Chapter 25: Rule #25: Foot rubs are sexual.

“Give me your feet.”

“What?” she stammers around a mouthful of food, wiping the napkin across her lips.

“You walked three miles in those to get me lunch. It’s the least I can do.” Pushing my chair out, I tap my lap. Is this too sexual? I’m not even sure. It’s just a foot rub, and I need to do something. I’m still so torn between wanting to punish her for lying and nurturing her for going through that for me. Considering I want to do a lot more than massage her feet, I think this is pretty tame.

“Seriously?” she asks before wrapping her sandwich in the deli paper. “Seriously.”

With a nervous swallow, she watches my face as she lifts her right foot up to me. I delicately remove each of her black heels and wince at the painful-looking state of her pinched toes. She has sheer black stockings on her feet, so I pat her foot and say, “Take these off.”

Her breath hitches. Pulling her skirt up a couple inches, she unclasps the top of her thigh-highs from the garter, and I say a silent fuck me in my head. I don’t know what I was expecting but that was not it. I wish I could look away as she unclasps the other side, but those little straps hidden under her clothes are sexy as sin, and I’m only a man, after all.

My cock is growing hard in my pants, and what started as an innocent foot rub to help ease her pain and my conscience, has turned into a sensual peep show and what will be a rough case of blue balls for me later.

I help her roll the pantyhose down her legs and drape them over the back of her chair. She’s quiet, biting her lip and watching my face as I begin rubbing her poor battered feet.

She lets out a hum as I massage, and I have to shift my growing cock away from her ankle resting on my lap.

“Does that feel good?” I ask, wincing as I hear those words escape my lips. Do I even know how to be non-sexual? Apparently not.

“Yes,” she replies softly.

I watch as she melts into her chair, looking relaxed. When I dig my thumbs gently into her arches, her head hangs back, and I know I’ve won. This was the pleasure I wanted to see, and with nothing in return for myself.

“From now on, take off your shoes when you come into work. Don’t wear these all day. Understand?” “Okay,” she replies with a sigh.

Moving to the opposite foot, I do the same, and everything is fine…until her right foot inches too far and brushes against the hard length in my pants. She tenses, her eyes finding mine, and in that moment, I feel like the world’s biggest creep. I wasn’t doing this to get off or turned on. I was doing this because I wanted her to feel good, but even now that sounds predatory in my head. I’m an HR nightmare waiting to happen.

The moment stretches on between us while I hold her foot in my hand, waiting for her to erupt from her chair and call me out or leave or slap me…because if anyone else touched her the way I’m touching her now, I’d have their fucking head on a stick.

But she doesn’t do any of those things. Instead, with her gaze locked on mine, she brushes her foot against my cock again. Or was I imagining that? Nope, she definitely does it again, this time with a little more force, and it feels so fucking good. I resume massaging her foot while the other rests against my aching erection, and this is definitely not so innocent anymore.

“Charlotte,” I whisper, but even I don’t know what I’m about to say. I should tell her to stop and put her foot down.

“Yes?” Her voice is breathy and inviting. The moment is charged and sexual and very, very fucking dangerous.

Before I can say another word, her phone rings on the table next to her. I almost look away, but my eyes dance back to the screen when I recognize the name.

Beau.

She tears her feet away from me and freezes with her hand over the phone. Then she looks at me. “Answer it,” I command her a bit too enthusiastically.

As she snatches it up and hits the green button, I freeze in my seat. This is because of the message I left him. I knew he’d reach out to her when he found out she’s working for me. So, now what?

“Hey,” she murmurs into the phone, walking across the room but not too far. I can’t hear what he’s saying on the other end, but I watch her body language. Her shoulders tighten closer to her ears and her other hand wraps around her middle as she speaks. “What?”

She peeks back at me at the exact moment I’m sure she realizes I told him.

“Yeah, I am. Why?” She bites her lip and curls in on herself even more. “Because I needed a job and it pays better than the rink.”

A tense pause as I hear his muffled voice rattle on.

“It’s not about you,” she says a bit louder now. “No! I’m not— Beau!”

I stiffen in my seat. She looks noticeably affected and growing more agitated with each second. “No, I won’t quit. I need this job, and what does it even matter to you?”

Then she gasps before turning toward me. “You’re wrong,” she mumbles quietly, her eyes still on my face. I can’t take another moment as I burst out of my seat. I don’t even know what I’m doing when I snatch the phone away from her and hold it against my ear.

“Beau?”

He stops talking the second he hears my voice. Then, he responds with just two words. “Fuck you.” And the line goes dead.