Stella
Before I sat in my usual place on the couch, I lifted my skirt from behind and lowered myself carefully onto the cool leather. The material sighed softly beneath my weight, the smooth surface sending a faint shiver through me as it met the bare skin of my thighs.
I ran my fingers slowly over the cream upholstery, tracing the neat stitching before my fingertip dipped into the padded button at the centre.
I bit my lip.
The man had style.
Everything about the room reflected him—the polished wood shelves, the low lighting, the faint scent of expensive cologne lingering in the air, clean and warm and unmistakably masculine.
He was dangerously addictive.
I only needed to think of the sharp cut of his jaw to begin drooling. It grew worse by the day. The abstinence. My parents’ tight grip on my life. The suffocating feeling of being watched and monitored.
I was sick of feeling like an invalid.
All my focus and energy seemed to gravitate towards Maddox Lexington.
The only person I could speak to without feeling like a freak of nature.
I knew what I did was wrong.
I slowly licked my lips.
The things I wrote in my journal were vile and depraved. I couldn’t tell him all the thoughts that ran through my mind. So I chose to write them down instead, letting the ink carry the things my mouth never could.
The words felt safer to share from there. Away from guilt and shame.
I glanced at my phone.
7:11.
He was still reading.
A slow warmth spread through my chest at the thought of him turning each page, his long fingers brushing across my handwriting.
I stretched my legs out along the couch and rubbed my bare cheeks against the leather. My head tipped back, curls spilling across the armrest as my breathing gradually slowed.
It had been so long since I’d felt anyone’s touch.
Even with the restrictions my mother set, I had managed to keep myself satisfied. But it was no longer enough.
It barely took the edge off.
The room felt warmer now. The quiet thicker.
Slow footsteps crept down the hallway outside his office.
My insides pulsed to the beat.
Just one touch would set me off like a rocket.
I felt myself defile his couch.
My wet heat tainting his pristine office.
“Stella, what are you doing?”
His voice was tight and controlled, but he betrayed himself. The low, husky words told me all I needed to know.
He wanted me.
I lifted my head and looked straight into his blue eyes.
“I was doing my breathing exercises,” I said innocently, widening my eyes as I blinked several times.
He stood beside his chair, towering over the space between us. His shirt clung to his body, the crisp fabric stretching across his chest as his jaw clenched and unclenched. My notebook barely survived his grip, the leather cover bending slightly beneath the pressure of his fingers.
“I’ll be holding onto this over the weekend,” he muttered.
“Of course, Dr Maddox,” I replied sweetly, watching as his eyes dropped to my open legs.
He couldn’t see what I’d done beneath the fabric. How I’d marked his furniture like a wild animal.
When he finally sat down, the movement was deliberate. He crossed his legs immediately, shielding himself from me, though the gesture only made me more aware of him. Then he placed my notebook on his lap.
“How have you been, Stella?”
“Happy… frustrated. The techniques don’t help anymore,” I began woefully. “On the plus side, my mother hasn’t noticed the missing fruit or vegetables yet.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. My eyes drifted down to the two open buttons at the top of his shirt.
It wasn’t enough.
“I think about sex all the time,” I continued quietly. “At the most inappropriate times. I—I even had to touch myself in the work bathroom. In the disabled stall.”
“Any men?” he asked gruffly.
I shook my head.
He already knew the answer. I didn’t trust anyone. Not after what happened to me at university. Even standing too close to someone on the tube could make my chest tighten if I wasn’t careful.
“I wish I could make it stop,” I whispered.
The admission slipped out before I could stop it.
He leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze steady, studying me with that same calm intensity that made it impossible to hide anything for long.
“It will take time, Stella,” he said evenly. “It’s natural. You are due your period soon.”
My eyes flicked up immediately as I mentally counted the days.
He was right.
I was usually meticulous about tracking it, preparing myself for the emotional shift, the restlessness, the spike in my already ridiculous libido.
Nature’s way of reminding me what my body was built to do.
Nature’s way of telling me I needed dick.
Nature was a twisted bitch.
Dropping eggs without my consent.
“I know that look,” he warned.
I sighed, the sound escaping me before I could stop it.
“I’m a healthy woman with healthy needs. There is nothing wrong with me,” I recited, the familiar words coming out with a weary kind of resignation.
It had become my mantra over the past few weeks, something I repeated whenever the old shame threatened to creep back in.
Unfortunately, my mantra didn’t provide me with dick.
I glared at him across the space between us.
He had a dick.
Why couldn’t he help me out?
He didn’t move, but the air between us shifted slightly, the quiet stretching as his steady blue gaze settled on my face. The faint scent of his cologne drifted across the room again—clean, warm, maddeningly subtle—and I had to resist the urge to fidget where I sat.
The office suddenly felt smaller.
Quiet.
And far too warm.
I trickled a little more onto his couch.