SIR

by R. J. Lewis

  She’s in my fucking shirt.

  And now I’ve fucking had it. I’ve had it with her uselessness, her glowering face, her see-through shirt that’s mine—that shirt is fucking mine—her temper and her rebuttals and the fact she does not cower to me.

  I approach the door and pound on it. She needs to pack her shit and go right this fucking second so that I can continue living in this whack job illusion with icy bitches feeding me bullshit stories and the fake people that crash my house in the early hours of the morning to stroke my ear and drink my alcohol.

  My hand’s out, goddammit, my hand is out, and no one has reached for it yet…

  My chest constricts as I try to remember something important—something vital Ruth told me once.

  The door opens slowly, and her face pokes out. She sees me and her face falls—like I’m the last thing she wants to see. She opens the door wider, and there she is in my fucking shirt, in another pair of silly shorts. She isn’t wearing a bra and her perky tits are out, those nipples begging to be seen, to be sucked, to be savored.

  “Fuck me, sir.”

  Fuck!

  I’m fuming and she’s watching me, saying nothing.

  “Convenient seeing you awake, Miss Montcalm,” I hiss. “I forgot to do an inspection of your suite—”

  “It’s two in the morning.”

  “Better late than never. Invite me in.”

  I don’t know why I don’t just storm past her. For some reason, there are barriers in place between us. I can feel them. I have this urge to treat her with respect, like she’s owed it despite being a liar like all the others.

  She moves back and opens the door for me. She doesn’t appear impressed by me, but her mouth is shut. I want it around my cock. I grit my teeth, suppressing those thoughts but my head is a mess.

  I move into her sad little suite and glance around. Her suitcase is wide open, and it looks like she’s been unpacking. Her things are strewn everywhere, I have to step over her shit.

  “Your exit must always remain clear, Miss Montcalm,” I admonish her. “Perhaps you should stop living like a wildebeest.”

  Her eyes narrow at me. “Noted.”

  I walk around her living room, eyeing the depressing little couch and barely standing coffee table. I enter the kitchen next, and it smells like chemicals from whatever deep clean she attempted in here.

  “You should be airing this suite out,” I chide.

  “With all my windows?” she dryly asks.

  “Is that sarcasm I detect?” I turn to look at her. “Are you unimpressed with your dwelling, Miss Montcalm?”

  She crosses her arms, and her tits push up. My eyes flicker to them and, fuck, it stirs my cock in ways I haven’t felt in so. Fucking. Long.

  “I’ve lived in worse dwellings, Mr West,” she responds coolly. “This is a walk in the park. You, on the other hand…”

  My brows shoot up. “What about me?”

  Ivy looks me over quickly. I’m in just my briefs, and I think she can see the outline of my cock, hardening—fucking hardening—for her.

  “You’re supposed to give me twenty-four hours’ notice before an inspection, Mr West. But now that you’re here, there are a number of things that violate my tenancy rights.”

  I smirk slowly. Why do I fucking love the utter shit she spews? It’s giving me such a rush. “Do tell.”

  “The tap in my kitchen barely runs.”

  I open her fridge as I listen; Tilda did alright with the shop. I grab an apple in a drawer and shut it back, saying casually, “I’m looking after my water bill.”

  “Hard times, Mr West?”

  I turn to the knife block and pull a small one out, shrugging. “I’ve lost my company, Miss Montcalm, I’m feeling vulnerable right now.”

  “I’m sure you do.” She sees through my bullshit. She eyes my hands as I cut a ribbon of skin around the apple. “The plug in my bathroom is talking to me and telling me it will electrocute me the next time I plug something into it.”

  “Should I be more concerned that it’s talking to you?”

  “Maybe be more concerned I might die one morning, and you’ll have to answer to having what I suspect is an illegal suite.”

  “Point made. That is a hazard,” I acknowledge now. “With you being my assistant, I’m sure you’ll be able to make some calls and have that wiring fixed. What else?”

  She glances at my briefs again, eyes lingering on my cock. “Perhaps wear clothes the next time you conduct a shitty inspection.”

  I look over her body, too, this time staring at her legs longer than I should. “Is my lack of modesty in my own home a concern to you, Miss Montcalm?”

  Her smile is sour. “No, see, you can dress how you like in your own home, Mr West, but right now you’re in mine.”

  My smirk intensifies. She’s fun to talk to. Boldly challenging what I tell her. Fuck me, she’s an interesting contrast to what I’m used to. She’s always got something to say. It’s fucking me up because I’m starting to admire her defiant little mouth.

  “You say this like you’re bound to a contract. Last I remember, you didn’t sign a lease.”

  She doesn’t back down. “So then why are you here on an inspection?”

  “I was looking for an excuse to get into your suite at two in the morning,” I admit freely, studying her reaction closely.

  Ivy doesn’t expect that answer. Her brows furrow, and then her cheeks start to redden. It’s a nice look on her, to see her shy instead of angry—I was starting to think this woman was a rage case.

  She swallows, responding, “Why were you looking for an excuse to see me in my suite at two in the morning?”

  “I wanted to see you in my shirt,” I reply easily.

  “Your shirt?”

  I eye that white top she’s swimming in. “My shirt, tem…” I pause, confused for a moment because I had the sudden urge to call her temptress.

  Ivy doesn’t catch on. She simply widens her eyes and then shakes her head. “I’m not in your shirt, Mr West.”

  It’s fun watching her squirm.

  “You are,” I argue. “I want it back. Take it off for me.”

  “Take it off for you?”

  “Are you hard of hearing, Ivy? Is that why I have to repeat myself around you?”

  Her face darkens. “I heard you just fine.”

  “Good.” My eyes slide down her front. “Take it off for me.”

  She stares back at me for a solid moment like she’s trying to figure me out. Then my heart seizes in my chest as she grabs the hem of her shirt and slides it up her body. Fuck yes. My eyes widen in shock and then hot excitement. She slowly brings it up, baring her belly and waist. She lifts it higher, eyes on mine as she brings her shirt just above the curve of her tits. My cock stirs to life, thickening as my breath slows.

  This—her—is what breaks through that fucking void in my chest.

  “Why do I have a feeling you just want to see my tits, Mr West?” she asks in a quiet voice, still teasing me with that shirt.

  My quiet voice is coated in longing. “I want to see them very much, Miss Montcalm.”

  But she keeps her shirt there, continuing to tease me as she studies my face. She’s searching for something, I don’t know what.

  “Are you so used to getting your way?” she asks me next, her voice dropping to a soft whisper.

  “You’d be getting your way, too,” I return. “We both want the same result.”

  “You think I want to take off my shirt?”

  “It’s my shirt, and yes, I suspect you do.”

  It’s agony watching her think. She needs to stop doing that.

  Her face tightens and, to my fucking dismay, she lets the shirt fall back down her body.

  “I’m not taking this off,” she tells me, her voice flat now. “This shirt belonged to a totally different man. It’s mine.”

  I groan deep in my throat, feeling an ache in my balls. I’m not even pissed at her teasing; i
f anything, it’s made me more ravenous.

  Whoever this man is, she’s gone all territorial.

  I redirect my gaze to hers, my hand pausing around the apple. “What happened to him?”

  “He’s gone,” is all she says. She looks away from me, her face impassive now. “Are you finished being here, Mr West? I need to sleep.”

  Ah, she’s dismissing me.

  Not something I’m used to.

  No, usually a woman will have thrown that top off and done anything I demanded. That thought doesn’t even excite me. Nothing excites me these days. Except this bewitching, infuriating woman I resent for a reason I don’t know.

  But I’ll find out.

  Because I need to know. And then I need to shut off and go back to being who I am—cold and calculating and completely detached. It’s better that way. I’m better that way.

  “You sure you don’t want me to stay?” I ask now, lapping her body up again as the heat in me continues to flow strong.

  “I have no use for you in my suite,” she returns pointedly.

  I smile slowly. “Ah, I’m so useless after work hours, Miss Montcalm.”

  “Is that disappointment I detect in your voice, or is your ego simply wounded?”

  Fuck me, that mouth.

  “I suspect both,” I tell her, playfully. “As my personal assistant, Ivy, surely you can console me in my hour of need.”

  I’m trying to make her smile; I’ve never actually seen a genuine smile from her yet. She looks deflated and withdrawn. I just want to know I can push her buttons. There must be a beating heart beneath that delectable body wrapped in layers of cold indifference.

  Ivy does smile at me, but it’s weak at best and it doesn’t reach her eye. “I’m not that kind of girl, Mr West.”

  “What kind of girl exactly?”

  “The kind that’s going to open her legs for a man like you.”

  “A man like me,” I repeat astonished. “You make me sound like an ogre.”

  She lets out a dry laugh. “I think that’s an understatement.”

  “Is this about those proposals I made you do?” I rest the knife and apple down on the counter and lean over to get a better look at her. “It was a test.”

  “That I failed.”

  “I’m a forgiving man.”

  She eyes me suspiciously. “Because you want something in return.”

  I eye her shirt again. “Sometimes a man wants to feel around a woman’s barriers, see how fortified they are.”

  “How fortified do you think mine are?” she asks, curiously.

  “Very,” I answer on a smirk. “But I have a feeling I can knock them down.”

  “Why would you even want to?”

  “Because every woman has wanted me thus far.”

  She rolls her eyes and huffs out a breath. “Unbelievable. This really is a wounding to your ego. I’m just…a fucking quest, aren’t I?” Now she’s shaking her head to herself in disbelief. “Some things never change, huh? Well, Mr West, I’m not a body you’re going to conquer in whatever stupid quest you have in mind, okay? I have some self-respect, and if you think for one second I’m going to peel this top off me and jump into your arms like some hussy while your barbie doll bitch side piece is upstairs probably naked after whatever nasty activities you’ve been up to with her, you have another thing coming.”

  Oh, I’ve really pissed Ivy Montcalm off.

  Her cheeks are in flames, her eyes are wild. She marches to her door and whips it open, glaring at me like I’m the biggest asshole that’s ever walked this planet. I grin because this reaction is the fucking opposite of what I could have ever conceived.

  I stroll to the door, and she’s not looking at me in the eyes now as I stop in front of her.

  “I’ve hit a nerve,” I say, amused. “How should I apologize for my transgressions, Ivy?”

  Now she looks at me, glowering. “You’re not sorry at all.”

  “That’s true,” I reply. “I’m not, but…fuck me, Ivy Montcalm, you’ve got a mouth on you that’s doing all kinds of crazy fucked up things to my cock.”

  She glances fleetingly down at my briefs. “I don’t want to know what your cock is feeling.”

  “It’s in dangerous need of excitement.”

  She blinks hard, retorting, “I’m sure it’s had enough fun.”

  I’m not sure what she means by that. Does she think I’m a manwhore that’s had his way with countless women by now? Jokes on her. My cock hasn’t hardened once since I woke up in that stale as fuck hospital bed all those months ago.

  Not until now.

  Fuck, my cock is pulsing, and it’s a relief to know it’s not broken.

  Excitement pulses through me, and…intrigue. Intrigue for this woman and her seething tongue.

  “Are you sure you want me gone?” I wonder because I would really like to know how not broken said cock is.

  “I’m sure,” she says tightly.

  She really is, too. I can see she’s done with me, and I’m fascinated by that.

  “You’re so impervious to my charm,” I note, voice low as I study her. “Am I so grotesque, Miss Montcalm?”

  “You’re not grotesque,” she returns promptly as her eyes harden. “What you are, Mr West, is boring. If you think a few simple words are going to make me fall to my knees for you, I’m afraid you’ve underestimated me. It’s going to take a lot more than a few heated glances in my direction and fake inspections in the dead of night in just your briefs. Besides, even if I did feel the slightest bit tempted, you’ll wipe that lust out of me by morning when you turn into my prick boss.”

  Fuck me, what a woman.

  “Careful of that tongue,” I warn her, leaning down to look her in the eyes. “You forget your place, Miss Montcalm.”

  “We’re not on work hours, Mr West,” she bites back on a fake smile.

  “Shame,” I reply, eyeing her mouth. “I’d have enjoyed punishing you for talking back to your superior.”

  “I’d like to see you try—”

  Her words die off as I move closer now, testing the boundaries. Her chest goes still as I run my fingers along her smooth leg, unable to stop myself from trailing it along her inner thigh, all the while gauging her reaction.

  Instead of looking surprised, Ivy appears…troubled. She shuts her eyes and her brows come together. There’s a look of pain in her expression that has me ceasing my touch altogether. I stare at her for a long moment. God, she’s beautiful, and fuck, she’s resisting me hard. Where other women lean into my touch, Ivy’s gone completely still.

  “Why does this boundary not exist, Miss Montcalm?” I wonder quietly, studying her closely. My real question is, why isn’t she more dismayed by my touch?

  She doesn’t respond, but her eyes shut tighter. She doesn’t want me to look into her eyes. What truths lurk there?

  I look at her mouth, searching for a memory, a feeling, anything to tell me I have touched this woman before.

  Nothing comes to me.

  Perhaps we were never physical, but still…

  I drop my hand, but not before bringing my mouth to her ear, muttering, “Good night, seductress.” I pause, fighting the hunger roaring in my veins, before adding, “You’re right. When the sun comes up tomorrow morning, you’ll be back to being my incompetent assistant, and I’ll be back to watching your every move, waiting for you to fuck up and prove me right. Consider yourself safe. For now.”

  Her mouth parts, but I don’t stop to study her. I walk out of her shitty little suite, feeling all kinds of fucked up. I need a cold shower, or a hard jerk, but even then, neither will fix this deep ache.

  My body feels cooler the more distance I put between me and that suite. By the time I make it to my room, I’m annoyed I’ve allowed this woman—this seemingly insignificant woman—to dig under my skin.

  Because as much as I lust for her, I feel an equal amount of wariness for the black- and red-haired girl.

  Ten

&nbs
p; Ivy

  Good night, seductress.

  There it was again, the real Aidan poking through, giving out the briefest hint he still exists, but I’m not entirely convinced. Maybe that’s just a word he’s used on others before.

  What a depressing thought.

  The next day Aidan—no, West—is up before me which means I don’t have to go to his bedroom for another awkward, heartbreaking wake-up. I don’t have to bump into Nina nude and flawless in bed. I don’t have to see them wrapped in each other.

  I don’t have to die slowly on the inside.

  I don’t know where that bitch has gone, but I keep smelling that godawful perfume in the air, and I’m certain she’s still here. Paranoia is a bitch, and I keep getting flashbacks to Derek’s infidelity. They’re two very different things, I know, but fuck, the pain settles in the same: fast and sharp and heavy enough to sink you.

  I keep thinking about him showing up at my door last night, invading my space, filling it with his arrogant charm. Now I understand Aidan West’s playboy side; I got a taste of it last night when he stared at me like he wanted to devour me, and fuck, it felt good to feel wanted by him again. But he made his intentions known. I was just a quest. It’s like that plane ride all over again, except nothing I did last night would reel him in to seek me out on different terms than that of a simple quest to fuck my body.

  I thought I knew what it was like to test my willpower holding back before his accident. Months of teasing and hot messages and almost kisses, you’d think I was a pro at this shit, but no. Last night was particularly difficult because I couldn’t let him know he was getting to me. His cock was hard for me and all I did was talk rudely to him.

  And yeah, I shouldn’t have gotten so fired up, but the thought of him thinking I was a quest—an insignificant notch on his bedpost—wounded me.

  This is definitely not like before. Our interactions are different. He is certainly different, and I don’t think it is in a good way.

  I just want my Aidan back, but this is going to be a journey more than a quick mission. If I didn’t love him so much—the other him—I would have already left.