Debt

Aaron was a lot of things- a good friend, the best security chief in the business, and a blunt bastard.

"Obsession is a strong word, Aaron," I said, reaching for my coffee. "I find her determination interesting."

"If she ever finds out what you have done..."

I slammed my coffee down hard, making him raise a brow but otherwise not react. "She's not going to," I said with finality.

She couldn't.

Case closed.SIXPrueThe next two days went pretty much exactly the same as the first two, sans the sex and jerking off, but with no less asshole-ish behavior. Not that I ever expected that to go anywhere. That was just how it was. And I was even maybe getting sort-of used to it. Cleaning his bathroom did, indeed, mean with me on my hands and knees. And, while not done with a toothbrush but rather a small hard-bristled palm-sized brush, I did have to do it with his ever-annoying presence in the doorway while I did so.

One would think that a man who ran a casino with a full bar and restaurant as well as some sort of illegal loan sharking business would have better things to do with his time than watch his bathroom get scrubbed. Alas, he didn't. And he had fun pointing it out if I missed so much as a centimeter of space.

I didn't find him any easier to deal with, but I had gotten more used to him.

"Miss. Marlow," he called as I stood outside the den where he had been sitting with a scotch that I had gotten him twenty minutes before.

"Yeah?" I asked, stepping into the doorway, trying to ignore the aching in my ankles.

See, my mind may have gotten used to Byron St. James, but my feet, yeah, they still had a bone to pick about the stupid f'n heels be made me wear.

"Come here," he said, back to me as his eyes stayed on the home screen of some movie he planned to watch. I moved into the room, noticing he had taken off his suit jacket and hung it over the back of the deep leather couch, leaving him in a crisp white dress shirt and dark blue slacks. When I rounded the couch, I noticed he'd even unbuttoned the top two buttons. "Take your knees," he said, not bothering to look at me.

"I'm sorry?" I asked, sure I misheard him, but also just as sure that I hadn't.

His eyes cut to mine, deep, dark, a little hypnotizing I was convinced if I looked for too long. "I said to take your knees." To that, I felt myself stiffen. As he noticed everything, he noticed that as well. "You had my word about that, so relax. And. Take. Your. Knees."

"You can't be serious," I objected.

"Can't I?" he asked, raising a brow as he watched my face.

I exhaled, shaking my head, and lowering myself down onto the floor. "Happy?" I snapped, sitting back on my heels.

"Turn to the TV, not me."

With that, he clicked the button and the music started for the movie. So... we were watching a movie together? That was almost... nice of him. You know... if he maybe would let me watch said movie on the couch like a human being, not on the floor like a dog. But still, I'd take what I could get. I hadn't so much as caught the news in the better part of a week.

Of course, I should have expected that there was nothing kind or benign about anything Byron St. James did.

Because while the movie was a movie, it was an erotic one. And it was well done. Meaning, when the hero and the heroine finally got between the sheets, I wasn't entirely convinced the actors weren't actually doing it. And, well, what could I say? I was human. Not only was I human, but I hadn't had a boyfriend in almost a year and a half. Being the kind of woman who couldn't have sex outside of a relationship, that meant I hadn't been laid in a year and a half. My body was painfully aware of that fact. So as I sat there next to Byron, his knee actually brushing my shoulder, I pressed my thighs tightly together to try to ease the throbbing there.

"Miss. Marlow," Byron's voice called, a little softer than usual, a little less cruel-sounding. "Come sit up here."

Oh, God.

Why... why why would he pick right then to be a decent person? Granted, my knees and ankles were screaming from the position, but the last thing I wanted to do was to move. But, given an order, I slowly pushed myself up, watching as the TV paused as I tried to shake some life back into my legs before very carefully moving onto the couch, sure to keep a safe six inches between us. But as soon as I sat down, the couch depressed, making me slip a few inches in toward Byron until my shoulder brushed his. I pretended to ignore it (while being acutely attune to it) as he lifted his hand and the sex scene came back on in vivid, loud, erotic detail, sending another jolt of desire to my sex, making it clench hard and, consequently, make my thighs press even tighter together.