“That depends. Do you plan on letting me trip over things along the way?” His wry voice has me laughing and I take his arm, leading him toward his brand-new office.

Even though I'm guiding him, his steps seem sure and there’s no fear to his movements, which leaves me wondering if he just trusts me that much. I can't imagine he'd be so sure footed if he couldn't see, unless he knew for a fact that there's no way I'd let him bump into anything or trip.

Of course, I wouldn't do either of those things because I'm not an evil person, but the fact that he trusts me does something funny to my insides. I don't know that I would trust someone blindfolding me and leading me through a house. Maybe that's something to do with being a woman and being on high alert most of the time and not wanting to be vulnerable because of my past, but still.

As I step through the doors and glance around the space, I feel a sense of pride in how beautifully it all turned out. All of my hard work and planning paid off, and I can see it in every single detail of the room. But even as I think about how beautiful the space is now - especially compared to what it looked like when I started - my heart still pounds a bit and I worry he won't love it as much as I do.

“Are you ready?” I step behind him and begin to play with the knot on the blindfold.

“I’m more than ready.” As he says the words, I slip the blindfold away from his eyes and he blinks a couple of times with the light in the room before inhaling a deep breath that becomes a low whistle.

But to my dismay, he doesn't say a word and the whistle really could go either way. He could love what I did with the space... or hate it.

He continues to scan the room, walking up toward the big light fixture in the middle and gazing up at the black and light fan shape, before wandering over to a huge piece of art that nearly covers one wall. The art is oddly titillating without being at all sexual, and I can't help but wonder if I nailed his taste and what he was looking for.

He continues wandering through the room, trailing his fingertips along furniture, before stopping to stare out the window.

I stand in place, clasping my hands behind my back and rocking forward onto my toes, then back onto my heels. The suspense is absolutely killing me, but I don't know how to tell him that. I just want to know if he loves the room or hates it, but he doesn't seem inclined to tell me either way.

I almost wonder if he's torturing me on purpose. I walk up to the oversized desk in the middle of the room. While we discussed leaving his old desk and chair in here, I'd found something that seemed too perfect for the space to pass up. The desk is almost a command center taking up the middle of the room in an imposing, serious way that fits Troy so well.

He leaves the window and walks toward the other side of the desk to sit down in the heavy antique leather chair on the other side. While most of the touches I've made are completely bold and modern, I wanted something that was a bit of a throwback. Something that makes him look like an elegant mobster boss. Something that shows that he owns this space and that chair was that piece.

He shifts back and forth, then leans slightly to one side, puts an elbow on the armrest and brings that hand up to touch his face. Sitting like that, he looks like a model maybe, or dangerous gangster, a man who could tear me apart and leave me desperate for more. There's something so incredibly sexy about him that it's all I can do not to run and throw myself into his lap.

I turn away from him in hopes that he won't see the desperation on my face. One thing I hadn't considered is how the space might change the way I look at the man. Sure, he's always been commanding and sexy, but now he fits in this space and there’s something so incredibly sexy about him I’m not sure how to contain myself. So I stare at the double doors that I had commissioned specifically for this space and walk over to close them.

I want him to see the art that I'd hung. I want him to see the lighting. I want him to see every little detail that I've added to this space. The lights, the brightness, the touch of dark, the shadows, everything that makes the area come alive perfectly in a way that's reminiscent of Club Red without being obviously derivative.

I worked really hard on this room, and I'm absolutely proud of how the space turned out. Hard work, lots of money, seemingly endless sleepless nights... all seem like they've completely paid off.

I turn to face him, waiting to see if he's willing to say anything yet, and find him standing behind me, watching me with serious eyes.

“So?” The single word catches in my throat and I swallow hard, hoping my saliva is enough to moisten my throat and let the next words out.

His gaze lowers to my neck before coming back up to meet mine. Then he moves toward me quickly, scooping me up in his arms and spinning me around. “I love it.” As he says the words, he presses his lips to mine, and all at once I want nothing more than for him to lay me out on that desk and take me with every ounce of passion I feel flowing through him and myself.

Of course, that would be a step backward, but there's nothing I want more in this moment than him.

His lips move against mine, and our tongues meet and mingle, dancing, tasting, teasing. I can feel my body surrendering to him. If he were to lay me down on his desk right now, I don't know that I could tell him no. I don’t think I'd want to tell him no.

But with him holding me like this in his arms, the pure exuberance in my body, the weakness in my knees... I want him.

But he suddenly seems to remember where we are and what’s happened between us and sets me carefully on my feet.

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