Then he looks away toward the pool and breathes in deep, his chest inflating to proportions that are unjustifiable as he watches the surface of the water ripple.
He can’t see me.
I am safe.
And a pervert.
And I don’t care.
My eyes tour his body, drinking him in like a slow whiskey as he stands there in nothing but a tight pair of boxers while the coffee machine flashes behind him.
God, he’s so fucking hot I want to bake cookies on his chest.
As I stare my heart flutters and my warmth throbs, and I can’t stop my fingers from pressing into my crotch as his hand rubs his bearded chin and his abs ripple. Then he takes a quarter turn and my eyes are automatically drawn down to the dark bulge below his waistline and I breathe in so sharply that I feel dizzy.
Holy shit.
I want to take a picture.
I want something to touch myself to and this is it. The memory alone isn’t going to be good enough. I know how messed up this is, but I don’t care. I fumble in my back pocket and slide out my phone, almost dropping it as I spin the screen between my thumb and forefinger, opening up the camera app with a long press and zooming in fast.
Tap.
And the flash flickers as my heart plummets like a stone.
‘No.’
I look at the image in my palm as my chest tightens and my stomach cramps as with mounting horror I see that in that split-second that my phone took to illuminate the depths of the darkness, Mr Ledger turned, and looked back up.
I tap the trash button as fast as I can, deleting my guilty pleasure. I’m too scared to look back down to see if he’s still there, and instead, I pull off my top, slip off my shorts and take two giant but elegant bounds toward the bed, leaping under the sheets before stashing my phone beneath my pillow and pulling the covers up and over my neck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I can already hear his footsteps ascending the stairs and pausing at the top of the landing as I tremble, barely breathing as I realise I never locked the door.
What the fuck was I thinking? Shit, he’s going to fire me and send me packing.
Thump, thump, thump, I hear as he comes closer, and my sick brain wonders for a brief moment if he’s put on a shirt or not, and then I hear a light tap at my door and I stop breathing altogether.
I don’t move.
I don’t blink.
I do nothing but pray.
Then I hear the door handle turn and my mind flutters back to Flick’s words - Maybe he’ll spank you - and I’m temporarily mortified as I feel myself getting wet.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
The door opens softly and I hear him breathing. I can feel his eyes on me as he looks into the room, looking at the shape of my still body lying beneath the covers, not even breathing, and then after a few long seconds he pulls it shut, and I exhale.
Adrenaline courses through my veins as I quiver beneath the sheets, trying my hardest not to laugh and covering my mouth as I bite down on my lip.
Oh my god.
For a few seconds I lie still, breathing slower and slower, and then I carefully pull my phone back out from under my pillow where it’s lain in my death grip, my fingers white and numb, and I unlock the screen. With a slow reverence, I tap the Photos app, tap on the recycle bin, and grin to myself as I squish my thighs together.
There it is.