𝐌𝐬. 𝐇𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐨𝐧 | 𝖱𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽-𝖱

4 | No More Hiding

ᴸᴬᵁᴿᴱᴺ
_

It has been two days, and I still haven't mutter a word unless it was business-wise. And over the course of those two days, my attraction for her ran deeper than the flow of my blood; and felt darker than the midnight sky–no stars. It definitely taste hazardous, but feels unusual; for me, anyway. I'm still relentless around her. Most times–all the time–I feel a luscious sense in the deepest pit of my stomach, churning like a boiling cauldron when I'm with her.

My lips are still buzzing from their high, all the while, heightening my hormones and emotions. I squeeze my thighs more often for self-control, and it hardly helps sometimes; it just adds more wanted pressure. If her placing one single kiss having me reacting this way, I wonder if her sex would be toxic? I'm already acting like addict with no self control. I mean, she is my boss for crying out loud. Not necessarily, the devil on my shoulder disagrees and my eyebrows creases downward as it continued,

She didn't technically hire you...you're there to prove that you have the ability to become an assistant. And the way I see it, your time hasn't expired. Why not kill two birds with one stone, eh? Get to know what it feels like while you can. You're under training, and when you step foot back in New Orleans; you'll be her assistant and you won't ever have to think like you're having sex with the boss, blah blah blah, it's so wrong.

My forehead softly clash into the moist white tile, images of her body parts flooding my head. I frailly groan, the unsettling feeling resurrecting once again, right on top of my stomach. My guts senses the urge to throw up, and it only does that when I'm anxious. I ended my lengthy shower and threw on something close to professional. Well, these are Ms. Hamilton old clothes she let me borrow. The scary woman was actually nice enough to take a trip to her condo for me. In the midst of slipping on my flats, there was a knock at the door.

"Yes?" I answered in acknowledgement, waiting for a response.

"Can I come in?" the person sounded muffled behind the door. My eyebrows brood as I stood up, testing my shoes first before heading in the direction of the door. It sounded nothing like Normani. It seems I took a while to answer since he said, "Uh–Ms. Hamilton said to meet her in the lobby in the next five minutes. And don't bring anything but a jacket. It's chilly today she informs." Hearing his feet scattering away from the door, I stretch my neck for her jacket, and went to retrieve it once my eyes fell on it.

Swiftly, I drive my arms into the jacket and zipped it up once it wrapped around me. I feel like I am forgetting something when I shut the door and start making my way towards the elevator. Moments later, I step foot pass the elevator, creating myself to become small enough to slip through the business people. My eyes wander around the lobby until something willed me to find cinnamon orbs; warm as a spring day and chilly as a winter night. She springs from her lounging position and begin to make her way to me.

I would meet her halfway to kill time but, how can I move a muscle when I can't even find room in my lungs to breath cooperatively? Oh, you idiot, I scolded myself.

"You made it finally," she gently smiles, "No work today. Only shopping...of course not without having breakfast first...are you hungry?" she questioned and I try to imagine for it to be innocent. Having to re-hear that question again, triggers me. It was the start of the conversation and the ending was pretty abrupt. But, I want to fuck you, instead. My tongue graze over the bottom of my lip, pushing back the invading negative thoughts.

I nod and sputters, "Ye-yeah, I haven't eaten yet."

"Great. That outfit is the last one for today," she casually clarified then turn on her heels, and begin her journey towards the entrance.