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Sam arched off the bed as she found the button on the vibrator that took it to maximum rhythm, her body ready to channel all that pressure into an explosive climax. She gripped Chris's pillow, covering her face and chest with it. As she inhaled his scent along with Geoff's all around her, the cotton slid against her face and breasts, exposed by the lace bra. Geoff's mattress gave beneath her as her hips rose, fell.
"Yes . . . yes . . . please . . ." She went over the edge begging to give them anything they wanted from her. She just needed to be taken, overwhelmed, loved so completely by them that she'd never want anything more.
As the climax ebbed away, that vague sense of shame that always seemed to accompany the self-indulgence of an electronic climax dug its claws into her. This time it brought an extra twinge, since she'd done it on Geoff's bed and screamed her release into Chris's pillow. She'd put a towel beneath herself, so she wasn't worried about the honey trickling down her labia and between her thighs, but a part of her wished she hadn't used a towel, that she'd put Chris's pillow between her legs instead, so her scent could be on their bedding.
Now she was being fanciful. Men weren't German shepherds, able to separate the scent of a woman's arousal from that of laundry detergent and their own bodies. Still, she wondered if either of them would subconsciously recognize it and have erotic dreams about her like she was having about them.
Once she recovered her breath, she reluctantly left Geoff's bed, straightening the comforter. Going into the bathroom she and Chris shared, she cleaned the vibrator and tucked it away in her bedroom. That should hold her for about half an hour.
Rolling her eyes at herself, she changed into her yoga clothes. She wasn't going to hang around here for the next couple of hours losing her mind. Yoga would center her. She hoped.
She picked up the grocery list on the way out the door. She'd hit Whole Foods and Harris Teeter on her way home. Life went on, no matter her hormones, or the stubbornness of one particular Type A, sexy-as-hell lawyer.
***
When she returned, she saw Geoff's car in the driveway. Her stomach made a little leap. Since he was home at a reasonable hour, they might be able to talk about this weekend . . . or not talk at all, in the right kind of way. If he didn't have work to do tonight.
He was sitting at the table with his laptop, but she didn't take that as a bad sign. He tended to check on details when he first arrived home, even if he wasn't planning to work through the evening. However, his dark-cloud expression wasn't encouraging.
"Hey," she said, putting the groceries down on the counter. "I'd ask how your day was, but . . ."
He shot her a look full of irritation. "Sarah's son was having an I'm winning an award for being totally mediocre ceremony today, probably the fifth one this year. But of course she couldn't miss it, for fear she'd permanently damage the little mutant's self-esteem. So she took care of the senior partners' stuff and blew mine off. She didn't assign it to another admin, and I didn't know until I was heading out the door. I have about three things to review tonight, and now I have to type up my brief, because it has to be ready first thing in the morning, and we all know I'm a crappy typist."
He paused for a breath, glaring. Sam tried not to smile, but he targeted the twitch of her lips in an instant. "Don't you dare snicker."
"I can't help it. 'Little mutant'? It's safe to say they're not putting you in charge of HR policy anytime soon."
"No, we couldn't have that. People actually doing their jobs instead of personal bullshit on the company's dime. Being deathly sick or having a close relative die, like a mother or spouse, are the only acceptable reasons to not have your ass at your job. And attending the funeral is only permitted if you had a documented, proven close relationship with said mother or spouse. Stop laughing."
"I will. Let me just imagine something to compose myself. Um . . . mucus, pus. Starving children in Africa."
His lips gave a telltale quiver. "I'm going to beat you," he said.
Promise? She barely managed to bite back the word, but his expression reflected something less definable and more intriguing than work-related annoyance, suggesting it had shown on her face.
Clearing her throat, she turned her attention to putting away the groceries. "I'm pretty open tonight. I'll type up your brief while you review the other stuff, and then maybe you'll have some time to relax." Please, God.
"I'm not asking you to do my work, Sam. You've already put in a full day."
"You're not asking. I'm volunteering. Let me just go get changed and I'
ll get started."
She went down the hallway to strip off her yoga clothes and clean up, smiling a little as she heard him muttering to himself, still venting. Nothing bugged Geoff like unprofessionalism, but his sarcastic wit made his rants as entertaining as stand-up.
Professionalism . . . She stopped in the middle of pulling out jeans and a T-shirt. If the three things he had to review weren't that long, and she typed up his brief fast enough, it wouldn't take until bedtime. Why not give him a little push, or yank, whatever, as part of his work? Nothing was likely to get his attention faster.
She went to her closet. As she made her decision, her cheeks heated and anticipation curled in her belly. Did she dare?
A few minutes later, she tapped back up the hallway. Geoff had already started to read one of his files, but he'd placed his recorder and the earbuds by her laptop on its portable computer table, so he'd quickly reconciled himself to her help. Typical man. She hid a smile.
The sound of her shoes was enough to have him lifting his head. A tiny ripple of panic, a quaking in her lower extremities, had her wondering if she was about to act like a complete fool, making things awkward for them both, but that all depended on how she played this, didn't it? Madison, the Naughty Bits proprietress, had talked to her about role-playing, about how much fun that could be, and both men had perked up when Sam had considered a naughty version of a schoolgirl uniform. She hadn't bought it, but the interest had definitely been there.
The stilettos she was wearing gave her hips a sultry sway as she moved from the hallway to the kitchen. The extremely short black microskirt was one she hadn't worn since college, when she'd gone out to dance clubs with friends, and even then she usually put a pair of tights beneath it for modesty. She hadn't done that tonight. She hadn't put anything under it at all.
She also hadn't worn a bra under the pale yellow blouse she'd worn to work today. She had the top two buttons undone, which would give him a glimpse of the curve of her breast almost to the nipple if she sat in profile to him, which she fully intended to do.
Meeting his blank gaze, she took advantage of that brief moment of shock. "Sarah had to take her little mutant to his Mediocrity Ceremony, Mr. Tywin," she said smoothly. "But she said I would be able to meet your needs. I'll just be over here, typing up your brief. Let me know if there's anything else I can do for you."
