Settling back on the pillows, I close my eyes, kick off my leggings, and picture Glen kneeling over me. I can still feel his handprints burning into my hips. I trace the vibe lightly down my stomach, imagining those big, strong hands stroking me, smoothing over my body. My skin heats and warms.
I don’t love the idea of wanking over my employee. But I’m losing my mind, here. I need some kind of relief before I go mad.
When I finally touch the bullet between my legs, I imagine it’s Glen’s tongue swiping through my folds. Swirling around my entrance. Dipping inside me. The vibration is gentle and pleasant, just a little thrum that makes my belly flip, and I arch slightly, picturing Glen’s dark head trapped between my thighs.
Matt clears his throat outside the door, and I bite my lip. Something about lying here, getting myself off while he’s just feet away, feels ridiculously naughty. It’s turning me on even more. I grit my teeth, my face flushing.
Somehow, my mind drifts to Kenta. I remember his sweat-slick golden muscles out in the garden, and imagine running my tongue down his curling tattoo. I swallow down a soft moan and flick the vibe up a notch.
Right at that second, Matt mutters something under his breath, and I gasp as the image of him pops into my head. I picture him standing over me, pulling my legs apart and sliding into me. The rush of arousal is so hot I swear I almost come right there. My eyes fly open.
I don’t think I’ve ever fantasised about sleeping with multiple men before, but now I can’t stop. I’m not even picturing a real scene anymore; just sensations. The feeling of hands and mouths and muscle all over me, tugging at my breasts, massaging my ass, filling me deep inside. It’s overwhelming. My body burns and aches, and I fumble my grip on the bullet, accidentally brushing the button with my thumb. I cry out as it speeds up, buzzing furiously against my core.
My bedroom door slams open. I shriek, grabbing the quilt and tugging it up to cover me. Matt stands in the doorway, square jaw clenched, his eyes alert as he takes in the scene. His gaze runs over me, the windows, the wardrobe—then flicks back to me.
“Oh,” he says.
I clumsily try to turn off the bullet, but it’s slick and wet and falls right through my hands, clattering onto the floor. We both stare at it as it lies, glistening and buzzing, on my pale pink carpet.
“Oh,” Matt says again. “You screamed. I thought… shit.” His throat bobs. He looks down. “Shit.”
“Getout!”I gasp.
“Right. I…” He takes a step back, then his eyes fall on the little toy again. “Shit,” he says, then finally turns and leaves, shutting the door behind him.
I sink back onto my pillow, silently dying of embarrassment. I can hear footsteps down the corridor. “Is everything okay?” Kenta asks, his voice muffled.
There’s athunksound. I imagine Matt banging his head against the wall. “Shit.” He says.
“What?”
“Shit,” Matt repeats. “Motherfucking-god-shitting-damn-it.”
“Alright, then.”
I slide off the bed and pick up the shiny pink bullet, switching it off with a shudder. This is it. It’s time. I’m going to shred all my credit cards, fake my death, and go live in a hut in the woods. I slink off to the shower, and I’m too humiliated to even finish myself off with the shower-head.
When I step back into my bedroom, drying my hair, I hear chairs scraping in the kitchen and low voices. It sounds like all the men are discussing something. Probably me. God, is Matt telling them what just happened? All I want to do is curl up in bed and never leave, but I know the longer I hide, the more embarrassed I’ll become. I change into a pair of clean pyjamas, then straighten my spine and force myself to step out of my room.
I mean, it’s not like it’s anyone’sfault, I tell myself, as I walk down the hall. He was just doing his job. And there’s no shame in masturbating.
My little pep talk doesn’t work. As I step into the kitchen and see the three men bent over a pile of papers, I can feel my cheeks set on fire. Matt stands as soon as I come in, staring at me with wide eyes.
“What did you do to him?” Kenta asks, sounding amused. “He’s broken.”
Matt flips him off, then takes my elbow and tugs me into the corner of the kitchen. “Look,” he says, his voice low, “I’m so sorry about—”
“It’s not your fault,” I say stiffly. He nods, looking a bit dazed. “I’m still getting used to having you guys here.”
“That’s so incredibly understandable,” he says hoarsely. “I’m still sorry.”
“Well. Unnecessary apology accepted. Can we please never talk about it again?”
“I would love that.” He clears his throat. “You’re still planning on going to that homeless charity event tomorrow, aren’t you?”
“Yep.” I’ve been organising the Help for Homeless Gala for the past five months. I can’t exactly back out now.
He nods. “We’re just discussing the logistics of the event.”
