Can he see my juices?
“Touch yourself,” he demands.
“Oh god,” I whimper, moving my fingers to my clit and start doing circular movements.
I’m glad I can’t properly see him because we shouldn’t be doing this.
“Press them inside your pussy.Like I did on the plane,” Sebastian says, and I hear his zipper.
This is not happening.
But oh god, it is.
Yet, I do as he tells me.
“Both fingers.”
Moaning, I slide two digits inside and lean back against the pillows.
“Emily.”I hear, then look up and our eyes meet with the new angle.Desire plows through me, mixed with panic.“Keep going.Keep the screen there.”
No.
Oh god.
This is worse.
“Faster.”He instructs as he no longer watches my pussy, but my face.His own strain and movements prove that he’s doing the same thing.
We masturbate as one, moaning, until he lets out a growl, and it sends me over the edge.
My lids shut and I shudder as the orgasm plows through me.Refusing to open them, I grip the covers so hard I almost hurt myself.
“Goodnight Emily.”I hear.
Then the call ends.
My arm flops to the side, the phone falling onto the floor.
“Holy shit.”
What am I going to do?
THE NEXT DAY, I tryto block the memory of last night and fail.Then go over a million different scenarios of facing him tomorrow night.
Finding a dress for the event proves difficult, or perhaps I overthink it.I need the perfect dress.One that’s sexy—as instructed—but alsoI’m not available to cheat on your fiancée with.
But what?Iamavailable for late-night phone sex.
How could I have done that?If he was my fiancé, I wouldn’t want him sexting with another woman.
I’m the worst person in the world.
I messaged Terri to find out what department stores had a Remington account.I wasn’t going to call Sebastian.It meant I had to lie and say I was getting his mother a gift.
Lie after lie.
Standing in front of the mirror, I run my hand down the shimmery black and gold figure-hugging dress.It has a cowl neck which doesn’t reveal too much, and ends right on my calves, so it’s perfect for a corporate event.
