I met his eyes again. “The only one to what?”
He placed both feet on the floor then leaned forward on his seat, placing his elbows on my desk, his voice low when he spoke. “Being around you and not being able to…” He paused and dropped his gaze to my bust, his hand closing into a fist as a grunting sound rolled through his throat. “It’s torture. I’ve been hiding my hard-on all day.”
All I could do was breathe. Even that was a struggle with the way his eyes were searing into me. This was definitely not what I’d intended when I’d brought the subject up. We were supposed to agree anything between us was a bad idea and go our separate ways.
When he sat back, my eyes dropped to his pants where a decidedly impressive bulge proved his point. I swallowed hard. I knew exactly what that bulge looked like, how it felt inside me, what his arousal tasted like…I had to press my thighs together. “You’ve been acting so cool since this morning, I’d begun to think it was only me who was struggling,” he added.
“I’m trying to be professional.” My voice was little more than a breath past my lips.
“Take off your panties and give them to me.”
“What?” I shook my head, my eyes scanning the office floor to make sure no one was around to hear him. I knew the office was practically deserted at this time of day, but still. “No way.”
“Take them off and give them to me.” He leaned forward again and lowered his voice. “Or I’ll come around there and take them off you myself.” The determined look in his eyes told me he wasn’t joking.
“I can’t,” I gasped, my body trembling with both arousal and the fear of getting caught. I’d been wrong when I’d thought of him as a boy because of his age. There was nothing boyish about him. Brandon Sharp was pure testosterone and all man. He was so irresistible that I was actually entertaining the idea of handing over my undergarments.
He leaned forward, his eyes locked on mine. “You can, and you will.”
“Someone might see,” I whispered, my heart beating wildly in my chest. I’d never done anything sexually crazy before. Never had sex anywhere daring, or even engaged in foreplay outside the privacy of a bedroom or my home. Doing anything sexual in my office made me nervous as fuck.
“Then be discreet.”
My mouth fell open. My tongue went dry. Could I seriously do this?
“You’ve got ten seconds before I do it myself. One…”
A bolt of arousal shot between my legs.
“Two…”
He was going to come and force them off me. The idea even excited me if I was being honest, but the chances of being caught would be so much higher. While the office was mostly empty of staff, there were always a few stragglers staying behind, burning the midnight oil.
“Three…”
“OK.” I shifted on my chair, my fingers pulling my skirt up my thighs until I could get hold of my panties.
“Four…”
“This is insane,” I breathed as I pulled them down. Why was I doing this? It wasn’t because I was afraid of him, or that I felt threatened by his words. It was completely the opposite. I was so lost in a cloud of desire that I couldn’t see sense anymore. I wanted him to have them, even got off on the fear of doing something so crazy that I might get caught. I scrunched them in my hand and passed them across the desk, “You’re going to get me fired,” I whispered.
Taking them from me, he held them up to his nose and inhaled deeply, a low moan rumbling through his chest at my scent. Heat pooled between my legs. The way he displayed his unbridled lust curled my toes. He was so young, so incredibly gorgeous and he was sitting across from me unable to restrain the massive hard-on that I caused. My whole body quivered. “Mmm. They’re soaked. Looks like you’ve been hiding something all day too.”
He opened his suit jacket and slipped them into his inside pocket then came out with a white plastic key card. “I don’t give a fuck about your age. I spent half my day trawling through the office policies to see if there was anything against inter-office relationships. There isn’t.” He placed the card on the desk in front of me. “I’m very interested in you, Cora. We can keep things professional during the day, but once the workday is over, all bets are off. You know where to find me.” He tapped the card and I noticed the emblem for Causeway 353 Hotel. Huh, looked like he was still in the same room he’d taken me to that night, after all. Was he living there?
Reaching for the card, I gulped. I didn’t know how to respond. He’d just taken my arguments and turned them on their head, like a true lawyer. Seemed he was a natural.
“Are you ready?” Olivia appeared at my door, shocking me out of my cloud of desire. I grabbed the key card and slipped it in the waistband of my skirt while she continued to talk, thankfully focused on whatever she was hunting for inside her bag. “I’ve had the most horrendously shitty day. This case is going to take all bloody week to get through. I can’t wait to dive into a bottle of wine when I get home. Oh, and I heard that your intern is the director’s kid?” I started shaking my head the moment she brought up the topic, but she still wasn’t looking at me. “What kind of a stuck-up little brat is he? Private schooling all the way, living off Daddy’s fat pay cheque? Was he as awful as the rest of those silver-spooned arseholes?” I exchanged glances with Brandon. He was smirking. “Ah ha!” Olivia looked up triumphantly, her Myki card in hand. “I knew it was in there.” Then she saw Brandon sitting in the visitor chair and nearly fell over. “Who…who is that?” She pointed at him, her eyes wide.
Brandon held out his hand. “Brandon Sharp, the stuck-up brat-slash-silver-spooned arsehole.”
“Oh God. You weren’t supposed to hear that. I’m so sorry. I actually quite like your dad,” she backpedalled.
Brandon chuckled. “It’s fine. I really am a brat. Probably an arsehole too. Just don’t tell the boss.” He winked at her then smiled at me, running his hand over the outside of his jacket where I knew my panties were hidden. I was going to get bruises, I was pushing my knees together so hard.
Olivia dropped a hip and narrowed her eyes. “I know you from somewhere.”
Brandon smiled and stood, doing up the second button on his jacket at the same time, a move that men of a certain breeding seemed to do so naturally. “Not sure where from, but I’ll take your word for it. If you’ll excuse me, I was actually on my way out.” He looked at me and nodded politely. “Boss.”
“See you tomorrow,” I muttered, earning a quirked brow from him before he turned away.
I knew he wanted me to make use of that hotel room key. Hell, I wanted to make use of that hotel room key. But I couldn’t. It was crazy. There was no way I could have any sort of relationship with my boss’s son. Regardless of office policies, it would be career suicide. And since I was already on a slippery slope thanks to one man, I couldn’t afford to be reckless with another one—no matter how hot he was, or how many pairs of my panties he currently had in his possession.
Olivia shifted her position to let him past, exchanging pleasantries at the same time. The moment he left, she turned to me, a puzzled expression knotting her brow. “Is he who I think he is?” she whispered when he was out of earshot.
“Green-eyes?” I nodded.
“Holy fucking hell. You fucked the director’s son?” Her mouth fell open and she sucked some air in. “This is a nightmare. What are you going to do?”
I shrugged. “Pretend it never happened. What else can I do?” The hotel key card pressed a searing rectangle of temptation against my skin. No one would ever know if you used it…
My God. What was I thinking? I’d just finished convincing myself that he was off limits, then a moment later I was entertaining the idea of showing up at his door in nothing but a coat and heels. I needed my head read. Or better yet, my face slapped.
Olivia placed her hands on her hips, nodding her head. “I think that’s for the best. I mean, I’ve got nothing against a little office dalliance myself, but you have to draw a line somewhere. And
your intern—who is the boss’s son—would be it.”
“I know. I completely agree.” My mouth knew what to say, but my mind was screaming ‘But, the sex!’. To keep my wild thoughts at bay, I was going to need to give that new toy of mine a run for its money.
“He isn’t likely to say anything, is he? There’s no telling what Adrian would do if he found out you banged his son on top of the whole intervention order fiasco.”
“He won’t say anything.”
“Are you sure?”
“We talked, and we agreed to keep things professional.” I neglected to tell her the part where he said that all bets were off outside office hours. “And I don’t get the sense that he’s the type to kiss and tell.”
“That’s a relief. This place would suck without you around.”
“Don’t worry,” I assured her. “Nothing’s going to happen.” As the words left my lips, I tried to believe them. But deep down, I knew that the words were a lie. Where Brandon Sharp was concerned, I didn’t seem to have a lot of self-control. Blame it on the hormones…
11
My new toy wasn’t enough. At one o’clock in the morning, I was still awake, sitting in my bed in an oversized T-shirt and a pair of black cotton underpants, staring at the key card that assured me a trip to Blissville. Chewing on my nails anxiously, I swore it was whispering to me, tempting me to get up and go. “It’ll be mind blowing,” it promised in its sultry voice.
I bit my thumbnail a little too hard and caught skin. “Ow!” The pain of the bite was enough to bring me to my senses. I was acting like a hormonal teenager. This needed to stop. I was an almost-thirty-year-old woman who knew better than to play with fire.
As I sucked on the sting, I got up and tucked the card inside my handbag. I couldn’t do it. As much as I wanted him, I couldn’t go there. It had to remain what it was—one night of crazy, amazing sex. Just one. I needed to be sensible here. No more handing over my panties just because he told me to. No more lingering glances or lust-filled stares. My attraction to him had to become a thing of the past. I’d worked too hard and already lost so much. I couldn’t afford to lose any more.
With that decision made, it still didn’t fix the throbbing need between my legs. Still sucking the pain on my thumb, I headed over to my laptop and opened it up, pulling up a private search window then typing ‘adult toys’ into the search bar. A bubble of nerves landed in my stomach. That was something I never thought I’d do. I’d been with Jack for years and felt no need for a vibrator or a clit stimulator, or any other sort of device to fulfil my needs. It wasn’t that our sex life had been amazing, but rather that it had been adequate enough that I hadn’t felt the need to look for something more—unlike my fuckwit of a husband. If said fuckwit hadn’t been available, I’d been perfectly capable of using my hands. But now, now, I knew there actually was more to experience, new heights to achieve. I had discovered what incredible sex felt like, and if I was going to stand a chance against this inappropriate attraction I had toward Brandon, I needed to make sure I was satisfied. With a capital S.
When the page of colourful contraptions loaded, my eyes grew wide. What are half of these even used for? I turned my head to the side, trying to work out what one that looked like a lotus flower was supposed to do. The scrolling bar changed to another image, showing me rabbits that I was supposed to defile, then sexy lingerie that left very little to the imagination—especially since a lot of it was crotchless or missing the bra cups. What was the point in even wearing any?
“Perhaps just a vibrator,” I told myself, scrolling down until I found a button that said exactly that. Clicking, I waited for the page to load.
One thousand, one hundred and twenty-one items. If I’d thought there was anything simple about choosing a vibrator, I was sorely mistaken. There were colourful ones, flesh-coloured ones, ones shaped like the real thing, and others in smooth artistic shapes. Then there were the extras; ones that ‘tickled’ or penetrated you elsewhere, ones that moved, ones that twisted.
“I have no idea what to choose.”
Biting at my bottom lip, I scrolled down the page, clicking on the items that caught my attention and opening them in new tabs. My quest for something to fill the ache I felt inside had turned into a research assignment where I took notes about size, length and features. In the end, I purchased three different types—one large realistic one, a long, stylish-looking G-spot one, and one that massaged back and forth with an attachment to tease my clit.
Satisfied with my choices, I selected the same-day dispatch option—I needed those things here as fast as possible. I couldn’t be held responsible for what I’d do if I had to spend another night on edge and unable to sleep because my intern was hotter than sin, and I had the literal key to his bedroom.
With my purchase complete, I headed back to bed, yawning as I crawled over the thick duvet and got inside. I was exhausted, but my brain was a slush pile of mixed emotions. It sucked that my life was so messed up. Thirty was supposed to be the age where you had all your shit together. But, my life was the exact opposite of that. Nothing seemed to be going my way. And the one thing that had been good about it was now another problem on top of a shit pile I couldn’t even see over. To think, it was only a few months ago that I’d been lying in bed in my own house, talking to my husband about a good time to start a family. Jack had held my hand and kissed my knuckles softly. “We’ll start the moment you turn thirty,” he’d said. Even with my career aspirations, that declaration had made me so happy. While I was none the wiser at the time, it turned out that the same hand holding mine was the one I’d witnessed slapping another woman’s arse only days later. My whole life had changed in the blink of an eye.
Rolling on my side, I closed my eyes against the wave of emotion that threatened to leak out. Damn that man. This entire mess was because of him. If he’d just kept his dick in his pants, I’d be lying beside him, peacefully asleep and dreaming about babies. Fuck that man.
Reaching over to my bedside drawers, I grabbed my phone and typed out a message, needing to get it out before I could even consider sleeping.
Me: Did you ever really love me?
I looked at the screen for a few moments, watching the message change from sending to received. It was 2:58 a.m. I put my phone down and rolled over, my eyes heavy and my soul confused as I drifted off to sleep.
12
Jack: Of course. I still do.
I woke up to find the incoming message, sent to me at 5:00 a.m. I stared at it, disbelieving, my eyes burning as I typed my reply.
Me: Then, why?
One thing Jack and I didn’t get to do was have a screaming fight, not even a heated discussion about his infidelity. I had been blissfully unaware until that can’t-un-see-balls-deep-in-another-woman moment. But I had questions that needed answers. At first I was so upset that I couldn’t even think about him or take his calls. Then I was so angry after the intervention order came down that if he were paper, I would have scrunched him into a tiny ball and set it on fire. I suppose I was going through those stages of grief, because I’d finally come to a point where I accepted it, accepted that my life had irrevocably changed and there was nothing I could do about it. I simply wanted to know why.
Jack: Meet me for lunch
Me: I’m not allowed around you, remember?
Jack: Forget the intervention order. We should talk.
Me: We can talk over the phone. I don’t want a criminal record
Jack: Face-to-face
I stared at his words, wondering if I truly was accepting enough to be able to sit down and have a conversation with him. We’d been separated for three months. So much had happened in that short period that it felt like a lifetime. We were different people now.
Jack: Please. I’ll beg if I have to
Closing my eyes, I shook my head and bit into my lip. What if this was this some kind of trap? He could completely destroy me if he made it look like I was the one to break the intervention
order. Did he really want to talk this time? I honestly wasn’t sure about his motives anymore. His actions of late had made me question everything I’d thought true about him. But then, he had texted his invitation. I would have physical proof should our meeting be contested. I quickly screen-shotted our conversation to be on the safe side. I’d like to think he was ready to be an adult and talk. But I wasn’t that naïve girl anymore.
Taking a deep breath, my thumbs moved over the keypad on the screen.
Me: Fine
Jack: Sezar. 12:30?
Sezar was an Armenian restaurant that he loved, not far from my work and generally quiet during lunchtime. My heart hammered against my chest, my thumbs hovering as I hesitated over my reply. Was I ready for this?
Before I could give it any more thought, I quickly tapped out my reply and hit send.
Me: See you then.
Dropping my phone face down on my bed, I got up and took a long sobering shower. My brain was foggy from lack of sleep, and the mess of thoughts that flipped between misery over Jack and anxiety over Brandon. It was like I was two different versions of myself: one was the broken-hearted woman of an unfaithful spouse; the other was an unburdened woman in the epicentre of her sexual awakening. With frayed nerves, I felt a little crazy.
To get through this day, I needed coffee and lots of it. I also needed a ridiculous amount of concealer to hide my under-eye bags. Spending a night horny then melancholy didn’t do a thing for my complexion. And as much as I hated myself for even thinking it, I didn’t want Jack to look at me and be thankful he no longer had to look at me every day.
If I was going to survive this next year of my life, I needed to get my shit together. The first step was convincing Jack to revoke the intervention order so I could go back to being a solicitor advocate. The next step would be making sure that Brandon was under no impression that any sort of out-of-the-office activities would be happening between us. It didn’t matter how attracted to him I was. I couldn’t afford to jump from an eleven-year relationship into a complicated office romance with a man almost ten years my junior. I was supposed to be this empowered single woman. Losing sleep agonising over two different men wasn’t the way to do that.
Never Again Page 8
