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His voice snapped me out of my reverie, sending me into the land of reality.
What the fuck am I doing?
I took a step back.
Then another.
The backs of my knees hit an office chair, and I stumbled backward, the impossibly tight pencil skirt of my short dress rising up and tearing as my panty-clad ass fell onto the chair.
“That works, too.” He let out a soft, amused laugh, causing humiliation and lust to surge through my veins.
I hated whoever made him this jaded that he couldn’t treat me with the decency any other person would give me.
You have two legs and can walk right out of here, but you’re not. You want to see this.
I couldn’t even process where these thoughts were coming from as Bastian groaned in front of me. His hand formed a fist around the base of his cock. He thrust forward, shamelessly fucking his hand.
His eyes fixated on the space between my thighs, no doubt noticing the wet spot on my white panties.
I hastened to get up and away from him, but he was coming, and I couldn’t pull my eyes away as he shot thick ropes of cum onto his empty desk.
His eyes closed, and for a split second, bliss colored his handsome features. This was the most peaceful I had ever seen him. The most approachable, too.
But when he was done, his face sobered.
His eyes opened and landed on mine with eerie precision, and I knew I wouldn’t like what he was going to say.
“The fuck are you still doing here?”
“How are you feeling?”
Appalled.
Furious.
Like a pawn in everyone’s life—Bastian’s, Wilks’, Ariana De Luca’s.
I still didn’t feel like I had an identity. Not with all my past covers muddling my mind and my current legend assuming my real self.
I said none of these things as I sat in Dr. Jennifer Clemson’s office, a fancy building in the better part of Manhattan.
She used this office for her non-FBI clientele, though she saw her FBI clients in another office outside the FBI building. It was what made her the perfect debrief shrink for legends.
FBI shrinks were a lot like plastic display fruit. Like the fake fruit, I came to these meetings to keep up appearances, but I’d never actually bit into them.
I could pretend, but the effort and energy could be better spent on maintaining my legend, so I didn’t bother.
I arched a brow, pasting indifference on my face as I curled my toes to release my frustration.
“How do you think I’m feeling, Doc?”
I’d been putting this meeting off for a reason. The overload of frustration I felt near Bastian only strengthened my resolve to avoid Jenn.
My best friend. My therapist.
A conflict of interest, you’d think, but she was a consummate professional. And she could always see past my carefully-crafted barriers.
She leaned back in her seat, relaxing her posture. “Confrontational.”
