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She’d masturbate right here in her office.
So what if she hadn’t been able to orgasm by masturbating for years?
She’d been able to do it once before.
And she’dneverbeen this turned on.
Surely, the memory of his touch the night of the Masquerade Ball and all her interactions with him since had primed her enough that she could finally push past her own inhibitions and her body’s resistance to give her that ultimate pleasure.
There was only one way to find out.
She scrolled through the article until she found the nearly nude picture of the man who made her pulse race simply by breathing. Quickly, she unbuttoned her blouse until the panels of fabric spread apart and the chill of the air conditioner peaked her nipples.
She could almost imagine herself acting as the interviewer, questioning a nude Julian across the desk from her.
Let me clarify:have you ever failed to bring a woman to orgasm?
Never.
Was that really possible?she asked as a follow-up question.
Fuck yes, he’d respond.Let me prove it to you.
Arousal floodedbetween her legs as she imagined Julian’s gaze falling on her.
Skyler pulled each of her breasts from her lacey bra and imagined Julian’s pupils widening and heating with desire.
Her fingers skimmed down between her breasts and ran down the length of her fitted black pencil skirt; her eyes fluttered closed, and even as she hiked her skirt up to her upper thighs, she imagined it was him yanking it up, nearly ripping the skirt off her in his desperation to bare her.
She cupped one breast while sliding one hand along her inner thigh to tease her already wet lace panties.
He’s not even here, and he’s giving me more pleasure than Rex ever did.
She was half naked, pleasuring herself in her office, and she’d never felt more aroused.
She bit her lip to hold back a gasp as she circled the pad of her thumb over her clit.
She was afraid she would draw blood because she was biting down so hard on her lip. But she had to bite her mouth closed or else she’d moan . . . she’d whimper . . . she’d lean her head back and scream.
She’d scream his name right here in her office.
Because she felt so goddamngood. She felt powerful and in control and strong and sexy and desirable.
Her desk chair creaked as she rolled her hips, and she no longer cared that someone passing outside her office might hear her. She gasped as she pinched her right nipple harder than she ever had before. The pain was delicious.
In her mind, Julian’s cock was hard and throbbing and leaking as he watched her bring herself closer and closer to the edge—so close it felt scary. She was his challenge, she was his obsession, and she was the only conquest he desired. The muscles along her thighs twitched, and the muscles along her stomach quivered as goosebumps covered her naked breasts.
Did her body consume his mind, his every thought?
Did he hear the honk of horns, the screech of tires, and the music of car stereos as he walked down the streets of New York City, or did he only hear her breath coming in short, desperate gasps?
Could he see anything but the swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the length of her long, pale legs?
Did he sleep soundly or stay up night after night, replaying that moment, again and again, that moment at the Masquerade Party where she’d pushed him away?
Where she’d taken what he’d wanted?
Where she deprived him of herself?
