A tortured sound leaves his lips, his hips bucking up higher, craving more. So I give it to him, needing to see him come. I want to watch him throb as he gives into his pleasure, want to see his cum splatter all over the dark hair on his chest and stomach. I want to feel him soften in my palm, and revel in the blissed out look on his face as he orgasms.
How many people have seen this man like this? Possibly hundreds, possibly none. How many women does he give this power to? I have a feeling the answer to that question is not many. I have a feeling that Elliot Caldwell is the kind of man who gets a woman for an hour, fucks her, and sends her on her way. And they thank him because he’s a freaking billionaire who could have anyone he wanted..
Right now, I’m special. Even if it’s only for today, just for this short time. I feel something I’ve never felt before. And that feeling is… well, it’s everything.
The fact that this would anger Harrison beyond belief is the cherry on top.
I stroke faster, needing him to come, needing to see this through. I want to think about this when I’m angry with Harrison for what he did and know that I got revenge in the bestpossible way. I can’t be sure if that’s even what this is about, but I don’t care. It’s a perk of the situation, anyway.
“Christ, Seraphine. I’m going to come.”
I watch intensely, staring at his dick, feeling the way it thickens in my hand. His back arches from the table, neck straining, and the first rope of cum shoots across his chest. Another and then another, each one punctuated with a roaring groan of pleasure. I stroke him until there’s nothing left in him, until his body is limp and his dick is softening—just like I wanted. I stare down at the mess he made—the mess Ihelpedhim make—and the emotions that run through me are invigorating.
He throws his legs off the table to sit up, grabbing my wrist and pulling me to him. I gasp, stopping between his legs. The scent of his cum is strong, and I look down at how it drips from his chest.
What have I done?
“It’s your turn,” he growls, getting to his feet. But before he can push me onto the table, like he so clearly intended, I yank my arm from his grip and step back. He frowns at me, chest still heaving, dripping in cum.
“I…” I can’t even find words. What do I say? What do I do? How did I let this happen?
I could lose my job! Is that what he wanted? Was this actuallyhisway of getting revenge? Of getting me to keep my mouth shut over what I saw? This is the perfect blackmail, isn’t it? I fell right into his trap. I’m so stupid!
His brow creases as he takes a step towards me.
“Seraphine?”
I move back, shaking my head, tears pooling in my eyes.
What the hell is wrong with me?
What did I do?
I just gave my ex-boyfriend’s father a hand job. I just touched someone sexually while working! This is so illegal it’s not even funny.
“Hey—”
I don’t wait to listen to what he has to say. I turn and bolt, rushing for the door. I grab my purse from the hook on the way out and thankfully don’t drop my keys as I frantically find the right one to get into my car. I peel out of the driveway so fast I leave tire marks on the pavement and may need new tires.
Seraphine, what have you done?
Chapter Six
Seraphine
I am a nervous wreck for days. Being at work is as nerve-racking as being home at this point. No matter where I am, I feel like I’m in trouble. Like someone is going to yell at me and kick me out or fire me—do something to make my entire situation worse.
When I’m home, Dad is a ticking time bomb looking for things to yell at me about. It’s his life’s mission to make me feel small and useless, and it’s working. My confidence was never all that great, but whatever I had built up over the years, he’s chiseling away without issue.
When I’m at work, I wait for Clara to come in and fire me for indecency. Happy endings arenotsomething offered by this high-end salon, and if she finds out what happened, not only would she fire me, but she’d probably press charges and sue me and who knows what else. Pretty sure Clara’s full name is Clara “drama queen” St. Pierre. She’s horrid, and not someone you want to piss off.
I can’t tell which place I hate more. I need them both and hate them both. Running away is looking pretty damn good. Only I’m pretty sure my car wouldn’t make it more than ten miles down the road without overheating. I’m so screwed.
“What is up with you?” Justine asks, dropping her lunch bag onto the table. “You’ve been weird all day.”
“Just… tired.”
“Right. Tired. Yeah, I get that.” Sarcasm drips from her voice. She doesn’t believe me and that’s fine. I really am tired though. Hidden underneath all this stress and worry, tired is there.
