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Another one was of him halfway inside me, my arousal glistening along his length.
My ass displayed his handprints, red imprints of how vicious his passion had been. It had those memories resurfacing and caused me to crave him all over again.
And then there was a video, and my knees felt shaky as I let myself sink to the edge of the bed to watch it.
I could hear my harsh breathing through the speaker, followed by his deep grunts. There was the distant sound of chatter just around the corner from the alcove we were in.
At first, all of it was like watching my very own porno. But then he rotated the camera, so it was facing him. His mask was still pushed above his lips. He stared right at the screen, a cocky smirk gracing his lips.
Then he lifted the leather, fully showing me his face, and winked.
God, he was even more gorgeous than I could’ve imagined.
The video ended at that moment, his mask up, his face on full display and frozen in time. But I knew he must’ve pulled it back into place quickly and dropped my phone onto my purse, since our fucking went on long after that point, and that’s where I found my cell when I collected myself when we were finished. Although his identity was no longer hidden, I didn’t know who he was, but he… looked familiar.
I didn’t know what possessed me to bring up the company website or click on the staff directory, but it was when I got to the webpage that listed the names, titles, positions, and photos of all who worked at the company that I sucked in a breath.
My heart jumped into my throat, and I had to bite my tongue to stifle the sound that was about to leave me.
Right there, dead center, at the very top of the list, staring back at me with a stoic expression that roared authority and power, was Anthony Blackwell.
CEO.
Owner of the company.
Multimillionaire.
And the man I slept with the previous night.
As if my body wanted to remind me of what I’d done, my pussy started to throb, and I found myself placing my fingers right over the sensitive area, still remembering how it felt when he was deep inside me.
The phone slipped from my fingers and fell to the mattress beside me. Good God. I fucked the boss.
I was staring at the wall, when my phone started ringing again. With my eyes closed and a groan spilling from my lips, I grabbed the cell and answered, knowing it was my mother.
“Hi, Mom.”
“What’s wrong?” she asked, the sound of pots and pans banging coming through the line so loudly I winced and rubbed my eyes.
I held in the groan this time and fell back on the bed, the water already dried on my body, the towel loose as I flopped back like a dead fish. “I’m fine. I just drank too much at the company party last night and have a headache now.”
She tsked but didn’t comment on it. “Listen, your father asked for lasagna for dinner. You okay with that? I’m making tiramisu for dessert, and he grabbed some of that homemade garlic bread from the bakery in town.”
“It all sounds great, Mom.”
“Dammit,” she cursed.
“You okay?”
“The steam off the noodles is hot as hell.”
I chuckled, picturing her pouring out the pasta water and a cloud of steam rolling up. She never learned. I remembered her in this same situation plenty of times growing up.
“Don’t say it,” she said, and I heard her smile.
“I wasn’t going to.”
She started laughing, and I heard my dad in the background shouting, most likely about something on the television.
