“I bet I’m the only guy who’s made you come at all.” He cups my pussy briefly. “Creampuff.” He smirks.
The muscles ripple under his skin as he pulls the shirt back on.
“I should hide your clothes”—Fitz pulls me in for a quick and dirty kiss—“just so I can watch you lounge around my office, cross and uncross your legs so I can see your cunt.”
The way he’s staring at me—like I’m meat, like he could eat a fifty-ounce steak after just consuming half a deer. Is he going to watch me get dressed? I mean, I’m leaking worse than after a visit to the gynecologist. I do not want him to watch me struggle to pull the too-tight panties up my damp thighs.
My phone rings. It’sKnox again.
Why the hell is he calling me? I’m fuming and forget to be insecure when I put my clothes on. Then my stomach sinks when my phone pings with a new voicemail.
Fitz isn’t even paying attention—he’s got his back to me, texting someone. Probably Kathy.
Dear reader, I am really trying not to be one of those girls who wants to go through her man’s phone and demand to see who he’s texting, but I’m really about to become that person.
He’s not your man. You aren’t dating. You hooked up in his office. You probably have a couple more of these hookups before…
And I just gave him not only nude photos but a full-on porno film of myself.
“Don’t leave,” he says, looking over at me as I wrestle the stretch top over my head. “I booked a hotel room. So I can fuck you again later. Unfortunately”—he grabs his keys—“right now, I have to run.”
Is he being cagey?
“But you can order room service or whatever. I assume the party’s over.”
“I actually have to run too.” I force out a laugh. “I have… things… at the café to do,” I finish lamely.
Fitz tilts his head then unlocks the office door. “I’ll have a car take you to the café.”
“My car is here. I’m fine.”
It takesme the entire drive home to work up the nerve to listen to what Knox said on the voicemail. It’s not helped by the fact that I’m low-key panicking about the porno I just filmed in Fitz’s office.
“What is wrong with me?” I slam my hand on the steering wheel.
It gives a little wheeze, and the check-engine light blinks at me sadly.
“Oh my god.” I run a hand through my hair. It’s crusty with sweat and god knows what else.
Why do I lose all self-respect around men? And it’s not even all men—it’s, like, these two particular men. I scream as I miss the yellow light.
“It’s not you,” I tell my face in the mirror. “You’ve had a rough month. Anyone with this many unwanted houseguests is going to make irrational decisions. I need to get back to basics, find Kathy a boyfriend.”
Well, you might have already crossed that off the list,my subconscious tells me nastily. Where was Fitz going, anyway?
Pressing the phone to my ear, I play Knox’s message as I walk through the rain up to my house.
“You fucking bitch. You wanted me to hear you get fucked by him, is that it? You fucking cunt. You wanted me to hear you get your fucking pussy reamed. What, you fucking get off on it? You wish it was me instead, you stupid fucking—”
My arm trembles as I end the voicemail.
No.
I check the call log. Three-minute call to Knox.
“No, no, no. Shit.Fuck.”
I kick a gnome by the door and damn near break my toe.
