Morning After
Jake
I wake up wanting more.
Anastasia Wells was supposed to be my cure.
Now I might need someone to cure me from her.
It’s been a while since I felt this way after sex – wanting more from the same person. But then, it’s been a while having sex fuelled my desire and satisfaction the way it did yesterday.
Sex has always been great for me, no doubt, but with Anastasia…
None of them were as soft as her, as sweet, as pure…
The way her hips bucked against my palm, the sounds of her moans filling my ears with a pleasure and pride I could not place, the way she said my name on a whisper over and over and over again on those delicious lips.
I took what I could from her but it was not enough.
With Anastasia, I want more, I want every part of her, everything she is willing to give.
I want her legs to coil around me again, her nipples taut against my chest. I want to lick her again, to lap up her sweet juiced like a fucking thirsty wolf.
I want her under me, writhing and twisting as I show her the dark path to pleasure.
When I am trying to say is – I was wrong.
One taste was not enough.
With her, I might need more than just one taste.
And I’m about to do just that.
But when my hand reaches out to pull her closer to me, I find the side she slept on empty.
I spring up from the bed, my eyes searching the room for her. When a peek into the bathroom and closet proves futile, I throw on a black jogger pants and search the house for her. The guestrooms, the kitchens, the b-ball court, the pool outside, I search the summer house and the bar, just in case, complete with the basements and attic.
Mine is a sparse mansion so by the time I’m done with the search, the sun has risen and my temper is borderline electric.
The doorbell shrills through the whole house and I pound to it before any of the bodyguards get to it, anticipation tearing at my head in a frenzy.
I swing the door open with extra force than usual, “Anastas—”
Mia’s brows shoots up as she regards me, “What?”
I glare at her, “What are you doing here?”
“Forgive a girl for paying a visit at her brother’s. Don’t look so disappointed,” she sidesteps me and walks further into the house.
“You just called me Anastasia.”
I close the door with a bang. “I did not.”
Mia gives me a sly smile, “Is she here?”
Jonas and I answer at the same time, “No.”
Then my eyes cut to his and he raises a hand both in a shrug and in defeat.
“How did you know?”
His eyes dart around, “I dropped her off.”
“You did what?”
“She asked me to drop her off.”
“She asked you to –” I don’t get it. Not quite. She enjoyed yesterday as much as I did, I know it because I was there, why then did she decide to leave so early in the morning?
I turn my anger on Jonas because I need someone to vent on. “And you decided to do just that because she asked you to?”
Mia steers me away from him, which is for the best if I’m being honest.
“How the hell was he supposed to know he wasn’t supposed to?” she quips as she leads me to the kitchen, “I don’t think he wasn’t supposed to however,” she smirks when I send her a glare, “I mean if she wanted to leave then it is a gentleman’s responsibility to whip her off.”
“She is not supposed to ‘want to’ leave.”
She prepares coffee for me and while she is at it, I see her smile to herself. “You finally gave in to her.”
“Don’t really want to talk about it, Mia,” I tell her.
She hands me a cup of coffee, “You’re starting somewhere and that’s a good thing. And she just happens to be the first woman to—”
“I’m going to work, Mia,” I drop the cup and head up the stairs but not before hearing her say,
“And does it have anything to do with your assistant being at that same place.”
The greetings from my staff fall on deaf ears as I make my way through workers flanked by my bodyguards and into the elevator.
I can’t wait to talk to her as my temper boils within me and when I open the door to the office, she is in a conversation with one of my executives who looks like he isn’t hearing a word she is saying because the idiot is busy ogling her.
“. . . however, it has nothing to do with the presence with –”
I cut her off with the banging of the door. “Why the fuck did you leave?”
Her eyes darts around, shocked and color floods her face as the man’s eyes go slightly round.
“Get the fuck out!” I tell him.
He grabs his file and scurries off, closing the door behind him.
Anastasia gets up behind her desk, “Do you not fear scandal?” her nose is a little red like she spent the whole morning sneezing.
“Why did you leave?” I ask her, regardless.
There is a sheen of clear lip gloss on her lips but I know without doubt that they are bruised from my ravaging last night.
“What do you mean why did I—”
“You know exactly what I mean, Anastasia, I woke up this morning and you were gone, vanished. Jonas said you asked him to take you home by four am.”
“Yeah—”
“Why!?”
“Last night was one of the best nights of my life, Mr. Keaton,” she whispers, “And I wanted to do nothing more than to stay.”
“Then why then why the hell did you leave?”
She blinks and stares at me with those does eyes like her reason is the most obvious one in the world.
“Because . . .”
I cock a brow, waiting.
Then very softly she says, “Because you don’t like the ‘morning-after’ Jake.”
It’s as though she hit me with a cold bucket of realization.
She is right.
I don’t like the morning after. The clinginess, the sight of someone on my bed when I wake up.
That’s the way I am wired.
Why the fuck did I wake up wanting Anastasia in my arms?
Why wasn’t I glad she left by her own accord unlike the others that are reluctant. The reluctant women I call her to evict from my home almost every morning.
Why was I out of my mind, pissed when I hadn’t seen her this morning?
There is no logical explanation for it. No reason to explain why I want her to curl up by my side and stay with me till we both got tired.
Fuck!
“Yeah,” I tell her, “you’re right.”
I fucked up. Again. I’m starting to let Anastasia mean something to me. Yes, she tugged at a spot in my heart, that’s why I stalked her initially and moved the blocks till she worked with me but this is something I don’t know how to deal with.
I can't let her mean more to me than she already does.
“Are you okay?” she asks, worry etched on her face.
“Yeah,” I mask my emotions with a cold look. I’ll figure it out later.
But for now only one thing is sure-
My own feelings towards my assistant are beginning to scare me.