You’re insane. You don’t even know him and you’re hooking up in the bathroom?
The minute my orgasm fades away, and I realize what I’ve just done, I bolt from the museum bathroom and I don’t look back.
Slut.
Humiliation crashes through me as I race blindly down the sidewalk, so fierce I want to die. How could I lose my mind so completely? One minute, I’m sitting in the gallery, doing my best to stay cool under his teasing stare, and the next...
You’re up against the wall, close to the edge just from the feel of him, so hard and massive in your hands.
Oh God! Just thinking the words in my head make me want to hide away in shame. What was I thinking, letting a man talk to me like that -- touch me like that? A stranger. A client!
I drive home in a sick nauseous panic. What if he tells my boss what we did? I’ll be fired for sure.
I don’t know how it even happened. I was trying to keep things professional, but there he was, trying to provoke me, saying more of those shocking, sexy things that I should have hated but really made my thighs clench with lust.
So I called his bluff.
I thought it was the only way to make him quit. I should have known a man like him, so sexy and dangerous, would have the goods to back it up.
And boy, he’s got the goods.
Even the memory of his fingers inside me makes my breath catch. And he had to be eight, nine inches, easy -- as big as the dildo my friend Helen got at her bachelorette party last year. It was like nothing I’d ever seen before: thick and hard, his bulbous tip straining, the vein bulging down the length of him. Back then, we all giggled and joked that men like that didn’t exist.
But he does.
I couldn’t help myself, just the sight of it made my body tremble with desire. It was like some deep feminine instinct took over, blocking all rational thought from my mind. I had to touch him, know what it was like. And once my fingers were wrapped around him, I couldn’t stop.
Watching the desire on his face as I touched him. He is so sure about everything, I had to show him what I could do. Push him to the edge and see him lose control.
God, I loved it. The power.
I’ve never done anything so reckless and sexy in my life, and even now, the memory feels like it happened to someone else. An impostor. An out of body experience. Some other girl, hijacking my body and making me do the naughty things I’ve only ever read about in books that I hide on my Kindle at night.
And then when Vaughn touched me...?
The way he worked with my body, the things he did with his fingers... It was the most mind-blowing, intense orgasm of my life.
I’m losing my mind.
It’s Friday, so thankfully I don’t have to face everyone at work for the next two days. I stay home, busily doing all the chores I’ve been avoiding as a punishment for my behavior. I clean the oven and scrub the bathroom floor, do a million loads of laundry, and cook a month’s worth of nutritious meals to freeze in tupperware so I don’t wind up eating junk-food takeout for dinner again. And all the while, I block out every thought of Vaughn and what happened in that museum bathroom.
It was madness. It was a crazy mistake. It’ll never, ever, happen again.
By Monday morning the knot in my stomach has turned into a giant black hole, swallowing me up in shame and guilt. I drive to work feeling like I’m going to my own execution: my palms sweating as I step into the elevator and hit the floor.
This is it. Time to face the music.
“Wait up!” Justine comes skidding into the elevator at the last second. She catches her breath as the doors close. “You look nice.”
“I do?” I look down. I couldn’t sleep a wink last night, tossing and turning with panic, so I had extra time this morning to blow-dry my hair and pick out an outfit. I even did my makeup too -- lingering in front of the mirror to delay the inevitable. “Thanks.”
If I’m going to be fired and thrown out of the offices, at least I’ll look good, marching out of the elevator with my box full of office supplies.
The doors open. Justine steps out. I can’t move.
“Coming?” She frowns.
I gulp, and slowly edge after her, my heart pounding in my chest. The girl at reception gives us a bland nod. A couple of lawyers pass us in the hall with a friendly smile.
I check around to be sure, but everything seems normal. No glares. No whispers. No mob with flaming pitch-forks. Maybe Vaughn didn’t report me. Maybe I’m safe---
“Fawes!”
Carter’s yell echoes through the office. My blood runs cold. This is it. The end of my career. He comes charging out of his office, and my heart stops. He’s going to do it right here, in front of everyone.
Oh God.
I brace myself, shaking.
“Where’s the Montgomery file?” Carter demands.
“I’m sorr--” I start to grovel my apology, before realizing what he’s just said. “Wait, what?”
“The fucking file!” Carter yells. “I just had them on the phone, and I couldn’t tell them one damn thing.”
“It was on your desk,” I stammer, my mind racing.
“Of course it was on my desk!” Carter bellows. “You think I don’t know that? Where the fuck is it now is the question.”
Then I remember I had it with me when Vaughn showed up. I must have taken it by mistake when I was distracted.
“I’ll find it now.”
“You better,” Carter threatens. “Or I’ll have you out on your ass faster than you can say--”
“Mr. Abrams.” His assistant, Erin, tugs on his sleeve, looking terrified.
“What the fuck?” he demands.
“You have a client,” she whispers, wide-eyed. “Here.”
Carter spins around. “Oh. I...” He falls silent, and clears his throat. “I didn’t know you were there.”
“Clearly.”
Carter is blocking my view, but I’d know that sexy voice anywhere.
Vaughn.
I freeze, blood rushing to my cheeks -- and another, more private place.
Carter stands aside, still apologizing, but Vaughn ignores him, meeting my gaze with an amused grin. “Miss Fawes,” he says with a smirk. “So good to see you again.”
“You’ve met?” Carter looks back and forth between us.
I panic, waiting for Vaughn to reveal the truth, but instead, he answers smoothly.
“You were indisposed on Friday, so Miss Fawes was kind enough to take the meeting,”
He winks.
I blink in shock. Does this mean he’s not going to tell? Relief washes over me, but part of me stays alert. Uneasy.
What else does he want with me?
“I’m sorry,” Carter is sneering. “She’s just an assistant.”
“A paralegal,” Vaughn corrects him. “And she was more than helpful. She guided me through the process to a very satisfying conclusion. I was in very able hands.”
What is he playing at? My cheeks flush hot, and I’m sure people can tell what he is alluding to. I can’t take this anymore. Thank god Carter is so self-obsessed, he probably didn’t notice.
“I have to get that Montgomery file,” I mutter quickly, turning on my heel and fleeing down the hallway. I’ve turned the corner, heading for the safety of my cubicle, when I feel a hand grab my arm and I’m suddenly pulled into the privacy of a small alcove.
I gasp, finding myself pressed up against Vaughn’s muscular body for the third time in a week. “What are you doing?” I yelp, as his hand slides up my thigh. “Stop that!”
“I didn’t hear any complaints last time.” Vaughn leans closer, his breath hot against my throat.
I feel a twist of lust, but I fight it back and shove him away. “That was a mistake,” I tell him, “It can’t happen again.”
“I bet you a hundred bucks it will.” Vaughn reaches out and pops my top button open, his finger grazing my skin. I shiver. I should step away, redo my blouse—but something stops me. “Have dinner with me, tonight,” he says. “I promise, you’ll be too busy coming all over my tongue to care about losing the bet.”
My stomach clenches. Dear God, but he’s sexy when he talks like that. I have a sudden flashback to the bathroom: his fingers inside me, his body grinding against mine.
“No.” I break free, pushing him away again. “I won’t have dinner with you.”
“So we skip dinner.” Vaughn gives me a wicked grin. “I’d prefer to eat you out any day.” He slowly licks his lips.
Oh Lord. My legs go weak. If he can drive me to heaven and back with just two fingers, imagine what he can do with that tongue...
Get a grip, Keely!
“No,” I tell him again, putting every last ounce of self-control in that one syllable. I look him straight in the eye, so he can tell just how serious I am. “I’m not having dinner with you, or anything else. What happened between us was a lapse in judgment. I acted totally unprofessionally, and it won’t happen again. Ever.”
Vaughn looks stunned. “You’re turning me down?” he says slowly, like he can’t believe it. “A-fucking-gain?”
“Goodbye.” I side-step out of his embrace before I can change my mind. “They validate parking at the front desk.”
And then, with the last thread of my dignity still intact, I walk away.