Chapter 7 #2
Since I started here, he’s never raised his voice at me like that. Never had a cross thing to say and definitely never demanded something in a way that made me want to flinch at how aggressive he was being. Part of me was excited, but the other part of me—the sane part of me—was terrified.
This is only a fraction of the ruthless businessman that people talk about. A man who can walk into a business meeting set up for failure and walk out with nothing but winning support. If he wants me here, there’s no way I’m going to talk him into letting me go back down to my old floor.
The door closes with a quiet snick, and all I can do is blink at my surroundings.
Is this a dream?
It has to be a dream.
I pinch my leg hard, but all it gets me is a sharp pain and the realization that I’m not making any of this up.
Nick just called me his best, set me up in my own office on the top floor, just a single wall away from him, and even told me to decorate however I want.
I don’t know if this means I’m getting a promotion, or if I should just think of this as a bonus.
Right now, all I can think about is how much Sloane is going to make me pay for this.
Why would he do this? Just because I was doing her work?
None of it makes sense.
The files Nick put me on were already one hell of an opportunity, but to be close enough that he can see exactly how hard I work is huge.
Pushing away the what ifs of my situation, I try to enjoy this moment. A hysterical giggle pushes out from between my lips, and I clap my hand over my mouth, hoping that the walls are thick enough that Nick didn’t hear.
Before I can spiral into a whirlwind of thoughts about how utterly insane this whole thing is, my phone buzzes in the pocket of my blazer. I tug it out with a shaking hand, my face splitting into a smile when I see the text waiting for me.
I don’t think today can get any better.
Mister Mystery: I’m missing that pretty face. Send me a picture, Miss Morgan.
I glance at the door to my office nervously before lifting my phone and snapping a selfie, making sure to get a good shot of the massive windows behind me as I beam up at the camera. He responds seconds after I hit send.
Mister Mystery: What a stunning view.
My cheeks go bright red, my heart pounding excitedly as I type my message.
Riley: Isn’t it?? It’s my new office! My boss just moved me so I could be closer while I work on these projects. Super excited to finally be free of the cubicle lol.
That doesn’t cover half of it, but I don’t want to brag too much. As a matter of fact, this might be a good excuse to see him again. Sure, keeping things anonymous has been fun, but I’m starting to really like this guy.
I want to know his name, to know him. I want to see his face without a mask in the way.
Mister Mystery: I was talking about you, Princess. You look downright edible in that skirt.
Mister Mystery: Congratulations, though. I’m sure you’ve earned it with all that hard work. Proud of you.
My heart tumbles in my chest, and I feel like I’m back in high school with my first crush again.
Yeah, I need to see him.
Riley: Thank you <3 Maybe we could grab dinner to celebrate?
There we go. It’s not too pushy, but hopefully he can read my enthusiasm through text. He’s been on my mind non-stop since I met him that night at the gala, but it’s only gotten worse since the other night when we texted while I was in the bath.
I’ve never been so desperate for someone in my life.
Plus, I really do want to celebrate.
Mister Mystery: I wish. I’m tied up with work and don’t know when I’ll be able to find free time. Sorry, Miss Morgan. Trust me when I say I’d rather see you than be stuck in meetings.
I pout as the response rolls in, irritation filling me. It’s like I’m giving more than he is, and I don’t know how to feel about that.
He’s an adult with responsibilities; I get it.
So am I. Because I’m frustrated that I haven’t been able to see him since the gala doesn’t mean he’s doing anything wrong.
I can’t exactly force the guy to come see me in person, as much as I don’t want things to stay exclusively over text between us.
It’s not like I can look him up, either, since I didn’t ask his name the night we met, and it feels a little awkward to do now that we’ve been talking.
I’ll just have to be patient.
Maybe that’s for the best.
After all, it’s not like my pathetic little crush on Nick has gone anywhere, and I don’t know what to do about that.
This thing with my mystery man is currently nothing but flirty texts, but if it ever leads into something more serious, I’ll feel guilty for the way just standing next to Nick makes my heart slam against my ribs.
Now that he’s literally on the other side of the wall, I have a feeling I’ll only become even more hyper-aware of him.
Yeah, patience is definitely the route to go here.
I snap out of my spiraling thoughts at the buzz of my phone, glancing down to read the new messages with a smile.
Mister Mystery: I could still take care of you, even if I can’t come see you. What do you think about properly christening your new office?
Riley: Planning to send me a bottle of champagne to break over the desk? I don’t think the cleaning crew would be very happy with me.
I snort at my own ridiculous little joke, leaning back against the edge of my brand-new desk as I wait for a response.
Mister Mystery: I was going to suggest you make yourself come for me on your new desk, actually. If you’d prefer champagne, I can always send you a nice bottle ;)
My mouth drops open as heat flushes through me. I instinctively look over my shoulder even though I know no one else is here.
Riley: I’m at work!!
It’s supposed to be scolding, but I doubt my mystery man will take it as such. I can’t deny it’s hot to think about. Especially knowing that Nick is just on the other side of the wall.
Mister Mystery: And you have an office all to yourself now. Be a good girl and go lock your door, Miss Morgan.
A shiver runs down my spine as arousal pools in my gut.
No one has to know how fast I cave to that instruction, making my way to the door and flipping the lock with a quick turn of my wrist. It’s only because it’s him asking.
He’s already proven just how good he can make me feel without ever having to touch me.
Riley: Walk me through it again? Please?
I can’t help asking, the memory of his filthy words flashing across my screen that night in the bath making my desire skyrocket.
Mister Mystery: Liked it that much last time? What a sweet little thing you are, Princess.
He’s already typing again, so I don’t bother to respond just yet, simply allowing the need to build. I hop up on my desk, glancing nervously over my shoulder one last time before I work my skirt up my thighs, stopping just shy of indecent.
I know that no one can see me—this window is fifty stories up and almost definitely mirror-plated on the outside for privacy—but that doesn’t make it feel any less exposing to look out over the whole city as I wait for him to tell me exactly how to get myself off.
For him.
Shit, that shouldn’t be so hot. Maybe I have more of an exhibitionist streak than I thought.
Mister Mystery: I want you to finger yourself, stretch yourself out for me. Imagine me between your thighs, think about what I’d do to you if I walked in on you like that.
My breath comes out slow and shaky, my eyes slipping closed behind my glasses as I trail my hand up the inside of my thigh. I jolt at the first brush of my fingers against my panties, the fabric already wet enough to slide teasingly against my clit.
It’s not hard to conjure up an image of him, all broad-shouldered and muscular with demanding eyes and a wicked smirk.
I let my mind run wild as I slide my panties to the side and drag my fingers through the wetness gathering between my legs. It already feels incredible, and by the time I circle my fingers around my clit, I’m biting my lips to stop myself from making any noise.
My phone buzzes again, and I lift it with my free hand, panting softly as I read the text.
Mister Mystery: I want you to come thinking of me splitting you open on my cock, and then I want you to lick your fingers clean for me.
My clit throbs against my fingertips at the words, and I don’t bother trying to make this last.
Maybe it’s just because I’m at work, or maybe it has something to do with Nick being on the other side of the wall, but I’m so keyed up I can hardly think straight.
My mind circles, throwing fantasy after fantasy at me as I slide my fingers inside myself slowly, enjoying the stretch and wishing for more.
Memories of that Halloween party flash behind my eyelids, and I clench down around my fingers as I remember how that man’s fingers felt inside of me.
He was built similarly to both Nick and my mystery man, muscled and tall and sure of himself, and he worked me into an orgasm with hardly any trouble.
Maybe I have a thing for masks, or maybe it’s just men who remind me of my boss, but I let myself meld everything together.
The man from Halloween flows into the masked man from the gala in my imagination, and he magically has Nick’s eyes, his voice, and his domineering aura as he pins me against a wall and makes me scream.
By the time I work a third finger inside of myself, my thighs are trembling and I’m biting back desperate noises on every exhale.
I type out a message with only half my attention on my phone.
Riley: I’m so close, please can I come?
My mystery man doesn’t make me wait.
Mister Mystery: Come for me, Miss Morgan.
I drop my phone to my desk with a clatter and clap a hand over my mouth to muffle the shout that tears from my mouth as I come, my whole body tensing as my orgasm tears through me.
It’s like lightning in my veins, leaving me shaking and panting against my palm as I wait for the world to come back into focus.
My instructions don’t slip my mind, and even though I’m still floating on my afterglow, I fumble for my phone and pull up the camera.
I twine my tongue between my fingers, lapping up the taste of my own wetness smeared there as I take a quick photo. My cheeks burn hot with embarrassment, and I don’t even look at it before I hit send, only glancing back at my phone when it buzzes again.
A photo sits on my screen, just suggestive enough to get my pulse racing again and just bland enough to not give me any clues to who he might be.
It’s a shot from his hips to his thighs, expensive black slacks bulging around both muscle and the hard length of his cock. I clench around nothing at the sight, wishing for nothing more than to let him fill me up with every last inch of it.
Another text comes in seconds later.
Mister Mystery: Such a good girl for me.
I guess my day did get better.