forcing her hips up and down, watching her tits bounce an inch from my face as her back arches and her desperate gasps grow louder and louder . . . I move my hand faster, gritting my teeth now, right at the brink.
That’s when the bathroom door—the other one, the one I didn’t even think to lock—flies open.
Thirteen
Chloe
F uck . Fuck fuck fuck.
I perch on the edge of my bed, silent, my eyes shut tight. Maybe I can just pretend that never happened. Maybe the next time I sit down in the video room beside my colleague, he’ll pretend I didn’t just almost fucking kiss him . After shaking my ass at him for a minute solid.
What the hell was I thinking?
But we’d been watching those videos for an hour, laughing and joking at Suzie’s antics. And the last one was so over-the-top that I couldn’t resist pointing it out. It had started as a joke, but then I started dancing, and I felt his eyes on me, and I could literally feel them. I never knew what people meant when they said that until now.
It felt like his hands all over me, running down my waist, squeezing my ass. It felt like his hot skin on mine. It felt like a step away from fucking, and we weren’t even touching, only looking at one another.
I am so screwed. And not in a good way. Even if he would probably screw me in the best possible way, if I asked him. I’m pretty sure the man knows his way around a bedroom. Or a few hundred bedrooms, most likely.
What is wrong with me? This is the office manwhore we’re talking about. The guy who, according to Martha, has hooked up with at least a dozen of the women we work with. Probably more that I never heard about, because some people at least know how to keep their mouths shut.
But this stupid, burning desire isn’t going away. If anything, it’s getting worse every day. Ever since my first wet dream about him, he’s been showing up in my head every night. Making me gasp and moan and come every fucking time.
But the Max in my brain and the Max downstairs are two very different people. One is a fantasy, and one is a disaster waiting to hit me like a freight train.
I take a deep breath and let my eyes wander to the window out over the fields behind Suzie’s house. It’s late afternoon already, the sun tinting the leaves above my skylight golden bronze. Through the window, the fields seem to stretch on forever, already a rich gold color from autumn. I wonder what grows out there, past the leafy forest that surrounds the house.
Maybe I should go out and take a walk. The fresh air might do me good. Screw my head back on straight.
Except I’m still vibrating with suppressed energy from earlier. My pulse keeps thundering through my veins every time I let myself remember what happened, our bodies so close, almost touching, his head tilted as he stared down at me, bending over me, eyes intent on mine. I could smell his breath, peppermint fresh, and hot against my forehead. And those eyes, dark, deep green, the same color as the paint in his room. It reminds me of the jungle, of the wilderness. They’re wild, those eyes of his.
And hungry, when they fixed on mine.
Of course, mine probably looked the same. I can’t even look at him without wanting to tear his shirt from his body and run my hands over his sculpted muscles. I want to reach between his legs and grab his thick cock. I’m so desperate to feel that cock inside me that I’m already soaking through this pair of panties.
Never mind the walk idea. I need a shower first. A long, cold shower.
And, okay, maybe I need to rub it out a couple times while I’m in there.
I toss my phone aside. I never even bothered to refresh my email. There’s no way I could concentrate on anything I’d need to say right now. I abandon it on the comforter and pad across the room to press my ear to the door that leads out to the hallway. There’s no sound outside it.
Good. He’s probably still downstairs, on the other side of the house, buried in the videos
That’s when the bathroom door—the other one, the one I didn’t even think to lock—flies open.
Thirteen
Chloe
F uck . Fuck fuck fuck.
I perch on the edge of my bed, silent, my eyes shut tight. Maybe I can just pretend that never happened. Maybe the next time I sit down in the video room beside my colleague, he’ll pretend I didn’t just almost fucking kiss him . After shaking my ass at him for a minute solid.
What the hell was I thinking?
But we’d been watching those videos for an hour, laughing and joking at Suzie’s antics. And the last one was so over-the-top that I couldn’t resist pointing it out. It had started as a joke, but then I started dancing, and I felt his eyes on me, and I could literally feel them. I never knew what people meant when they said that until now.
It felt like his hands all over me, running down my waist, squeezing my ass. It felt like his hot skin on mine. It felt like a step away from fucking, and we weren’t even touching, only looking at one another.
I am so screwed. And not in a good way. Even if he would probably screw me in the best possible way, if I asked him. I’m pretty sure the man knows his way around a bedroom. Or a few hundred bedrooms, most likely.
What is wrong with me? This is the office manwhore we’re talking about. The guy who, according to Martha, has hooked up with at least a dozen of the women we work with. Probably more that I never heard about, because some people at least know how to keep their mouths shut.
But this stupid, burning desire isn’t going away. If anything, it’s getting worse every day. Ever since my first wet dream about him, he’s been showing up in my head every night. Making me gasp and moan and come every fucking time.
But the Max in my brain and the Max downstairs are two very different people. One is a fantasy, and one is a disaster waiting to hit me like a freight train.
I take a deep breath and let my eyes wander to the window out over the fields behind Suzie’s house. It’s late afternoon already, the sun tinting the leaves above my skylight golden bronze. Through the window, the fields seem to stretch on forever, already a rich gold color from autumn. I wonder what grows out there, past the leafy forest that surrounds the house.
Maybe I should go out and take a walk. The fresh air might do me good. Screw my head back on straight.
Except I’m still vibrating with suppressed energy from earlier. My pulse keeps thundering through my veins every time I let myself remember what happened, our bodies so close, almost touching, his head tilted as he stared down at me, bending over me, eyes intent on mine. I could smell his breath, peppermint fresh, and hot against my forehead. And those eyes, dark, deep green, the same color as the paint in his room. It reminds me of the jungle, of the wilderness. They’re wild, those eyes of his.
And hungry, when they fixed on mine.
Of course, mine probably looked the same. I can’t even look at him without wanting to tear his shirt from his body and run my hands over his sculpted muscles. I want to reach between his legs and grab his thick cock. I’m so desperate to feel that cock inside me that I’m already soaking through this pair of panties.
Never mind the walk idea. I need a shower first. A long, cold shower.
And, okay, maybe I need to rub it out a couple times while I’m in there.
I toss my phone aside. I never even bothered to refresh my email. There’s no way I could concentrate on anything I’d need to say right now. I abandon it on the comforter and pad across the room to press my ear to the door that leads out to the hallway. There’s no sound outside it.
Good. He’s probably still downstairs, on the other side of the house, buried in the videos
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