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I clamp my free palm over her mouth to muffle the moan that follows when she comes, dropping it when she retracts her teeth.
“Geez, that was intense.”
I free my pocket square, satisfied with myself. “I told you I ruled this body, didn’t I?”
“Oh my God, you’re horrible.” She adjusts her panties and smooths out her skirt. “Don’t think for a second that just because you performed some kind of magic voodoo on my vagina that I’m not still annoyed. We’ll continue this discussion later, not in a supply closet, and you will keep your fingers to yourself until we’re done talking.”
I don’t know what we still need to talk about, but I agree anyway. I open the door and check the hall before I usher her out. Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes have that glassy, sated look to them. I doubt that douche Lance or whatever his name is knows what orgasm afterglow looks like.
I close the door behind me and check to make sure my suit is in place. The lapels are a bit wrinkled, but nothing too obvious.
“I can’t believe you did that. What’s with you and the public fingering?” Cosy touches the back of her hand to her cheek. “I need to wash my hands and so you do.”
“I happen to like the smell of your orgasms.” I rub the fingers that were inside her over my lips and laugh at her horrified expression. She spins around and stalks down the hall, going in the wrong direction. “Bathrooms are the other way,” I call after her.
She stops, does an about-face, and glares at me as she passes. Once she’s finished washing her hands, I escort her down the hall in search of her group. “Here, you should take this, that way if you’re done before my afternoon meeting is over, you can meet me in the suite.”
She grabs the key card from me and shoves it quickly in her bag, eyes darting around to make sure no one sees her. We find her class in the kitchen. My intention is to drop her off and slip out undetected, but the door creaks, drawing everyone’s attention.
“Mr. Mills! Can I get you something? We have a lovely selection for lunch if you care to browse the menu.” Chef Emilee looks like her head is about to explode, probably because I generally don’t arrive in the kitchen without warning.
The entire room turns as a collective. Cosy cringes and sidesteps away from me, trying to blend into the group.
“I’m fine, thank you.” I smile and raise a hand in what I can only assume is an awkward wave. “Hello again, I hope you’re enjoying your tour. I’ll leave you to it, Emilee.”
I’m fully prepared to leave the kitchen without further addressing Cosy, but I chance a glance in her direction. The girl who was sitting beside her gives me the side-eye, as if she knows what happened in the supply closet. Cosy’s bright red face may be a tip-off. I can deal with her suspicion and Cosy being embarrassed.
But that clueless little punk gets right up in her personal space again and throws his arm over her shoulder. Cosy looks at his hand as if it’s some kind of poisonous spider and swats it away. “I’m not your armrest,” she murmurs.
Instead of backing off, he pulls her in closer. “Aw, come on, you’re the perfect height, and I need someone to lean on.”
“And I need you to stop touching me.”
He laughs, like it’s a joke.
What I want to do is punch the kid in his face for laying a finger on Cosy and ignoring her blatant attempts to get him to leave her alone. I also want to lay claim to her by doing something even more archaically possessive than finger-fucking her in a supply closet. However, I’m aware that she’s already pissed off at me for not expressly admitting I’m the heir to a multi-billion dollar empire, so I’m thinking that would only dig my hole deeper.
Instead, I pin the kid with a glare. “Lester, is it?”
His eyebrows pop, and he looks around, pointing to his own chest. “My name’s Landon, Mr. Mills. It’s so great to meet you, sir.”
I take a step in his direction, forcing him to drop his arm and step away from Cosy. I take his offered palm with the one I didn’t wash and attempt a polite smile as I put a hand on his shoulder and lean in close. “In the business world when you touch a woman the way you just did without her permission or an invitation, it’s called sexual harassment.” Consider me a hypocrite since I dragged the very same woman into a supply closet and told her I owned her pussy.
“We’re friends, s-sir,” he croaks.
I squeeze his hand harder than I need to. “It doesn’t give you a license to maul her, especially when she’s making it clear she would prefer it if you don’t touch her.”
