Just Sign Here - Cara Dee Page 0,20

contract again, with a pen this time, and slid both across the table.

“Just sign here.”

Six

Considering I was spending the weekend comparing reports and surveys between our American and European hotels while never venturing far from the pool area, I went easy on Peyton those first two days.

He spent most of the time with Julia anyway, so he was either in swim trunks or casual wear. There wasn’t a chance he was ready for me to get involved in helping him into the trunks, resulting in just a quick moment where I watched him put on jeans and a tee.

There was also no privacy granted for me to indulge in having him at my feet during our entire stay in Santa Rosa.

It wasn’t until we arrived in San Francisco and to our West Coast headquarters there that I got a moment alone with him. We borrowed an office to go through our contracts one more time, and he kneeled next to my chair until it was time to sign.

“Up you go, pet.” I slid my fingers through his hair and gave his neck a gentle squeeze before I withdrew my touch.

He rose to his feet, too shy to make eye contact, and I handed him a pen.

“Just sign here, here, and here.”

He’d read through the contracts many times over, and he’d had access to my family lawyer—I’d offered to pay for him to have his own representation too—but he’d declined both. Naïve on his part, even though he’d told me he wasn’t new to reading contracts. Even so, for all he knew, I could be some depraved bastard…

“Your trial run is over. You’re mine now.” I finished with my own signature and stood up. “Look at me.”

He lifted his gaze to mine, and it took every bit of restraint not to kiss him. The trepidation in his eyes mingled with something much heavier. It was unmistakable, but I would be patient. His need would grow at the pace he was comfortable with.

That said, the following morning, I dressed him the way I wanted.

We were the only ones awake in our suite, and I’d locked us in the bathroom. Rather, he’d let me in once he’d showered.

I’d already gotten dressed, and I loved the image of us. Me dressed, him in only boxer briefs.

I wanted him in smaller underwear.

“Come here.” I sat down on the edge of the bathtub and held his dress pants. “You’d look good in briefs.”

He shuffled closer. “I don’t know how to respond to that.”

I chuckled quietly.

He stepped into his pants and grasped one of my shoulders.

I breathed him in, slowly pulling his pants up, my hands tracing the shape of his thighs. After seeing his upper body exposed in Santa Rosa, I’d longed for this morning. Now I could get a closer look. I could touch him.

His abs were perfectly defined the second he tensed up ever so slightly.

I ghosted my knuckles over the trail of hair leading down from his belly button.

Peyton inhaled shakily, and I wasn’t sure he realized that he gripped my shoulder tighter.

His undershirt was next. I stood up, never letting him take a single step back, and pulled the white wifebeater over his head. My hands roamed his shoulders, his arms, his chest, his sides, and his abs again. Then I told him to look at me as I tucked it into his pants. With only a few inches between us, I dipped my hand into his pants, underneath the waistband of his boxer briefs, and watched his eyes flutter closed when my fingers brushed over the soft, trimmed hair around his cock.

I was going to do this. Every. Single. Morning.

While he grabbed his button-down with trembling fingers, I adjusted my cock and tugged it firmly.

Fuck.

It was going to be interesting to see who broke first, him or me.

I caught him looking at me more often.

I started coveting the glimpses of lust in his eyes more than a drug addict could crave a fix. It would be so incredibly easy to add amendments of things I wanted to do to him, but I had to hold my ground. And let him come to me.

The toughest moment was Father’s Day. I didn’t see it coming it all, and I was very moved by his gesture. Peyton helped Julia pick out a Father’s Day card for me, and I was treated to dinner at Julia’s favorite restaurant—McDonald’s.

That night, I almost walked into Peyton’s bedroom.

My forty-fifth birthday was next.

We were back in LA after a