Sharing Emma

4. Excitement and Anticipation

|EMMA|

For the next three days, I only see Carlos walking past my glass cubicle. Something is up with him, but I can't tell what. He is not ignoring me; it's obvious by the way he makes sure to call me at least once in the workplace and once to make sure I reach home safely.

It's just that something seems to be on his mind, and he looks rather troubled because of it. I might have known Carlos Kingston for only four months, but I could tell you firsthand that he wasn't exactly the brooding type or the one who liked to keep everything to himself.

No. Carl was definitely not the stereotypical boss you'll often come across. He was charming, and he liked to talk about his days and nights. Not in a way to gloat over his wealth and power, but to just...talk, you know, to let it all out. There were days when he would shut everyone out and pour himself into work, spending long hours in the office and becoming annoyed more frequently than not, but that was mainly due to the stress of work and the inefficiency of some of the individuals with whom he had placed his trust.

Carl hates to be disappointed. But then again, I believe that's everyone.

On the fourth day, I had enough of his bad mood, so I collaborated with his assistant to make sure he was free during lunch, ordered food from his favorite Chinese restaurant, and helped myself into his office with food in my hand.

Carl only looks up briefly from his laptop at me before diving back into work. It's only when I make a plate for each of us and bring them to the table that he lifts his head and takes a deep whiff of the fragrant spices that suddenly flood the air.

He throws a lazy grin at me as he sags back in his chair and loosens his tight shoulders.

"Emma Wilson," he says my name almost seductively, his dark eyes pinned on my ass as I walk over to the cabinets in the small spare room and return with two beer cans. "You have no right to be so perfect, do you know that?"

I chuckle and collect his laptop and put it aside, pushing his plate in front of him and handing him the fork. "And yet you think I am, don't you?" I say with a little dramatic sigh, and that earns me a little husky laugh from him.

At least, he is not stressed right now. I love that I have this effect on him and that he doesn't make too much fuss over the fact that sometimes I like to pamper him with food and, well, other things.

"It's hard to ignore what's right in front of me," he teases, but it only comes out halfheartedly. Now, I'm more than sure the deep, tense lines on his forehead are not because of the workload. Something else is going on here. Something that I don't know, and I pause to think for a moment about whether it's my place to ask. If it was work-related, he would have told me. But he hasn't. And it makes me wonder...

"Can I ask you something?" He is halfway through his plate when I ask.

"Of course, sweetheart, what is it?"

I chew the words in my mouth, hesitant to let them out now that I have his attention. What if he thinks I'm overstepping? Or that I should mind my business? If it's something personal, it would surely make things awkward between us. Is it worth putting everything on the line merely to satisfy my curiosity? I like what we have—this electric chemistry that buzzes through my bones whenever we are together—and perhaps that's why I'm afraid to lose it by bringing up the sour subject.

But then again, I do care for him. He wouldn't think I'm being clingy, would he?

When I don't say anything for a long minute, still trying to make up my mind, Carl takes my hand in his and gives it a gentle squeeze.

"Hey, where did you go?"

I wake up from my thoughts and shake my head. "Oh, nothing. Sorry, I got distracted. What were you saying?"

One of his brows shoots up into his forehead, and he c***s his head a little, looking curious. "What has gotten into you? Are you sure you're feeling okay?"

"I'm fine," I say, feeling my neck and entire face flush with the sheer heat. "It's nothing."

"Are you sure?" He presses, and I can't help but drop my fork and lean back.

"Yes, Carl, I'm sure."

I take the plates and glasses to the sink in the spare room and wash them before placing them back in the cabinets. I dump the leftover food and napkins in the trash box and return after using the restroom.

Carl right away pulls me onto his lap and kisses me on the lips. "Are you all right?" Why are you so tense?"

The way he pries gives me a little confidence. After all, that's what I'm trying to do—to make sure he's okay—and there is nothing wrong with that, right?

"It's not about me, Carl." I say to him. "It's about you."

Carlos pulls away and strokes my cheek with his thumb. "What is that supposed to mean?"

I sigh, finally say f**k it to all the hesitation. It doesn't have to be so hard, and I don't have to make this super difficult. "Carl, you know I care about you, don't you?"

He gives me another long-lasting kiss on the lips to confirm what I said. "Of course."

"Then it's only fair that I'm curious about what's been going on with you for the past three days, right?" I bite my lower lip, unsure of what to expect from now on.

I can feel his chest releasing a deep exhale beneath my fingertips. The tense lines on his forehead have reappeared, and I hate them.

"I'm sorry," I squirm free of his grasp and adjust my pencil skirt, which has ridden up a little. "You probably don't want to talk about it."

Carl rubs a hand down his face, looking more exhausted than he did a while ago.

I'm ready to apologize all over again when he leaves the chair and stands up, wrapping an arm around my waist. He pulls me until his chest is tightly pressed against mine.

"You remind me so much of the early days of my marriage," he breathes against my jaw, kissing my neck sweetly and gently. "So much excitement and anticipation."

I let out a gasp when he surprises me with his brute strength and effortlessly props me up on the table. He moves the hair out of my face before resting his palms on my thighs and brushing them up and down.

Heat pools between my legs, and I could have squeezed them to soothe the pulsing ache if it weren't for him standing between my thighs. I bite my lip and lean my hands back, giving him more of my neck, and skim my fingers through the soft strands of his hair.

It's not usual for Carl to talk about his marriage, family, or dead wife, so I'm a little at a loss for words to know how to take this.

I wrap my legs around his waist, wanting him closer. "Are you excited right now?"

Carl sneaks a hand under my tight skirt and hooks my soaked panties aside. I feel him teasing my throbbing c**t, and it makes me want to scream at how badly I want him right now.

"You're so wet, baby!" he whispers into my ear, his hot breath only adding to my growing need. "Did you come to feed me so I could use my c**k to feed this soaking wet cunt?"

He plunges two fingers into me, and I moan because it's too much for me to stay quiet.

"I missed you so much in these past three days," I tell him, gasping, eyes tightly shut, when he adds another finger, and now I'm moving my hips to meet his thrusts because it just feels so right. "God, I have been horny."

A deep sound resonates from the back of his throat, and I realize he's chuckling. Although he never stops f*****g me with his fingers till I'm all sweaty and shouting my climax.

Once both of our breathing is normal, he kisses my forehead and helps me clean up.

Before he sees me off out of his office chamber, Carl takes a moment to comb his fingers through my hair. "I have dinner plans with my son tonight. But something tells me he won't show up." He is back to frowning before I kiss his frown away, and he strokes my bottom lip with his thumb. "Why don't you join me?"

"Wait. What?" I'm not sure if that's a good idea. "What if your son shows up? Wouldn't that be awkward?"

The last thing I need is to get involved in a family drama. But this also tells me that this is what has been bugging him for the past few days.

"Probably. But after what happened last time, I'm sure he only agreed to the dinner so he could turn me down at the last minute."

"Looks like someone is out for revenge?" I say, amused. "What did you do to piss him off?"

"It's a long story," he says, and I know I need to be patient here. "A story that would be less painful to tell, and, of course, to endure, if we did it over a drink. What do you think?"

This is the first time he wants us to meet the public. So it's obvious I'm hesitant. But Carl wasn't born yesterday; he knows what he is doing, and in the past four months, I have learned to trust him.

I smile up at him before reaching for the door. "Text me the address, and I'll surely be there."