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Fuck.
Jesus.
Fuck.
My heart pounded like I’d just crossed the finish line of a marathon in first place. I closed my eyes, wishing Reese were with me to lick every last drop of cum from my hand and stomach.
Soon.
Very soon.
Instead, I rubbed my cum into her panties. It was the perfect way to clean up and Monday she would wear them. My dirty little pet would wear the evidence of my desire. I knew it would make her run to the bathroom and seek her own release. The very thought made me hard again.
Chapter Seven
Reese
Today was the Mondayist of Mondays that had ever Mondayd. I’d never had a more frustrating weekend in my life. Every few minutes, I’d checked my phone to see if it was working—it was. Kane had made zero contact. But what was I expecting? For him to call me up and beg me to come see him because he couldn’t live without me? Had I expected him to declare his never-ending love for me?
Puh-lease. I’m not dumb.
And why would he do that? Because I’d finger fucked myself in a public restroom in front of him? I bet women did things like that for him all the time. What had happened between us might never happen again, and I had to accept that.
It was a few moments of pure, erotic madness, but those few moments would give me aftershocks for the rest of my life. And, who knew, maybe Friday night was the beginning of my bad luck turning a corner. I reached up and pressed my hand against my necklace. The points of the star bit into my fingertips in a comforting way. The only time I’d taken it off over the weekend was to shower. It was now my official good luck charm.
With my gloved hand wrapped around my daily venti white chocolate mocha, I stamped my feet against the pavement outside of McKenzie Technologies on Park Avenue to ward off the cold. Early Fall in Manhattan had always been my favorite time of year. There was a crisp chill in the air, and the trees were in the process of turning pretty colors.
I tilted my head back and examined the glass-fronted building. The penthouse office—Kane’s office—was fifty-four stories up and was somewhere I was curious to visit. From what I’d heard, the top floor looked like a luxurious hotel lobby.
Was he up there watching me, waiting for me? Had he spent the past forty-eight hours obsessing about me the way I’d obsessed about him? Had he jerked off using my panties like he’d said he would, and would they be waiting for me when I reached my cubicle?
I’d never masturbated more in my life than I had over the past two days. And every time I had, I’d mentally replayed what had happened between us in the restroom. My overactive imagination adding spicier details every time.
I couldn’t wait to see what this week brought—if anything. The anticipation of what was to potentially come had left me acting like a jittery, lovesick tween. After showering this morning, I’d drawn hearts through the condensation on my bathroom mirror, but then I wiped them away and told myself to grow up. I was twenty-nine, not nineteen.
I sighed and forced myself to stop gaping at the top floor like a drooling buffoon and headed towards the building. My mundane life would stay on the same mundane path it always had. Today, like every day, I’d go to my cubicle and crunch numbers.
As much as I fantasized about being Kane’s office pet, he wasn’t going to give me an office right beside his so he could fuck me whenever he wanted too. And nor was he going to have a special pet cage in his office to lock me in if I was a naughty girl. And, besides, I still wasn’t sure what being his office pet entailed, plus he could have changed his mind over the weekend. Someone with Kane’s status could have any woman he wanted, so why would he want me?
There was more to worry about than Kane summoning me to his office. Simon had friends at McKenzie’s, and I was sure he’d already whispered in a few people’s ears despite being warned to keep his mouth shut. I so didn’t want to deal with the backlash and office gossip, but there was nothing I could do about it. Time had taught me I couldn’t control people’s words, thoughts, or opinions.
On Saturday morning, I’d filed a police report about the incident at the art gallery. Yesterday, the female detective I’d spoken to had called to inform me that Simon had left the country but as soon as he set foot on American soil again, he’d be brought in for questioning. I didn’t hold out much hope of any charges being brought, but I felt better knowing the police were now aware of him.
