Illicit Affairs by Holly Dixon

Six

Nate awokein the early hours, long before the sun kissed the horizon as stars tickled the sky behind the curtain of city light. Sweat glistened upon his bare chest like the rain upon the windows of his hotel room, his hands fisting white cotton sheets as his heart burned and pumped steam throughout his veins.

He could still feel it.

Her touch was haunting him. Not the physical touch of her fingertips ghosting across his flesh but the touch of her fingers running down his soul and teasing his subconscious. The type of touch reserved for the most vivid of dreams. The more he sought refuge from his darkest of fantasies, the more the memory of her scent taunted and tempted him to sink back down into his bed sheets, back to the bottom of her oceans.

His body ached, certain parts more than others, his hormones in a state of turbulence much like the storm rumbling outside on the sodden streets of London.

Knowing he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, Nate dragged his heavy body out of bed and into the bathroom embellished in gleaming chestnut-coloured tiles. It was an opulent space lit in a warm glow, with a black-and-white rolling-top bathtub sitting up against a wall-length window and an oversized shower against the opposing wall.

White noise and steam filled the bathroom as a monsoon of water fell from the square showerhead and drizzled down Nate’s chiselled body. The more he tried to wash away the images of her lips upon his neck, the more he awoke his arousal and the more the coarseness of his loofa scrubbed harder at his flesh.

But it was useless; he couldn’t rid her from his mind.

Her rose-scented silk plagued his mind like an addict craving another hit. One unwarranted and sensual dream had the white-collar executive losing his control as his hand slid down his sculpted stomach towards the pulsing hot ache demanding his attention. His dark hair turned virtually black, now saturated and soapy as it clung to his face. He locked his fingers around himself as though he were grasping that irresistibly smelling neck of hers, a breath hissing in between his teeth as he closed his eyes, dropping the loofa, and with it, his self-control.

Flashes burned in his mind of her face: the high rise of her cheekbones, those thick lashes, those baby doll eyes, and that beautiful accent that purred, Show me where you want to be touched? His imagination ran rampant, his hands in her wet hair as he watched those delectable lips wrap around his…

“Fuck,” he gritted out between his teeth, his palm slapping against the cold tiles, hanging his head in sin as his hand worked to draw the illicit lust from his body. Steam seeped from his pores, salt mixing with the water dripping down him as his mind worked hard to create scenes of her body against his in that shower, to conjure the idea of her high-pitched whines tickling his eardrums, the sound of his name screaming from her hot lips in that mouth-watering accent of hers.

His orgasm blindsided him as his silken fluids bathed the tiles, his hand in a fist against the wall as his body quaked from the pleasure rippling up his thighs and ricocheting around his core with explosive sensation. As he came down from his high, the image of her naked, glistening body in front of him slowly dissipated along with the steam.

Nate’s muscles corded tightly together as the veins bulged down his arms—the only evidence left behind of his desire as he washed the sin from his body and watched it swirl down the drain.

Nate had known Ms. Archer for only a few days but there was one absolute thing—her tempting beauty had sunk its claws into him and he would not allow something as basic as a primal instinct ruin everything he had worked hard to secure.

Friday morning—thank fuck.

Ava was overjoyed when she awoke that morning believing it was midweek only to realise it was the day that every worker looked forward to.

This morning she was the first one into the office, determined to have her workload completed so she could enjoy a stress-free weekend back at her family estate in Oxfordshire.

Arms loaded with boxes of paper, she made her way to fill the photocopier when a shiny black object suddenly caught the corner of her eye as her heels scuffed to a halt. There filling the empty spot on the counter sat a coffee machine, but not just any coffee machine, a new and improved machine.

“What in the—” Ava blinked, staring at the new model, perplexed as her brain worked to piece together the puzzle.

Did he get rid of the old one to replace it with a better one?

This revelation made colour rise in her cheeks, but not from flattery, from guilt. “I’m such a tit,” Ava whined in the empty department as she mentally facepalmed herself and continued with her duties.

At the time, Mr. Brooks’s small kindness had been misinterpreted as an act of assertion as he assumed his new position of power. A gracious and welcoming gift to their department was the last thing she would have expected from her new boss. Ava was starting to realise that she had perhaps been overly cold and chauvinistic to this man, domineering and arrogant as he may be.

As a way of offering a small olive branch, Ava prepared a coffee for him, timidly unlocking his door and entering his vacant office space. The lights flickered on as she approached his desk and placed the hot beverage down upon his coaster, taking extra care as she turned the mug until the handle pointed in the right direction.

“There,” she uttered to herself, her good deed done for the day. She turned to leave but stopped as she saw the red tie hung over the corner of his desk. That moment, late last night, was still fresh in her mind: his scent, the warmth of his body close to her own, and that inviting look in his eyes.

It was no secret that Mr. Brooks was an attractive man, but then again, it was no secret that he was a giant pain in most people’s arses either. Ava was not succumbing to the domineering charm of her boss, and instead, would remain professional despite that gaze of his being so intense that it nearly set fire to her bloody dress.

However, as she stared down at the red silk draped over his desk, something deep, dark, and rooted within Ava caved and she reached to pick up his tie. Her eyes glanced behind her at the empty department before she took the hit she had been needing since last night. She inhaled deeply, basking in the strong aromas clinging to the threads of silk, her mind walking through fields of lavender, fingers touching the green spines of cedar as her mouth salivated from the peppery essence capturing her senses. She couldn’t remember a time where a man’s scent alone had this power over her.

In the distance, the chime of the elevator doors opening alerted her as she jumped with a squeak and neatly placed the tie back where she found it, turning to make a quick getaway. However, as she did, her ample hip caught the pencil holder on the side of Mr. Brooks’s desk and sent it clattering to the floor, scattering pens and pencils everywhere.

“Oh, fuck me,” she hissed in frustration as she dropped to her hands and knees, scrambling to pick the stationery back up.

It would just be my luck that I try to do one decent act of goodwill and then this would hap—

“Good morning, Ms. Archer.”