Page 62 of Fifth Avenue Fling

“Thank you. What are you doing today?”

“Teagan’s still grounded, but we’re going to visit her grandmother. My mom.”

“That’s nice for her.” It shouldn’t matter to me, but I’m glad Killian and Teagan are spending time together today. “Well, I’d better go,” I say as Orla folds her arms across her chest, narrowing her eyes at me. “Have fun, Killian.”

“Remember to use the credit card for anything you need.”

I’ve been too afraid to use it for anything other than food and transport so far. “Anything?”

He laughs. Helaughs.This might be the first time I’ve heard him laugh properly.“Anything. I don’t care what you spend it on, but keep it legal. See you tomorrow. I gotta go.”

The line goes dead.

“Orla.” I smirk. “We’ve got some shopping to do.”

***

When Monday comes, I regret splurging with my new shiny all-paid-for credit card. Yesterday, Orla and I went shopping to buy the sexy underwear I saw the first day I bumped into Killian.

Turns out that shopping in designer stores on Fifth Avenue isn’t as fun as I expected. Some of the assistants were a bit snooty, and all one store seemed to sell was a single handbag.

That turned into a bottomless brunch, which turned into cocktail happy hour, followed by a nightcap at a late-night jazz bar, then shots o’clock.

This morning, I bounced out of bed at five o’clock, lured into a false pretense that I didn’t have a hangover, likely fueled by the last of the alcohol leaving my body.

I cheerfully made Killian and Teagan’s breakfast. I took Killian’s suits to the dry cleaners. I cleaned all the ground-floor rooms.

Now, it’s one o’clock, and I’ve spectacularly crashed and burned. My head is hanging out of my arsehole.

This is why when I find myself staring at the most beautiful bathtub I’ve ever laid my eyes on, I decide it would be a crime not to use it.

It’s a freestanding white marble tub with a high, sloping back elevated up on two steps of blue tiles. I just need a good soak to ooze the rest of the alcohol out through my suffering pores. The bath in my apartment is good, but this is next level; a seven-star bath.

Killian never uses it. I know because I clean it every day. He only takes showers in the massive two-person shower.

I strip off my denim shorts and top, flinging them onto the chair along with my underwear.

Technically, I’m not breaking any of his rules. The manual doesn’t explicitly say Ican’tuse the bathroom on Killian’s floor, just that I have to clean it. And I have hours before Killian will be home from work.

The water roars from the fancy wall-mounted bath taps.

I step in and sink into pure sweet heaven.

“Yes,” I moan loudly as the water reaches my shoulders. It’s like bathing in the Icelandic Blue Lagoon. It’s so deep I’m hidden by its sloping sides.

I tip my head back and close my eyes for a second. Cleaning a Fifth Avenue townhouse is no joke. Luckily for me, he doesn’t check half the things I’m supposed to be doing, and he and Teagan only use a fraction of the house. Bit of a waste, really.

I toss some serenity salts into the bathwater, then play around with the hydro-jet settings. The jets are everywhere—on the four sides of the tub, as well as on its base.

Oh.

Oh.

That’s nice. Very nice, indeed.

The pulsing water hits my exposed clit, causing wave-like sensations.

If I move a few inches…

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