I wriggled out of Zach’s touch, speed-walking out of his closet like my ass was on fire.
I’d never been anything other than brave, but listening to my hotter than Hades boss tell me he planned to screw my brains out so he could overcome some mysterious trauma and be with someone else was well above my paygrade.
What the hell?
I mean, seriously, what in the actual hell?
The worst part was, my upper thighs were sticky, dripping with need for him. My face flushed, sweltering with desire. My skin tight and tingly and begging to be touched.
Empty.
I felt empty, more than anything else.
Bracing a hand along the corridor wall, I struggled to walk straight. My stomach had dropped when the pad of his finger met my cheek, and that empty, warm feeling nestled in my core, begging to be unknotted.
I needed a release.
Now.
Dazed, I reached for the nearest door and shoved it open, stumbling inside. I pressed it shut, gluing my back to the cool wood and closing my eyes.
I tried to regulate my breaths.
The elegant tinge of Christian Dior candles and general cleanness prickled my nose.
Focus, Fae.
My eyelids fluttered open. I examined my surroundings, realizing I’d entered Zach’s art library.
Unlike the ones in his office, pieces of art adorned every inch of the wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling maple shelves. Sculptures, paintings, ancient jewelry, and first editions.
Unfortunately, neither the Brancusi sculpture nor the first-edition Alice in Wonderland hardcover stopped my traitorous body from rioting.
My disloyal clit throbbed, demanding to be touched, tugged, and massaged.
I’d had enough.
You need to take care of this before you return to work.
I twisted the lock, jiggled it three times to double check, and shuffled to the far corner of the library, rushed by the slickness between my legs soaking my panties.
Maybe I should’ve felt bad about desecrating Zach’s antique library, but maybe he shouldn’t have indirectly called my pussy his cure.
The shelves rattled behind me as I pushed my back against it, toppling a handwritten, limited-edition textbook from the Renaissance.
I scooted down to the carpet, pulse whooshing between my ears. “One last chance to stop this madness, Fae.”
Too late.
My knees fell open of their own accord.
Tiny sprinkles of blood peppered my thighs like freckles. I probably should’ve been more concerned about the mess I’d abandoned with the Bretts.
There could even be police downstairs.
But I wasn’t.
My pulse hummed inside my core as I reached between my legs and pushed aside my cotton panties, dipping my fingers inside myself.
Normally, I went straight for the clit, but I’d never felt so empty in my entire life. Both fingers I slid inside met no resistance as they thrust into my soaking pussy.
God, my fingers alone wouldn’t do.
I shook my head. Desperate tears stained the corners of my eyes. I surveyed my surroundings, halting on a thick cigar holder.
Scooting all the way to the desk, I grabbed it and crawled back into place, sticking it inside me as I began massaging my clit.
A shudder ripped through me. I felt filled, charged, eager to combust. It made no sense. The cigar holder was metal. Freezing to the touch.
And still.
Still.
Maybe because it was Zach’s cigar holder. In Zach’s library. In Zach’s mansion. But I could feel him all around me, hovering above me, whispering filthy things into my ear.
The ache between my legs intensified. I knew whatever happened here would never measure up to what I really wanted.
Zach. Pushing me against the Go board.
Me splayed over it, the stones digging into my back, denting my sensitive skin as he trails his mouth down my body, his head disappearing between my thighs.
My fingers sped up against my clit. I shifted, bucking my ass up to angle the cigar holder until it hit my G-spot.
“Oh, God.” My back arched like a rainbow. “Yes.”
I rode the cigar holder, my thighs straining, burning, desperate for more friction.
Voices carried into the library from outside the door. Oliver laughing. Dallas hollering something. Romeo placating her.
But I’d checked out, lost inside my own head. In another world.
Zach devouring my pussy until I come all over his tongue. Flipping me onto my belly after I’m spent, teasing his shaft along the slit of my ass before entering me from behind.
My breath caught, the pressure between my legs building. I whimpered, painting desperate circles around my clit.
Pinching. Teasing. Flicking.
His name fell from my lips like a chant. “Zach, Zach, Zach.”
It wasn’t enough.
I spread myself wider, pushing and pulling the cigar holder inside me while I worked the bundle of nerves between my legs with my other hand.
The night breeze caressed my nipples, sailing in from the open window. They pebbled beneath the current. I pretended it was Zach’s breath, tormenting me, demanding I submit to him.
“Make me come.” My walls clenched around the thick cigar holder, desperate, begging for a release. “Please, Zach.”
Please, please, please.
The voices outside the door grew louder. Merrier. It didn’t matter. My muscles tightened, pulsing to the symphony inside me.
Oliver stood right outside the door now, bellowing nonstop. Dallas’ laughter rolled inside.
Had they decided to take a spontaneous tour right when I thought it would be a good idea to get myself off? Just my luck.
And still, I didn’t stop.
Forever stubborn, I doubled down, forcing my entire fist inside my mouth to stifle a cry as I rode the cigar holder like a wave.
I clamped my teeth around my knuckles, hips bucking back and forth. Pleasure flared through every fiber of my body like wildfire, each cell catching heat.
I screamed Zach’s name into my fist, the word coming out garbled and raw.
After I finished coming, I slumped against the shelves, panting, spent, and utterly boneless. I tried catching my breath as the voices drifting from the hallway grew louder.
“…the hell are they?” Dallas clucked her tongue. “That he sliced the bastard, I can understand. Relate to, even. But he needs to answer his lawyer’s questions.”
Footsteps echoed down the corridor.
“The Bretts and Jasper just left.” That came from Romeo, his voice flat. Almost bored. “Signed all the waivers and NDAs Zach’s lawyer shoved down their throats. He’s in the clear.” A beat. “Speaking of NDAs…”
“I know, I know.” Oliver sighed. “First rule of Fight Club. Do not covet thy best friend’s banging hot wife.”
“Oliver.”
“I’m offended you’d think I’d narc.”
“I’m offended you think I’m dumb enough to trust you after a bottle of Clase Azul.”
“I’m offended that you’re offended that…”
Their footsteps continued, clicking further from the library. Meanwhile, I remained frozen, legs still open, not daring to exhale.
A gust of cold wind licked at my entrance.
Finally, when the quiet persisted for a solid minute, I released the breath.
Get up, you reckless idiot. Clean yourself. Chuck that cigar holder out the window.
Come to your freaking senses, Farrow Ballantine.
“Farrow.”
It took me a moment to realize my name hadn’t come from inside my head. Zach’s husky voice bounced off the walls, sounding extra robotic this time.
My eyes snapped open.
They immediately darted to the corners of the ceiling. Sure enough, on the one diagonal, a camera hung from above.
Pointed directly at me.
Oh my God.
He saw me masturbating in his house.
He saw my pussy wide open.
My fingers playing with it.
The cigar holder.
The cigar holder, the cigar holder, the cigar holder.
I wanted to combust right there and then.
But I refused to appear humiliated.
I cleared my throat and smiled to the camera. “Yes?”
“Are you finished contaminating my library?” It came out matter-of-fact. Unfazed and unaffected.
Suddenly, it drove me mad that he hadn’t busted into the room as soon as he saw me spread my legs. Didn’t throw me against the window and fuck me raw.
I slumped against the laden shelves, keeping my legs open. “Pretty much.”
I knew he could still see everything.
My swollen clit. My pink folds. The juices running down my thighs, onto his carpet. The residual blood from Brett’s finger painting messy strokes on my thighs.
But I refused to show him weakness.
“What about the room turned you on, exactly? Was it the Dostoevsky and Murakami hardcovers or the Degas paintings?”
I flicked a bang away from my forehead. “It was mainly the absence of you.”
He chuckled on the other end of the intercom. A static noise that still managed to drip into my gut.
I dusted off my hands. “Are we done with the chitchat?”
I wanted to stand up and clean myself. Then, obviously, slink under a rock and spend the rest of my life mortified by what happened.
“Almost.” Silence. And then, “Suck your fingers.”
I wanted to defy him. To deny him. But…
I also wanted to do this for myself. My nipples had already pebbled again, my body springing to attention at his husky command.
I turned my head to grin at the camera. “Ask nicely.”
He paused, considering it. “Kindly shove your fingers into your mouth and taste what my mere existence does to you.”
“Cocky much?”
“Much. And all of it, root to tip, is about to fill your pussy, ass, and mouth. Soon.”
A tremor of eagerness and euphoria rolled through me. I wanted that. I wanted that more than anything else in the world in this moment.
I circled my nipple with my wet finger. “Do you think you’re capable of touching me?”
Another beat of silence.
He answered, firm, “I know I can.”
Slowly, I raised my fingers to my mouth and sucked, gaze still trained on the camera.
“Taste good?” It came out thick. Strained. Barely controlled.
“You have no idea.”
I smirked, pulling my knees together and shimmying my ruined panties off. The dress tumbled down my legs when I rose to my feet.
I crouched, collecting the panties and cigar holder, about to tuck them both into my uniform pocket.
“Tsk, tsk.” Something like a dark chuckle rumbled through the speakers. “No stealing, Little Octopus. This is your second strike. Shall I put up signs in each room to remind you of the rules?”
I scowled to the camera. “It’s a cheap cigar holder.”
I’d reached a new low. Standing in an empty room, talking to the boss I wanted to climb like a tree.
And yet, somehow, it felt like a high.
“It’s mine nonetheless.”
“I’ll buy you another.”
“I’m afraid this one is utterly irreplaceable.”
“You’re just pulling at my leg at this point.”
“Sweetheart, I want to do so much more if you’d just let me.” He paused. Something like a hoarse chuckle tickled my ears.
I crossed my arms. “What now?”
“It’s not a cheap cigar holder.”
“How expensive can it be?”
“It’s not about the price. It’s about the history.”
I resisted the urge to slink into the shadows, finally processing all the antiques this room held.
“What?” I flipped my hair over one shoulder. “Did Winston Churchill own it?”
“Close. Thomas Jefferson. He held it in his other hand as he signed the Declaration of Independence.”
Well, fuck.
No way could I ever fix an oopsie that big. No point in trying.
With more confidence than I expected, I sauntered to an empty display case, popped off the lid, and tucked the cigar holder inside, along with my panties.
I pivoted to the camera, arching a brow. “Happy?”
“Only after you’re sprawled on top of my Go board, creaming on my cock. The invitation remains open.”
“Are you hard?” I croaked.
“No,” came his instant reply.
“You’re a liar.”
I strode to the door, wondering if he was.
Maybe I wasn’t his type. Maybe he just got off seeing me masturbate but didn’t want to touch me. Maybe he always did this. Hired girls as the help and toyed with them.
What did I know about this man?
Only the dry facts delivered to me by Wikipedia.
His voice tickled the backs of my ears as I walked away.
“Maybe, but you can’t handle my truth.”
