20. Brooke
Brooke
My heart is pounding, and my breaths can't come fast enough. Dustin fucks into me like it's his last act as a living man, like he can't get enough of me. And fuck, I can't get enough of him. I've never felt his cock this hard before. I roll my hips in time with his frantic thrusts, chasing my own orgasm—it can't be far.
"Is this what you wanted, baby?" Dustin grunts into the back of my neck, leaning over me, pushing me harder into the sink. "Is this what you were asking for?"
"God, yes—please, fuck, please don't stop. Please, I need it, I need you." I don't even know what I'm saying. Stars flitter around my vision. All of my senses are completely focused on Dustin and what he does to me. The rough drag of his cock in and out of me, the steady pressure of his hands on my hips, the labored breaths puffing out between groans and masculine grunts.
It's heaven. Who knew Dustin—safe, sensible, intellectual Dustin—had this in him ?
Molten lava builds in my core, and my muscles begin to tense up. I'm close. Very close. Dustin is, too, based on the way his thrusts become more erratic and feral. Bolts of pleasure race down my spine. I can't control the sounds coming out of my mouth. Nothing matters in this moment but me and Dustin.
"Are you ready for me, baby?" he asks through gritted teeth.
"Yes, fuck yes, give it all to me—"
"Oh, my god! What is—Brooke? Mr. Sanders?"
I whip my head around to find Nora staring at us, mouth agape, eyes bugging out of her head. I can't stop the orgasm from crashing through my body and frying every synapse in my mind. I can't stop the moan from spilling from my lips. I can't stop the shiver that comes from feeling Dustin's hot cum flooding my pussy. I can't stop. He can't stop.
The head of Human Resources watches in horror. The blood drains from my face and collects somewhere near the Mariana Trench, I'm sure. Dustin sucks in a terrified gasp as he wrenches his cock free and dives for his pants.
I'm frozen.
I'm frozen in what is possibly the worst position: bent over the sink, my dress hiked up above my waist, angled slightly towards the doorway. The doorway that Nora is standing in. The doorway that leads to the rest of the company .
"I thought the door was locked," Dustin whispers in a panic.
"I… I…." I can't talk. I can't make words come out of my mouth, only disjointed sounds. My pulse races in my ears. My fight-or-flight reflex is telling me to sprint away, get away, get out, but we're on a goddamn boat.
There's nowhere to go. There's no way to spin this. My flesh feels too cold and too hot at the same time. Fear and dread grip my guts like an iron vice.
Dustin's hand finds mine, and he gently pulls me up from my bent-over-and-fuckable position. I look over at him, and he gives me a tight smile. My mouth is suddenly as dry as the Sahara. Am I dying? Can someone die of mortification? Is this what it feels like?
"Do not move," Nora hisses and slams the door shut.
"Oh my god, what's happening? What's she gonna do? Holy fuck, Dustin, what's she going to do?" I shove my hands straight down at my sides, gripping the skirt of my dress like it might save me.
He opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. Panic flashes across his face, and it makes me even more scared. Before I can ask anything else or beg for god to strike me down where I stand, Nora shoves open the door again. She's got two cruise employees in tow. They're rather bored-looking men. Is this kind of thing normal for them ?
"Please follow us," one of the men asks, tossing a thumb over his shoulder.
"Where are we going? What are you going to do to us? What's happening?" I babble on and on. Dustin lays a comforting hand on my shoulder as we follow Nora and the men.
Nora whirls around and narrows her eyes at us. "Remove your hand, Mr. Sanders. You're going to the brig. Both of you."
"This boat has a brig?" Dustin mumbles under his breath.
"Yeah, it's usually where we put the folks who get a little too drunk. Open bar and all that," the other man replies.
Oh, my god, we're going to boat jail.
My heart threatens to beat a hole into my chest. The brig is… weird. It's small rooms with benches attached to the wall, not unlike drunk tank jail cells on TV. The boat employees—shipmates?—generously supplied me with a trash can and asked me to please aim any vomit there. I guess I did look pretty pale. And sweaty. Come to think of it, I am fairly nauseous .
I slump down to the floor and try to hang my head between my knees. This is bad. This is really bad. Nora separated us. She's having what sounds like a very heated discussion with Dustin, and my anxiety kicks into overdrive as I wait for my turn.
"… abuse of power! You're a director!" Nora shrieks down the hall. I can't hear what Dustin says in response, if anything. "Do NOT speak to her!"
Icy dread clenches my guts. My heart sinks to the bottom of my heels. Don't speak to me? Why? What?
A door slams down the hall, and Nora's heels click against the metal floor. The door to my room (cell?) swings open. Nora stares down at me with heaving breaths and a red face. Her signature slicked-back bun has come undone, and tendrils of her auburn hair hang around her face.
"Brooke. You are not to have any contact with that man until you are given approval. There will be a full internal investigation. You are officially on leave." She lets out an angry huff. "Do not return to work until we tell you to. Do not sign into any company devices. Do not access any company accounts. Did you take your laptop home for the weekend?"
"… yes," I manage to squeak out.
"An IT employee will pick it up from you. Is your home address on file up-to-date? "
I can't verbally respond. I just nod as my eyes fill with the sting of hot tears. Come to think of it, my whole face feels hot. And my body. My lungs can't get enough air—my stomach clenches and launch myself at the trash can.
All of the fancy dinner—and drinks—comes right back up. The acrid sting of bile burns my nose and throat. I let out a pitiful groan, which quickly turns into another retch.
Nora steps back with a disgusted look on her face. "Brooke, are you drunk? How much did you have?"
"Two," I manage to respond between heaves. "Only two. Not— hurk —drunk."
"Ugh," Nora huffs. "I'm getting ahead of myself—I'll be right back. Don't… just stay there, okay?"
The only answer I can give is another horrible dry heave. God. What a horrendous fucking night this has turned out to be. On the list of things I never want to do in front of work people, puking into a trash can is pretty high. So is getting caught fucking Dustin. But here I am, puking my guts up, sobbing uncontrollably, after getting railed to within an inch of my life.
Seriously, fuck my life.
"Brooke?" Dustin's voice echoes down the hall.
"Yeah?"
"I'm so sorry."
Another flood of tears drench my cheeks. No, Dustin, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I got you wrapped up in my dumpster fire of a life. If I hadn't teased him—if I hadn't drunkenly called him over to Janine's, if I hadn't poured my life grievances into his lap, we wouldn't be in this mess. We'd have a professional, if icy, relationship.
The thought squeezes my guts, and I double over the trash can again.
"Oh, god." The door opens again, and my boss, Kelly, rushes over to me. "Oh, sweetie. Here, I brought you some ice water, can you drink it? What happened?"
"Don't answer that," Nora snaps. She files back into the room with not only Kelly but fucking Travis . The CEO—or rather, outgoing CEO—of DropTop.
"Fuuuuuuck," I groan and tilt my head back, willing the tears to stop flowing so goddamn freely.
"Why can't she answer me, Nor? What's going on?" Kelly wrings her hands and looks back and forth between myself and the group.
"There's going to be an investigation, and I do not want anything she says to taint the outcome."
"Jesus, what'd she do?" Travis chuckles. "Steal office supplies? C'mon, Brooke. If you really needed printer paper that bad, you could just ask me."
"Urgh."
This is the worst day of my life. This is worse than finding out Calvin cheated on me with… however many people. This is worse than when Huey threw up on my cl othes literally thirty seconds before I had to leave. This is worse than literally anything I can think of. Ever.
"Alright, now that we have two witnesses, Brooke?" Nora claps her hands together, making me wince from the sudden noise. "Brooke, you are officially on leave pending investigation. You are not to have any contact with Dustin Sanders. You are not to utilize or access any company devices, servers, accounts, or personnel—with the exception of myself, Travis, and Kelly. Do you understand?"
"Yeah," I grunt.
Kelly shoves the cup of water at me and gives me a concerned look. "Please, honey. Drink this. It'll help."
Somehow, I really don't think it will.
Janine, who I just remembered I put down as my emergency contact, bounces nervously on the balls of her feet as I disembark the ship. Nora and Kelly flank me on either side, and I just feel numb. Maybe I'm dehydrated from puking up everything I've eaten and drank for the past ten years; I don't know.
"Oh, thank fuck. I thought you were dead!" Janine shrieks and nearly tackles me .
"Please, no loud noises," I whisper and scrunch my eyes shut.
"What happened? Why is she like this? What's going on?" Janine whirls on Nora and Kelly.
"I apologize for the inconvenience—" Nora starts.
"Nora, let me handle this," Kelly interjects. "Brooke has had a bit of a rough night. Can you make sure she gets home safely? Maybe to a doctor tomorrow, if the vomiting doesn't stop? Maybe the ER?"
"Yeah, of course. Wait—vomiting? Girl, do not puke in the car. I'm borrowing it from my cousin, and he'll literally kill me."
"Heard," I grunt. "What's going to happen with my team? What are you going to tell them?"
"Nothing, for now. We'll say you're taking a leave of absence, and any outstanding questions or concerns can be addressed with Kelly directly," Nora says. She sounds so rehearsed. Like she's been in this situation a million times. A far cry more professional than when she was yelling at Dustin in the brig, actually.
I guess we really fucked up. I mean, I know we did. But if we got Nora—Miss Prim and Proper Human Resources—to yell like that? God, we fucked up bad .
Janine shuffles me to the car—a trashed-out sedan, don't ask me what it's called, it's red—and shoves fast food wrappers from the passenger seat onto the floorboards. I silently plop into the (slightly sticky) seat and numbly buckle myself in. She keeps starting questions, then shaking her head as we crawl along the city streets to her apartment.
What have I done? What have we done? Don't talk to him? What are they going to do, bug my phone?
I shiver in my seat. I don't know if they'd find out, but I'm nervous to test the theory. This is my job—both of our jobs—on the line. Shit.