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I had to leave.
This was wrong. Wrong, wrong,wrong. I had no business standing here watching my boss get himself off in the shower. If he turned and—
He was looking at me with wide eyes. His lips moved, and I vaguely heard him say my name, and I stumbled back into the sink.
“I didn’t see anything!” I shouted, shoving away from the sinks and running out of the bathroom. I dropped my towels on the way into my room and slammed the door behind me, quickly twisting the lock and throwing myself onto the bed as if it’d overwrite what I’d just seen.
Oh, God. Oh, God.
I was in so much trouble.
Why hadn’t I left the moment I’d realised he was in the shower? Why had I stood there watching him touch himself?
Why was he touching himself in that shower? What was wrong with his own bathroom? He knew I always took a bath after doing yoga, so why was he in there?
I curled into a ball, removing my earbuds and clenching my legs together. There was nothing small or dull about the arousal I felt flooding my body, and the aching of my clit was almost unbearable.
No.
No.
No.
I could not be this turned on. Not by him.
“Chloe?” He knocked at my door. “What are—”
“Please leave,” I called back, clenching my legs even tighter together like it would stop the ache.
All it did was make it worse thanks to the seam of my yoga pants pressing against my clit.
“I’m embarrassed and need some time,” I said before he could argue. “I didn’t hear anything, and I didn’t see much, so don’t worry.”
He said nothing for a moment before finally, “All right. I’ll finish up and let you know when the bath is free.”
Finish up?
Finish?
What was he going to finish?
Washing his hair? Or his littleself-caresession?
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I rolled onto my back with my legs still squeezed tightly together and threw my arm over my eyes. Surely, he didn’t mean that he’d finish touching himself, did he? Maybe he did. He’d come in about halfway through my video and if he’d immediately gone to the shower then, perhaps he’d already washed himself, and—
What was I thinking?
This was not solving my downstairs problem. Thinking about him in the shower with the mental image I already had was doing nothing to calm the ache between my legs.
Did I really only have one option here?
It wasn’t like I could walk into the bathroom and be like, “Hey, I caught you touching yourself in the shower and it turned me on, do something about it, you bastard.”
I was pretty open-minded and forward sexually speaking, but there was no way I could say that.
Not to him.
