Page 27 of Painted Truths

They couldn't possibly have. It's only been a couple of hours.

Edging my way past the elevator, I pop my head around the reception area. My eyes are blown wide as I spot several large glass offices, unlike anything I'd seen previously.

Tiptoeing past these huge glass boxes, I can see they are laid out like meeting rooms with oversized dark wooden tables surrounded by a handful of black chairs on all sides. The view beyond the meeting rooms is spectacular. I can see so much of the city lit up with the moon full and high in the sky above.

I cringe, realising that I must have hit the button for 26 instead of my own 25 and slowly begin to walk back the way I'd come.

Until I hear a large crash followed by a woman's scream.

My heart skips a beat and my mouth goes drier than the Sahara as my alcohol addled brain struggles to catch up with my body’s natural reaction.

Why, oh why, did I ever come back here tonight? I'm going to die a virgin.

My stupid do-gooder side makes leaving without checking the floor for signs of distress impossible.

Damn you, the virgin martyr Olivia.

So instead of running like I know I should, I quietly dash into the nearest meeting room, grab the phone in the centre of the desk, and dial 0 for security, only to be met with an automated message to hold the line.

What the actual fuck?

Hanging up, I scream internally as I look down at my trembling hands. I can hear my blood pounding through my veins, the sound drowning out everything else and almost deafening me in its vigour.

Even so, I opt to take my chances, which I would later realise was the margaritas talking.

Glancing around to survey my surroundings in the hopes of finding a weapon, there's nothing free-standing in the area small enough to carry with me. Until I look down, squinting my eyes as my shoes come into view.

Gives a whole new meaning to killer heels.

Slipping them from my feet, I pick them up, slide one into my discarded handbag, and then grip the sole of the other one with the heel facing forward. I feel minutely less scared until my delusion is shattered when I catch sight of myself in the windows, and the absurdity of the situation alongside how asinine I look is almost enough to set me off.

Smothering a giggle, I make my way into the main office area and, on bare, silent feet, walk in the general direction the noises had come from. I peer anxiously into each meeting room I come upon, and having passed the sixth and final one, which is as empty as the first five, I'm beginning to doubt whether I heard anything in the first place.

A closed door lies at the furthest end of the space, which also has glass walls, but as I edge closer, I discern the internal shades must be drawn. There's a tiny sliver of light coming from under the door, and, as though magnetised, my feet are drawn ever closer.

I palm the door handle with the killer stiletto raised higher over my shoulder, ready to attack whatever lurks within. I don't know whether to be pleased or discomfited by the discovery that it isn't fully closed.

The thought that someone may be hurt just beyond this door spurs me on, so I gently push the door inward.

An oversized desk similar to the boardroom tables and a substantial throne-like desk chair take up the centre of the room. Beyond, the London skyline lights up the night sky as far as the eye can see, and I notice a lamp in the far-left corner, which must have been the light I'd seen from under the doorway.

I'm just about to turn and leave, when movement from the opposite side of the room catches my eye. Cautiously, I peer around the door's edge to be met with the object of the noise.

An oversized black couch is right there against the wall that runs parallel to the now open door behind which I stand. Lying stretched out and buck naked along this couch is none other than Andrea.

Her pale skin is shockingly bright against the dark furniture, as is her flame-red hair. She has her head draped over the arm of the sofa as a very tall man in a black suit holds it in place with his palms on either side of her face while he drives his hardness ruthlessly into her open, dripping wet mouth.

His thrusts get more forceful, and he holds his length in place for several seconds at a time, his mussed dark hair hanging over his face as he watches while she gags around him.

My eyes widen, and my core clenches when, to my utmost shame, I feel a rush of warmth between my legs as he leans forward and pinches her red, pointed nipple. Her body arches, thrusting her breasts forward, almost searching for more, before he grabs her hand in his much larger one and brings their joined fingers down to her glistening sex.

"Make this pussy weep for me, Andi."

I feel my nostrils flare at the rasp in his voice, and I can't make myself look away as he pulls back his hand. Andrea begins to touch herself, gently at first, but picking up speed as she rocks her own pelvis to match the tempo of the hips pumping into her mouth.

She trembles and shake, her movements faltering as he pounds with even more ferocity until she arches her hips into her own hand in desperation. I can hear the muted screams of her muffled orgasm wash over her in waves.

Just as her body comes back down, he groans loudly, throwing his head back and revealing his face for the first time.