Protect Me Not ((Un)Professionally Yours 2)

His hand slammed down on hers, flattening her palm over his small, hard nipple.

His chest heaved with the effort it took for him to breathe, and she tilted her head back to meet his brooding glare.

“You should go, Vicki.”

She sighed and slanted a regretful look at his erection. “Seems a shame to waste that.”

She wriggled her hand out from beneath his and walked to where her slip dress—the only article of clothing she’d been wearing when she’d arrived at his apartment—lay discarded on the floor. She dragged it on and padded, barefoot, to the bedroom door, where she turned to smile at him.

“Take care of that, will you?” she invited, pointing at his hardness. “Use my panties…and think of me when you come.”

He choked. Satisfied with her parting shot, Vicki flicked her skirt up on her way out the door—gifting him with one final look at her bare butt.

That day set the tone for the next two weeks. Ty remained impersonal and professional all day long, he walked Vicki into her home every evening and left her there to decide if she wanted to join him later or not.

Like a meek lamb to the slaughter—when her need for him overwhelmed all else—she always bearded his den late in the evenings. At that point he had all the control, and he wielded it like a dark demigod. He tasted, teased, tantalized, touched, and tongued every inch of her, while Vicki was allowed only the barest minimum access to his body.

But he usually had her so desperate for him when he was done with the endless, dizzying, crazy foreplay, that she didn’t even care. It was only afterward—when she was staggering her way out of the front door—that she realized he had, yet again, dominated their bed play.

She always left feeling completely sated but—even though he came several times during their nights together—he was still hard and wanting by the time she went home.

And she hated that.

Vicki couldn’t help but think that if she could only touch him the way he touched her, he would find their encounters infinitely more satisfying.

They were in the third week of September and—because Vicki didn’t have the luxury of time and couldn’t wait until the first of October—Jasper had started work that day. Vicki had spent the morning cooped up in her office explaining the requisition system to him. In the afternoon, she’d left him in Linda’s capable hands. The other woman would start him on smaller bouquets and arrangements. He had a great eye for detail, he was friendly and enthusiastic, and Vicki was happy with her hire.

She had spent the rest of the day with prospective clients and trying to placate a heartbroken bride whose bridegroom had jilted her just two days before their wedding. The flowers had already been ordered and paid for—pricey Casablanca lilies and stephanotis flowers which they wouldn’t be able to resell easily.

There was no way Vicki could cancel or get a refund from her vendors. And if she gave the client the full refund they demanded; she would lose thousands of pounds.

Vicki rolled her head on her shoulders and sighed.

It had been an exhausting day, and Vicki and Ty were both silent as they stepped into the elevator.

Chapter Fifteen

“Hell of a day,” Ty observed as the elevator doors shut, and Vicki wished she could lean into him for a comforting hug. She needed one so badly right now. Much more than she needed sex.

But, of course, that was one of the many missing components in their non-relationship. The intimacy and affection that came from being with someone who enjoyed your companionship. She could go to his place tonight and get all the sexual satisfaction she desired. But none of the comfort she craved.

She lifted her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. She had a splitting headache.

“It wasn’t the best,” she acknowledged, exhaustion adding weight to her words. “Jasper was the one bright spot.”

“He seems like a good guy.”

“Looks like my gut feeling was right after all,” she couldn’t help bragging.

His lips twitched, and he angled his head to look at her. She couldn’t see his eyes—he was still wearing his sunglasses—but the growing smile on those lovely lips was gratifying enough.

“Looks like it,” he agreed.

His smiled faded, and he removed his sunglasses, shoving them into his breast pocket. He was wearing yet another one of her boutonnières. Vicki enjoyed making them for him. She justified the action by telling him that if he was going to be standing sentry at her shop entrance, he might as well be a living advertisement. He didn’t protest, still appearing to enjoy the buttonholes, and wearing them with evident pride.

His eyes were concerned. “You look like hell.”

The elevator stopped, and she replied as they stepped out into the foyer. “It looks like JJ and her mum are going to keep fighting me on the refund. But I’d rather not think about that right now. I have a splitting tension headache, killer cramps, and I’m exhausted.”