Page 14 of Single Mom's Secret Diary
They peel the layers off me and focus completely on my pleasure with their hands, their mouths, their cocks until I’m an absolute mess.
If only these thoughts didn’t bleed into my day, especially alone in my office or when I’m in the lab with Wyatt. My imagination pegs him as adventurous, sneakily sliding his free hand up my skirt to finger me as I taste his chocolates. The cold, clinical way he asks me about the flavors as I grind down into his hand and try not to moan.
How once I’ve come, he bends me over the cold table and hikes my skirt up to take me with his cock, the jarring of my hips spilling my small breasts free of my top. The bite of the cold making them pinch tight as he pounds relentlessly into me. How he doesn’t stop once I’m spent until he’s found his own release.
There’s one of Ryder catching me in the elevator alone and pulling the emergency lever to stop us between floors. We grind together for long minutes before he lifts me in his grip and takesme against the reflective surface where we can watch ourselves fucking from all angles.
Filthy words fall from his mouth the entire time, paired with pet names and soothing remarks about how sweet my pussy is, how wet I am, how well I take him.
My office phone rings, jarring me from the unending daydreams. I suck in a slow breath and answer it. “This is Avery.”
“Yes. It’s Wyatt. Come to the lab. I have a new configuration for you to try.”
“Be right there.”
He hangs up without a goodbye, and I sigh, stuffing my diary back in my oversized purse. Standing and stretching, I work to convince my body to cool off. My thoughts are not appropriate, even if all three men would more than likely take advantage if they knew.
I weave my way down to the lab and find Wyatt waiting for me. The way his eyes darken when he sees me is at odds with the way his shoulders stiffen. He waves me to his side, and I sit on my designated stool at his station. He doesn’t want me to touch anything but the chocolate.
I smile at him in a teasing way and hold my hand out for the new piece. He hands it to me gingerly, crowding my space more so than normal, but I take my first bite, closing my eyes to let it melt over my tongue before I drag it across my palate.
The sweet notes are better, but it’s still too bitter, too gritty. I open my eyes to tell him so, and he is still so, so close to me. His features have softened in a way I don’t usually see as he stares at my mouth.
I lick my bottom lip, and Wyatt’s nostrils flare. His nearness makes me tip my head back to look at him properly.
He jolts, stepping away from me and running a hand through his red hair. “It’s not right again.”
Those large hands land on his hips, and his brusque tone makes me sympathetic. Our task isn’t an easy one, and although he seems keen to rush through it, he’s more of a perfectionist than anything. Perhaps it’s pride hurting his feelings.
I try not to take his combative stance personally. “It’s not.”
“What do I need to change about it? I feel as though we’ve changed every part of the formula already.” Wyatt faces me directly again, the challenge in his gaze making my heart beat faster.
“As much as I wish there were a perfect science to this, there’s not. It’s trial and error.” I’ve said this to him before.
“I know about trial and error. But all we’re getting is errors.”
My mouth twists as I bite the corner, and he watches it again. He’s always looking at my mouth as if it holds the answer to all of his success in the lab.
An idea strikes me. “Maybe we need a change of setting.”
“How does where we eat the chocolate change anything?”
I ignore the jibe and walk to the fridge where he’s collected the samples from the last week, all carefully labeled. Turning back, I grab his hand and pull him behind me out of the lab, up the stairs, and to the small kitchen I spotted by the boardrooms.
“Avery,” he says my name like a warning.
“Just trust me. Okay?” It doesn’t seem like too big of an ask since he already trusts me to do my job and to help him figure this out.
First, I try melting it in the microwave. Twenty seconds is all it takes. I taste it with a spoon, a wooden chopstick from someone’s takeout order, my pinky finger. We’re getting closer.
Next, I melt it on the stove, repeating the process. This is better than the microwave, although slower. And the salt onmy fingers seems to enhance the sweeter flavors—or mellow the bitter ones. And the grittiness is gone.
“Here.” I grab his hand and dip it into the warm chocolate. When he doesn’t immediately stick it in his mouth, I pull it into mine, just the tip between my lips as I swirl my tongue around it and suck.
A small moan whispers out of me without my permission.
Wyatt sucks in a shaky breath and steps closer. I know I’m playing with fire here, crossing some boundaries, but if this is what it’ll take for him to bring it down a notch, it’s worth it.
