Lillian
“Truth,” he says, and I click my tongue at him.
“I thought you said you wouldn’t disappoint me.”
“I won’t.”
“I figured you’d go all out and choose a dare first.”
“I don’t want to get naked just yet.”
“Maybe I wouldn’t have dared you to strip.”
“Is that right?” Owen smirks.
Okay, so maybe I would have dared him to strip, but seriously? He’s fucking fine. He knows it, too. We all know it. Everyone who works at Westerluck Law knows exactly how good-looking Owen is, but we all try to control ourselves.
Sort of.
Some of us.
There have been a few receptionists during my time at the legal office who have come and gone. Once they realize Owen isn’t interested in a relationship with them, or even jumping into bed casually, they tend to leave quite quickly.
It’s annoying to have such a high turnover rate, but what can I do? Ask him to be less sexy? Ask him to hurry up and sleep with them so they’ll stay? That’s so not happening.
“What’s my question, Lillian?”
“Why don’t you have a girlfriend?” I blurt out. Then I cover my mouth. Really? Did I really just ask him that?
Fuck.
I can’t take it back now, though, and it’s all part of the game. He has to answer me.
I risk a glance at Owen, but he doesn’t look upset or bothered. He looks amused.
“I’m not opposed to dating,” he says. “But there’s someone I like, and she hasn’t made it clear whether she’s open to the idea of a relationship or not.”
My heart sinks.
“Oh,” I whisper.
“Truth or dare?” He asks, not giving me a chance to feel sorry for myself or wonder who his mystery girl is.
“Truth,” I copy his choice.
“I thought you were braver than that.”
“No,” I sip my whiskey. “I’m not.”
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Do you want one?”
“That’s two questions.”
“Humor me.”
“There’s someone I like.”
“Is that right?”
Only, that’s more than enough questions, and we’re playing a game.
“Truth or dare?”
“Dare.”
“Strip,” I say quickly.
“Seriously?”
“Just to your boxers, if you like,” I say, suddenly feeling very warm all over.
“As the lady wishes,” he says, and he stands up.
My mouth goes dry.
What have I done?
A million thoughts rush through my head all at once, and I feel like I’m going to explode.
Am I going to get fired?
Is this sexual harassment?
Is this okay?
Am I allowed to do this?
Why the fuck didn’t I know about these abs?
Because he’s got abs.
And abs.
And abs.
He’s all abs, and I’m licking my lips and staring at him like I’m going to fucking devour him.
“Like what you see?” He says. He finishes unbuttoning his white shirt and places it on the end of the desk.
“Yes.”
“Shall I keep going?”
“Yes.”
He removes his shoes.
One by one, he removes his shoes and sets them somewhere. He keeps his eyes on me for most of his little striptease. He tantalizes me, teases me, taunts me.
His socks land next to his shoes, and suddenly his hands are on his crotch.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Showing you what you have to look forward to.”
“Holy dragons,” his hands are on his cock. He’s rubbing himself over the pants, and he’s hard. So hard.
“Tell me what you want, Lillian.”
“Keep going,” I whisper.
“I’ll do whatever you like,” he says. “It’s all part of the game, right?”
“Right. The game,” I whisper, but all I can think is that this escalated quickly.
Only it hasn’t been quick.
It’s been two years.
It’s been two years of working side-by-side every day. It’s been two years of failed relationships and thinking of Owen. It’s been two years of dreaming of him, and suddenly, I wonder if I’m the girl he likes.
Suddenly, I wonder if I’m the one he’s been thinking of.
But then I stop thinking because his belt comes off and so do his pants, and he’s not wearing boxers at all.
“Cock,” I say.
“I hope it doesn’t disappoint.”
“It’s very thick,” I say, staring at his hard dick. It’s pointing straight up, hard, calling to me.
I want to reach out and wrap my hand around it. I want to grip it and rub, jerk him off, play with him a bit. That would be too forward, though, even for the game, so instead of doing that, I sip more whiskey.
“You’re going to get drunk,” he warns me.
“It’s fine,” I say. “I won’t drive.”
“It’s your turn,” he says. “Truth or dare?”
But I’m just staring at his steel abs and hard dick. And oh, I realize suddenly, he’s shaved. His whole cock, his balls, everything. He’s shaved and bare and I wonder what that tastes like.
Most of the girls I’ve dated have at least kept themselves trimmed, but guys tend to let their nether-regions grow a bit wild.
Not Owen.
Not now.
“Dare,” I whisper.
“Touch it,” he says.