Saucy Side: Today's Rule (Ambrose Version)

This is a direct follow up to Rosy’s last Saucy Side: www.patreon.com/posts/mind-blind-saucy-47004218

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As punishment for breaking his nameplate, Ambrose decrees that you have to go the entire day at work without touching him. You agree, if only because agreeing means that next time, it will be your turn to create the rule. Alas, your easy compliance fails to take into account the fact that Ambrose Kim is a cruel, cruel man.

He’s spent the entire day making it as difficult as possible for you to follow his no-touching mandate. Rolling up his shirt sleeves and smirking as your stare inevitably gravitates to the muscular definition of his forearms. Deliberately lowering his husky voice to an even huskier whisper that forces you to lean in to hear. Even dropping a pen and bending over to pick it up, although that last tactic may have been unintentional (or Sally’s finally roped him into watching Legally Blonde).

This latest summons to his office, ostensibly over misfiled mission reports, is just his latest attempt to tempt you into breaking his mandate. But you’re strong enough to resist temptation. You were born into hardship and forged in the fire of adversity. You are intelligent, determined, and more than capable of keeping your hands to yourself. If Ambrose thinks that he’ll win this game as easily as he did last night’s, he’s in for a cold-shouldered surprise. Maybe you’ll even turn the tables and make him unable to resist you. That way, it will be his loss (although you’d both score).

You open the door to Ambrose’s office, and your steel-hearted conviction crumples, tissue-soft. Ambrose sits behind his desk, narrow black reading glasses perched upon his nose. He’s also shirtless.

The man is ruthless.

Ambrose languidly closes his book as you enter. “Our meeting was for noon,” he says. “You’re late.”

Well, he’s naked. Smugly so, his dark eyes daring your gaze not to stray downwards to the rigids of his chest and that ever-intriguing groove that leads like an arrow to the parts of him currently concealed by the desk. Through sheer force of will, you manage not to gape, but you’re unable to resist a quickly approving glance. That you’ve seen him shirtless before makes you no less appreciative of the sight. Ambrose, noting the direction of your look, gives a lazy half-smile. He thinks he’s already won.

Pointing out Ambrose’s state of undress would venture into dangerous waters, so you instead decide to defend yourself against his accusation of tardiness.

“I ran into Kent in the hallway,” you say.

Ambrose crosses his arms, and the increased tension of his biceps is enough to make your mouth go dry. Ambrose’s chest, you might be able to resist. But his arms are and have always been your weak point, which Ambrose of course knows. He’s doing this deliberately.

You cross your own arms, although your gesture is more so that your hands remain trapped by the crooks of your elbows and are thus unable to make grabby-gestures in your boyfriend’s direction. Because. You. Will. Not. Let. Him. Win.

“Talking to Kent was more important than meeting me?” Ambrose’s voice is rumble, deep and possessive, with the barest hint of authentic jealousy.

“Well . . .” Provoking Ambrose is always too much fun to resist. “Kent hasn’t forbidden me from touching him.”

Ambrose stands from his chair. To your relief (or is it disappointment?), he’s still wearing pants. He takes a step towards you, and then another. Soon, he’s close enough to touch.

You don’t, however. You want to, because Ambrose’s chest is made to have fingers run over it—your fingers, to be precise, which are currently clenched into fists to avoid splaying themselves over his broad shoulders. But touching means losing the game, although it’s becoming harder and harder for you to recall why that would be such a bad thing.

“Is Kent really the one you want to touch?” Ambrose asks.

“I didn’t realize my desire mattered more than your rules,” you choke out. Provoking Ambrose is fun, but he’s a firm believer in payback, and that dark look in his eyes doesn’t bode well for your future victory.

One step closer, and his lips are against your ear, so close that you can feel the static attraction from his skin. But not touching. No, he’ll refuse to cross that threshold first. His breath tickles as he roughly whispers, “Your desire is always my primary concern.”

Want has become a tangible thing between you two. Want or, more accurately, need. You need to pull him close, to wave the white flag of defeat and melt into his embrace. The game’s purpose of exquisite torture has been achieved, and prolonging the distance between you is only unnecessary torment.

Ambrose pulls back, leaving you cold and blinking. He picks up a folder from his desk and slides it between your folded arms, still careful not to touch you. “You misfiled last month’s mission reports,” he says. “I need them redone by this evening.”

Of all the . . . Ambrose Kim isn’t just cruel, he’s evil. A cold-blooded monster.

Ambrose sits back down, opens the top drawer of his desk, and pulls on his retrieved shirt in a brisk, business-like fashion. His chuckle follows your footsteps as you stomp from the office.

“Remember,” he calls out, the word filled with promise, “the rule ends as soon as we’re home.”