Zero Tolerance

by Lynn Burke

  “Found yourself a good woman.”

  Turning away, I closed my eyes and rested my head on the back of the recliner. “Fuck.”

  He laughed again, deepening my scowl. “You gonna quite Elite too?”

  I snorted. “Fuck, no.”

  “Get involved with her, and she’ll definitely want you to give up being an escort. No woman I’ve ever met likes to share.”

  “Oh, I’ve met quite a few of those,” I said with a smirk, “but I’ll give up fucking other women if it means I get Jasmine.”

  “Holy shit. Never thought I’d ever heard you say that.”

  “Yeah, well, shit happens.”

  His deep chuckle widened my grin, and I realized I did want Jasmine. She was a good woman, and I needed to find a way to make her mine.

  Chapter Six

  Jasmine

  Monday, Micah was sweet as blueberry pie, putting me at ease before the first hour passed.

  “I’m going to make coffee,” he said, coming out of his office. “Want some?”

  I smiled up at him, but quickly looked away. His hazel-eyed gaze fluttered my stomach, and my fingers itched to touch the scruff along his jaw. “Sure.”

  He turned for the door leading into his house, and I made sure to get another eyeful before he disappeared from sight.

  Sighing, I turned back to my computer screen and the order I’d been putting together for one of the online sex toy companies Micah purchased supplies from. My attraction for my boss was troubling enough, never mind having to look at all sorts of kinky items that got my mind going.

  Butt plugs … teeth holding onto my inner lip, I scrolled down through the various shapes and sizes. Something that definitely interested me. Dildos. Vibrators. Cuffs, crops, and floggers.

  Dampness coated my panties, and I squirmed on my chair. A cane caught my eye. While I wasn’t sure I would enjoy pain, my body seemed interested in finding out. Nipple clamps, though? Yes, please. I’d found pinching rather than flicking my nipples when masturbating sent me rushing over the edge ten times faster.

  A shiver slid up my back, and I turned.

  Micah stood in the open doorway to his lair. His gaze flitted from the computer screen to my face.

  Warmth rushed through me at the look in his eyes, and I jerked back toward the computer, minimizing the website window displaying various canes. “Just placing an order.” The words rushed from my mouth. “Wasn’t sure if you wanted me to get the same old, same old, or if we wanted to try out some new items.” I said we. Oh, God! My face flooded with heat. “They. You. I-I mean the escorts.” My forced smile wobbled. “With clients.”

  Swallowing, I peeked at him, and my smile faded.

  One eyebrow cocked, he smirked down at me, but that heat still simmered in his eyes. “You have permission to order whatever you want, Jasmine.”

  “Th-thank you, sir.” Oh, God! “Micah. Thank you, Micah.”

  Chuckling, he turned and disappeared again.

  I buried my face in my hands, my stomach in knots, and my skin sizzling from head to toe. What did he think of me? Had he seen me squirming on my chair to ease the twinging between my legs?

  “Oh, God,” I muttered into my hands.

  “Hey.”

  I jolted upright, face hotter than before.

  Micah handed me a cup of coffee, eyes twinkling and still smirking.

  “Th-thanks.” I considered brushing my fingertips across his and glanced up again into his eyes.

  He turned the mug so the handle faced me. “Here.”

  I accepted the coffee without touching him and slumped back in my chair. Should have gone for it, I told myself while sipping. The thought didn’t stir anxiety. Only longing.

  Rather than walk into his office, he lounged on the chair across from my desk.

  Flutters of something stirred in my belly, and I smiled for real. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “Welcome. So.” He stretched out his long legs. “What toys would you want in those magic bags we send along with our escorts if you’d booked someone for the night?”

  Another rush of warmth swept through me. “I-I’m not sure.”

  “I’m asking for professional reasons—as your boss.”

  “Okay.” I cleared my throat, but couldn’t make myself look at him to see if his eyes betrayed a lie. “I think you’ve got the basics covered all ready, and we add additional items by request, right?”

  “Yes.”

  I shrugged and pulled the website back up onscreen. “N-nothing, then, really.”

  The thought of going out with Micah and having one of those bags at his disposal pulsed the muscles in my pussy, and I fought against the urge to shift on my chair again.

  “If you could go any place in the world, where would it be?”

  His question drew my attention. Zero heat lit his eyes, and the smirk had lifted into a full, friendly smile.

  “Paris.”

  “Why Paris?”

  “Seems like the place for lovers.”

  “Who would you take along with you?”

  I opened my mouth, but shut it again and shrugged.

  “No boyfriend?”

  “No.”

  “Sorry.” He shifted on his chair and glanced out the open window. “That was a shitty question to ask. Considering.”

  “It’s okay,” I said even though the reminder slammed reality back into my head. “I’ve never had a boyfriend. Never even kissed a guy.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah. It sucks.” My attempted smile wobbled again. “I-I think I’m on the road to recovery, though.”

  His gaze settled on my face again. “What makes you say that?”

  “I’m actually comfortable around you—for the most part.”

  He grinned. “Glad to hear it.”

  “Yeah.” My own smile widened. “Not sure why, but I don’t get all freaked out when you get close to me.”

  “Would it be inappropriate if I offered my help? I mean, if you want to test or push yourself … if you ever want to shake my hand again, just let me know.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered, sudden tears pricking my eyelids.

  He pushed up from the chair and lifted his coffee my way before heading into his office.

  I stared at my computer screen, unable to see through the tears wavering the images before me. A cool cat, Dina had called him, but he was also a very sweet guy.

  ****

  I settled into the routine of my new job, and the silly flutterings whenever Micah worked from the office settled down a bit. He stopped in every day, much longer than Dina had told me before I’d taken the job.

  At least once a week, we locked up the office and went out for lunch. Subs, pizza, salads—nothing fancy or indulgent I considered a date. We discussed business, and I eventually lost a bit of my shyness about discussing sex toys. He kept every conversation professional, without inappropriate tones of voice or suggestive words.

  While I appreciated that fact, disappointment over his lack of interest except for that one time heat had filled his gaze, pulled me down at the end of every day. It wasn’t like I hoped he’d make a pass at me … or did I?

  My body and mind warred, but the desire for him overran whatever anxious thoughts assaulted me if other people stepped into my personal space.

  I looked forward to work every day. I looked forward to his smiles, his kindness. I also started looking forward to the chance to touch him again.

  “I’m firing up the Keurig. Want a coffee?” he asked one afternoon after a very long Monday. He’d been on the phone with an unhappy client for over an hour, until he finally hung up and exited his office. Tendrils of sandy-blond hair had escaped his man bun and hung down past his chin.

  “Rough, huh?” I asked, scrunching up my face.

  He sighed and shook his head. “I’m having difficulty finding someone to please Widow Mayfield,” he muttered.

  My stomach twisted. I knew she used to book him every other w
eek, but since I’d begun working, he’d taken his profile off Elite’s file of available escorts. Unsure of why, my mind toyed with all sorts of exciting reasons.

  “Coffee sounds good.” I smiled, hoping to ease him in some way.

  Nodding, he turned and pulled his man bun free. Waves tumbled to his shoulders, and he gathered them back up in his hands. He disappeared around the corner before winding it back up, and I slumped in my chair.

  Such beautiful hair. Wasn’t fair, really.

  I touched my own bun which had been too tight and giving me a headache. Without a thought, I pulled it loose. I sighed and ran my fingers through my long hair, eyes closing. So much better. Why I felt the need to look all professional when Micah showed up barefoot in jeans and a t-shirt, I didn’t know.

  Dina hadn’t ever dressed up. Never wore makeup. Never used hair spray. Was I still trying to impress a man who didn’t seem interested? An ache blossomed in my chest, and I sighed again.

  Sandals and a tank top tomorrow, I promised myself while opening my eyes.

  Micah stood in the doorway, two mugs in his hands. The heat in his eyes slammed into my chest, knocking that ache into oblivion. While I might not be too familiar with men, the look he pierced me with couldn’t be misunderstood.

  “What are you looking at?” I heard myself whisper.

  “You.”

  “Do you like what you see?” My mouth took over, heating my face.

  He stared at me, and I recognized the war in his eyes. The muscle in his jaw clenched. “Very much,” he finally said.

  The clock on the wall ticked in my ears. I wanted to make a move, but being a chicken shit, couldn’t. Too much of a gentleman, Micah didn’t either.

  He cleared his throat and handed me a coffee, handle first.

  I took it—without touching him—and he returned to his office.

  ****

  Rickey, one of Elite’s drivers called me Friday late afternoon. His limo had broken down, and I scrambled to find something else since Micah was on an overseas call behind his office door.

  It took me over a half hour, keeping me in the office after hours, but Rickey and his escort headed into Boston while I made another call to explain to the client expecting them.

  Normally, Micah dealt with such situations, personally calling the clients to ensure no bumps in the road caused issues. I hoped he didn’t mind that I’d taken care of the problem.

  I turned off my computer and slipped my feet back into my sandals. Moving around the room, I shut the two windows and gathered my stuff.

  The rumbling of Micah’s voice quieted, and I waited a few more seconds before calling out my good night.

  His door opened, and he glanced down at the purse in my hand. “Heading out?”

  “Yes.” I explained about Rickey and that I’d called the client. “I didn’t want to interrupt your call. I hope that’s okay.”

  “As long as everything turned out all right, I’m happy.”

  I didn’t turn to leave as I ought to. I’m off the clock. I’m not his employee right now, am I?

  He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”

  Warmth sprang to life between my thighs and my heart jumped. “S-sure.”

  Tipping his head toward the door to his home, he smiled. “Come on in.”

  For the first time since I’d started working for him three months earlier, I walked over the threshold leading into the Fox’s lair. While I’d seen the living room beyond, I’d never had the gall to snoop when he went out of town.

  Warm colors, leather, paintings, a fireplace … definitely a man’s home, but inviting. Soothing, I figured, but at the moment, my blood rushed and thoughts fluttered around like a bunch of bomb-diving bats gobbling up mosquitoes.

  He’d promised not to touch me. If I wanted to test the idea of him helping me heal, I would have to make a move.

  “Have a seat,” he said.

  I shot a text off to my mom, telling her I had to work late so she wouldn’t worry, and climbed onto a bar stool.

  Micah moved around the kitchen, gathering things from the fridge and cabinets. “Do you cook?” he asked, his back to me.

  Appreciating the muscles rippling beneath his tight t-shirt, I swallowed. “A little.”

  “I started using Healthy Chef a couple weeks ago.”

  “It seems like those meals-in-a-box businesses are booming. Are they any good?”

  “So far.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Want to help?”

  “Sure.” I slid off the stool and rubbed my damp palms down my skirt.

  “Why don’t you pour us some wine, and we’ll dive into the recipe together and see if we can hit it out of the park.”

  Jitters still jumped in my stomach, but my hands held steady while pouring the white wine into two glasses he’d pulled from the corner cabinet.

  I held the stem of the half-full glasses and handed him one. My heart sped as he glanced down at my hand.

  He lifted his gaze, one brow raised, but wrapped his hand around the goblet part without touching me.

  Holding back my sigh of disappointment, I turned my attention to the stuff he’d gotten from the fridge and cabinets. “So what are we making tonight?”

  “Pan-seared scallops and some funky-looking veggies.”

  I giggled.

  “Here.” He pushed the vegetables my way. “You can cut and I’ll heat up the pan.”

  “Sure thing,” I said, heading over to the sink to wash my hands.

  “So.” The weight of his stare settled on the side of my face a few minutes later, but I focused on finishing chopping the veggies. “Would it be inappropriate of me to ask about what caused your issues with touching people?”

  The thought of the foster boy my parents had taken in while I was a tween twisted my stomach as it always did, but my chest didn’t tighten. My breathing remained steady and calm. “My parents used to take in foster kids when I was younger,” I said, placing the cutting board and knife in the sink. “Billy behaved like the perfect big brother, looking out for Dina, Liz, and me. The first time he came into my room at night, I thought he was sleep walking.”

  “Does it help to talk about it?” he asked when I didn’t continue.

  I peered over at him for a few seconds, appreciating the concern in his eyes. “I’ve gone to countless therapists, but haven’t ever told anyone outside of my family. And the police, of course.”

  “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

  Maybe telling a friend might help with the healing. I chewed on the inside of my lip for a few seconds, but figured to hell with it. I was desperate to move on with my life. Drawing a deep breath, I began.

  Letting go of the long-ass story to someone other than a therapist released tension in my body I hadn’t realized I carried. Micah didn’t interrupt as I spilled the shit of my past, and his eyes weren’t filled with pity the couple times I glanced his way while we ate, wondering what he thought.

  “He never … raped me,” I said, heat in my cheeks while clearing my plate, “but he might as well have done so with the emotional damage and other issues I’ve been having to deal with since then.”

  “I have zero tolerance for assholes like that.” Anger laced Micah’s voice as he placed his empty plate beside mine on the counter. “I understand the whole juvie thing, but stalking you years later and threatening you after you filed restraining orders?” He shook his head, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he poured us both more wine. “The fucker ought to be shot.”

  “At least I’m getting better,” I said, fingering the two inch scar beneath my left ear. “I know I am.”

  “I’m happy for you.” Warmth filled his gaze, but a hint of anger still glinted in his hazel eyes. “Living room?”

  “Sure.” I followed him and settled onto the couch. He sat in a chair across from me.

  “It’s because of you, you know,” I said, unintentionally, but relief at the confessio
n eased me back into the soft leather.

  “How so?” he asked, lifting his wine glass to sip.

  Might as well go for it. “You’ve made me want physical touch.”

  Chapter Seven

  Micah

  Holy fuck. I almost choked on my wine. If that wasn’t an invitation… I cleared my throat and set the glass aside. Tense silence zapped between us, but she didn’t lower her head like usual when she seemed uncomfortable. Her pale-green eyes peered at me with a hint of question. Insecurity. But the pupils dominated, and the pulse jumped in her neck.

  “Have you dreamed about me touching you?” I heard myself ask.

  So much for inappropriate.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  I wouldn’t touch her, but I wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to enjoy every fucking inappropriate bit of information I could get passed her lips. “How?”

  “You mean how do you touch me in my dreams?” Her low, husky voice rushed the blood to my cock, but I didn’t bother trying to hide the fact she turned me on.

  I nodded.

  “Gently.” She swallowed, but held my gaze. “With your fingertips until I grow accustomed to your touch.”

  “Where do I touch you?” My voice sounded strangled in my ears.

  “Here.” She lifted her hand and glanced at her palm.

  “Where else? Put your wine down and show me.” I relaxed back into the chair, legs spread, giving her an eyeful of the hard ridge lining my jeans.

  Her attention drifted down between my legs, her lips parting on a sharp inhale as her trembling hand set the wine glass on the table beside her. When she sat back, she uncrossed her legs, but kept her thighs together, the darkness beneath the skirt beckoning to me. “H-here.” She trailed her fingers up her arm, over her collarbone where she lingered. Up her neck. Over her lips.

  I groaned. “Where else do I touch you?”

  She swallowed, gaze still on my cock, and ran her hand back down her neck and over the swell of her breasts.

  “Show me.” My Dom voice took over, and she followed the command without hesitation, slipping her hand up inside her tank top.