Page 22 of Dirty Little Secrets
“I figured this was only fair,” he hums. “I’ve seenyourbody, Miss Jones, and now I’ve given you a taste of mine.”
As I tilt my head to get a different angle, another email lands in my corporate inbox and I gasp, mortified. “You sent this to myworkemail?!” Dread washes over me as I move the cursor over the delete button. I hate the fact that I fucking hesitate before trashing it. “Our entire IT department has access to my server! Oh my God.Tomhas access.”
“Oops,” Damon snickers, not at all apologetic. “Atechnical oversight.” He pauses. “Do you think he’ll be upset if he sees it? I’d hate to put a riff in such a happy and fulfilling relationship.”
“Is this the way you think you’llget me,Mr. Cavanaugh?” I ask, the anger I should be feeling toward him not as strong as I’d like. “By jeopardizing not only my relationship but career as well?”
“All is fair in love and war, Miss Jones,” Damon whispers. “Remember what I said? I don’t play games, which means there are no rules.”
“You’re playing with mylife,” I hiss.
“I’m not playing with your life, Miss Jones,” he notes with hidden meaning. “I’m changing it.”
“For whose benefit?” I ask, teeth gritted. “Mine? Or yours?”
“Ours,” he whispers, a faint hint of melancholy in his voice. “Trust me, Miss Jones, if you let this unfold, you will never regret it. I promise. This time I’m sure of it.”
“This time?” I ask as Halima knocks on my door.
“Miss Jones?” she calls out. “Mr. Warner is looking for you.” Tom. Shit. “He said he’ll meet you downstairs in ten minutes.”
“Okay,” I squeak out. “Thank you.”
“Who was that?” Damon asks, tone strained. “Thomas, perhaps?”
“None of your business,” I say, sighing. My head hurts now. I need a break. “I have somewhere to be now, Mr. Cavanaugh. Don’t call my office again.”
“Remember what I said, Miss Jones,” Damon threatens. “There are no rules.” Before I can double down on my request, he adds, “Enjoy the rest of your week. I’m sure it’ll be thrilling.”
Slamming the receiver on the dock, I shake my head, gathering my wit. He’s insane. Clinically deranged.Like you.No. Not like me. I would never?—
My personal phone vibrates. A message from a New York area code. It’s the same image from the email with a text that reads: reward. I let out a soft laugh of complete disbelief. I can’t imagine being this cocky, this fucking arrogant. He’s delusional. Totally and utterly delusional.
Dropping my phone into my purse, I exit my office and head to the lobby to meet Tom for lunch. I need a distraction. Something to take my mind off the phone call we just had. Out of sight. Out of mind. It has to work. There are no other options.
“How was the meeting?” Tom asks, holding out his hand, and Damon immediately pops into my head. I envision his hand, then his cock and then his lips, then his eyes, and nose, until every corner of my brain is filled with pieces of him. “You okay, Em? You look a little flustered. Did something happen?”
Maybe it’s just an itch. A temporary ache that can be soothed even with generic lotion. Something that is fast-acting. I glance over Tom’s shoulder toward the single-stall restrooms tucked in the far end of the lobby. Yes. An itch. It just needs to be scratched. And all will be well.
“Come with me.” I yank on Tom’s arm, dragging him to one of the stalls.
“What? Em!” He struggles to detach himself from my grip as I throw us inside the room and slam the door shut. Tom stares at me, concern plastered across his face as I take my shirt off, tossing it on the dirty floor. “What-What are you doing?”
I smirk at him, unzipping my pencil skirt. It falls on the floor. “Fuck me.” Standing two feet away from Tom, I desperately beg him. “Fuck me, Tom. Right now.” I slide my hands up my stomach, cupping my breasts. “I want you to fuck me.”
“Emery.” Tom stares bewildered. “We’re in a public restroom.”
“I know,” I breathe, twisting my nipples, the pain so fucking sweet. “Please? Ineedyou.”
“Em…” Tom clears his throat and bends down to the ground. He picks up my blouse, bra, and skirt. Gingerly, he holds my clothes in the air. “Please put your clothes back on, Emery.”
“No,” I protest, taking two steps forward. “I won’t.”
Tom offers me a smile. “While I think you’re beautiful, Emery, and I would like nothing more than to make love to you, I won’t have sex in arestroomatwork.” He tilts his head. “Can this wait until tonight? My place? I’ll make dinner.”
I stand nearly naked in front of my boyfriend, who refuses to even touch me. “Right,” I say, taking my clothes from his hands. “Sorry. I guess I just… I guess I just wanted to be spontaneous.” Clearing my throat, embarrassment washes over me. “I’ll just, umm, get dressed.”
“Tonight.” Tom places a kiss on my cheek. “We’ll make love tonight.”
