Amelia couldn't turn her gaze away from the long, angry-looking lump in Boyce's trousers. Though his erection was still hidden beneath the pale gray pinstriped fabric, in Amelia's mind's eye, she could see the cock as clearly and precisely as if it was naked before her. She had seen it before, in the office she now sat in, and once more when she had knelt in Maggie's tiny closet, in a planned act of voyeurism. The difference was, this time she was the one that had caused Boyce's penis to awaken, she was the focal point of that too-tempting erection, she was the one it—and she now thought of Boyce's erection as an ‘it,' an entity separate and distinct from the rest of the man—lusted for.
A thousand questions rocketed through Amelia's brain. What did Boyce think of her now that he knew she was a voyeur? Obviously, the thought it if excited him, or he wouldn't have such a fierce erection throbbing inside his trousers. But had she lost his respect? He had always treated her as a professional in the high-stakes game of international finance. There were many men, in London and even within Edgewater Investments, who made no effort to hide their displeasure at having to work side by side with a woman. Did Boyce still think of her as an equal? Or was she now just a convenient object to turn his sexual attention toward?
"Take it out, Amelia," Boyce said, his voice low, his tone carrying with it the authority of command. "Touch it. You know you're dying to."