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She found herself squeezing her thighs together, the throbbing ache between them almost unbearable. She’d gone through this night after night listening to these tapes, but this one seemed to be pushing her buttons even harder, the taboo topic and danger of it tapping into some reckless part of her. And all the emotion from earlier with Donovan channeled into the fantasy as she pictured him in the role of the man, her in the role of the captive.
Her body thrummed as the scene unfolded in her head, every part of her going sensitive, primed. Like one touch and she’d go off. She tried to stave off the desire, clamping her hands around the arms of the chair and breathing through the rush. But finally, as the man in the tape brought the woman to another orgasm using harsh fingers and filthy words, Marin couldn’t take it anymore and parted her knees. There was so much tension in her—from the crappy day, from her conversation with Donovan, and from this unmet desire she’d been fighting with all week. She couldn’t resist anymore. She needed the oblivion, some kind of release from it all. The air of the room felt cool on her inner thighs and she pressed a hand over the throbbing part of her through her shorts, giving just enough pressure to offer some relief.
She let out a soft gasp and slowly rocked her hand against herself, the simple move sending sharp, electric currents racing through her, making everything go heavy and tight. Her breasts felt fuller, her blood hotter, her pulse louder. Guilt weighed on her. Part of her knew she shouldn’t be doing this. She didn’t deserve this pleasure tonight. But the freight train was already chugging down the hill with no brakes. She dragged her fingers over the cotton of her shorts, trying to be discreet but not gentle.
Before long, she was so swept up in it and so close to falling over the edge that she didn’t hear the knock on her door when it came. She didn’t know she was no longer alone, that someone was watching. Then the earbuds were yanked out of her ears.
She nearly leapt out of her seat. Her hand flew away from her shorts and gripped the arm of the chair. The scent of clean soap and whiskey cascaded over her. Donovan.
“Mari?”
3
Then
Marin’s fingers went white against the chair arm. Please, please, don’t let him have seen what I was doing. The prayer was desperate, yearning. “Shit. You scared me half to death.”
She couldn’t turn around. Not yet. She was afraid the desire would show all over her face. She’d been seconds from orgasm. Her body screamed in protest, air soughing through her lungs as she tried to reel it all in and look cool and collected.
“I called your name and you didn’t hear me.” His voice was there again, close, but not on a recording this time. His breath was hot against her hair as he loomed behind her.
“Did you need something?” Her voice came out way too breathless, like rubber bands had been wrapped around her windpipe.
He was quiet for a few long seconds. “Are you . . .”
No. No. No. Her head started to shake.
“Mari . . . I saw.” The words were simple. Final. A guillotine.
Hope shattered into little fragments at her feet, raining down into a pool of humiliation. She switched into offense mode.
“Look, I caught you turned on once. Now you caught me. The script works. Hurrah. Make a note. Can we be grown-ups about it now?” She hoped the words sounded confident and brash even though she was trembling inside.
He was silent behind her.
“Did. You. Need. Something?” Her question came out sharp, pointed.
“I was bringing you something to drink. You forgot to take a soda with you.”
Be a grown-up, be a grown-up. She forced herself to swivel her chair around, to look unaffected. She took the Dr Pepper from him and set it on the desk. “Thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”
His gaze rolled over her, a slow, seeking perusal. Something dark and tense glinted in his eyes. “You didn’t get to finish.”
“I’m fine,” she bit out.
“You’re out of breath and . . .” His focus shifted down her body. “And wet.”
She glanced down. Saw the telltale spot announcing how turned on she was through the thin cotton of her shorts. Oh, shit. Oh, God. Oh, fuck. Mortification like none she’d ever experienced bled through her. Her thighs snapped together. “Can you please not make this worse with your analytics? Just let me be embarrassed in peace.”
His blue eyes met hers, the tired resignation from earlier gone and replaced with something she’d never seen before from him—intent. “Let me help.”
“What?”
“I made you a promise to keep things professional. I’ll keep that promise if you want me to.” He reached down and took the hand she’d been using on herself in his. He traced his thumb over her fingertips, setting the sensitive pads on fire. “But I fucking want you.”
Marin’s lips parted. He could’ve punched her in the face and she would’ve been less shocked.
“This week has been like the slowest, most painful kind of torture.” His voice was like a hypnotic song as he held her gaze. “When you drop off the files at the end of the night, you’re flushed and glassy-eyed. I can see how keyed up you are. I can almost scent it in the air.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Do you know what that does to me? Knowing you’re turned on by my words? My fantasies? And now to walk in and see you touching yourself over them? Fuck.”
