2. Misty
My footsteps echothrough my apartment building’s stairwell, bouncing off the salmon-painted cinder-block walls, keeping time with my rushing heart. There’s a buzz under my skin that matches the flickering overhead fluorescent lights. By the time I clear the steel doorway on the fourth floor, my breath comes out in sharp pants, and I have to take deep lungfuls of air to keep myself from hyperventilating.
Every second of what happened in the conference room has played on repeat in my head.
I’d just stood there,frozen in place, watching his hand, the way his tip glistened, until he parted my lips and the taste of him filled my mouth. It snapped me out of my daze and doused the rapidly building heat between my thighs with ice-cold water.
I spent the entire ride here trying to justify what happened, like maybe it was some weird hallucination and I’m just having a psychological breakdown. Or I’ll wake up from a month-long coma only to find out all of this is just in my head. Because there is no possible way I stared at my boss getting head from another woman and got wet off it.
On top of that, we don’t even like each other. The first day as the PR rep for the Boston Bruins, I’d walked into the office, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed with an overwhelming sense of pride that I’d landed the job. There had to be hundreds of applicants, but I’d gotten it.
Only to be completely deflated by Damon Everette. He didn’t miss the opportunity to let me know three of my closest friends, who play on the team, had influenced me being hired. He’d taken one look at me, his eyes narrowing on the green, blue, and purple block pattern of my dress, then my pink, shoulder-length hair, and made a snap decision. Clearly not a positive one since the only thing he said to me was a clear shutdown.
Then, he’d disappeared for months.
So why was he at our meeting, today of all days? The day I was presenting my new plan for the season’s advertising schedule, the pitch I’d painstakingly practiced for hours.
I was prepared, notes in hand, perfect PowerPoint loaded, and then I walked into that conference room, and my stomach plummeted at the sight of him.
Head down, flicking through his phone looking like he would love to be anywhere else but there. Good. I didn’t want him there either, but sure enough, his gaze met mine, and he gestured to the front.
He proceeded to pick apart every aspect of my plan. I swear he was doing it to antagonize me. At one point, the corner of his lip curved up into the hint of a smirk, and I thought I was going to lose it.
I take pride in my ability to keep control over my emotions, to push anything negative down and present the world with a positive face. So, tell me why he had my fist clenched at my sides and the muscles in my neck straining so hard I swore it would give me a migraine. Pure rage tingled under my skin as he watched me, enjoying every second of my misery.
That’s why it’s so hard to understand what just happened because there is no possible way that it was Damon Everette the Third—the king of condescension—who has my clit throbbing and my core aching like this. Not a chance that I just stood there and let him run his damp thumb over my bottom lip and across my tongue.
No, I’d have called for security, so… I’m circling back to hallucination.
“You okay? You’re looking a little flushed.” Gorie’s familiar voice comes from beside me.
I meet the warm gaze of my neighbor. I hadn’t even heard the stairwell door open. She must be on her way back from the late shift at the restaurant. It takes me a moment to realize I’m standing in front of my door, key in hand, but I haven’t moved to unlock it yet.
“A…all good here.” My voice sounds off, and she definitely notices.
She searches my face, then looks me over a little longer before placing both hands on her hips and smirking at me knowingly. “Who is he?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I lie. We’ve been neighbors for the better part of a year now, and as two women living alone, we look out for each other.
“Uh-huh.” Disbelief is clear in her voice. “Please tell me it’s one of those hockey players. Girl, you know they’re loaded.”
If she only knew just how loaded he really was, she’d lose her absolute mind. “Sorry. No hockey players here.”
She raises a brow, unlocking her door. “Fine, don’t tell me, but just make sure you take care of yourself.”
“Always.” I give her a wave, but she stops me.
“Hey, thank you for watching Charlie the other night. I know he can be a bit much.”
Charlie’s her overexcited puppy, who is the absolute sweetest, even if he peed on my floor. “Anytime.”
The puppy in question comes rushing toward me the second she pushes her door open, and I lift him up into my arms, speaking in my best doggie voice. “How’s my little troublemaker doing?”
He licks my chin in response. From the size of his paws, he’s going to be massive, so I take every opportunity I can to hold him in my arms before he’s too heavy.
I gently place him on the ground. “Sorry, boy, I don’t have treats tonight.”
As if he understands, he lets out a little whimper, and Gorie chuckles.
“Charlie, come, I’ve brought a treat for you.” With that, he dashes back into his place.
They disappear into her apartment, and I finally twist my key, letting myself into mine.
Now that I’m not distracted by Charlie’s wrinkly adorableness, tonight hits me in the chest. I swiftly lock the door, collapsing against it, my back sliding down the wood until my butt hits the floor. I drop my head into my hands, letting the night run through my mind. The way he watched me with darkened eyes, tracked my every move while he brought himself to release, would be seared into my brain forever. I should be absolutely mortified, but there was a glint in his gaze, an intensity that wouldn’t let me be.
I’m one hundred percent certain he’d wanted me. Wanted me to watch, wanted it to be me on my knees in front of him.
A shiver rolls down my neck, and my thighs press together, searching for the pressure I desperately crave. There’s no way I’m going to get off to that man. No matter how hot it is.
I peel myself off the floor and head to my room, kick off my heels, and unzip my dress before hanging it up. I’ve been making or modifying my own clothes since I was a teenager. Nothing had ever felt right until I’d gotten my hands on a needle and thread and I was able to weave color into my world. Now, my wardrobe is a sea of greens, purples, and pinks. My twelve-year-old self would be in heaven.
Unsnapping my bra, I dress in my coziest oversized shirt, then crawl into bed, too exhausted to do anything else.
Relaxing seems out of the question as my heart pounds in my chest. I’d seen my boss—the freaking billionaire—getting head at work. Can I blackmail him with this? Maybe get a few million and live the best life from now on?
Who am I kidding? Even if I could, I’d never do that. No matter how much he deserved it. It wouldn’t feel right.
Deep brown hair falling over smoky gray eyes, hooded with heat, flash across my mind, and I bury my head into my pillow, doing everything I can to drown out my thoughts. I bring my knees together and bite my fist before sliding the tip of my tongue over my lip, tasting the remnants of him.
My panties are already soaked, and I’m so tired of resisting the temptation. My hand slides down my stomach and up my thigh before cupping my core. A soft moan escapes me as my hand turns to his.
Him pushing the thin fabric to the side.
His fingers the ones buried deep.
His palm massaging my clit.
My breath catches when my imagination has my mouth wrapping around his cock, but instead of pulling out and coming on the floor, I swallow down every ounce of his release. My orgasm crashes over me, wave after wave pulling me under with his name on my lips.
Tomorrow, I’ll pretend none of this happened. Tomorrow, it’ll all be a dream.
It’s not like I’ll see him again anytime soon.