Virgin Romance by Penny Wylder
6
The next morning, I wake up early, eager to drive back to the city and avoid seeing Andrew. I don’t want it to be awkward.
Granted, it would be less awkward if I had never fucked him in the first place, but I can’t say that I regret that. I close my door softly, and head down the stairs. I grab a banana from the fruit bowl in the kitchen, and my keys where I left them on the counter last night. I have my bag, have everything.
The door to the patio opens, and in comes Andrew, coffee in hand. I can feel the blood drain from my face, and even though he’s smiling, I bolt. I walk as quickly as I can to the front of the house and out, get into my car and start it. I think he might follow me, but the door to the house remains shut. I turn the car around and start to drive, putting on my most energetic playlist in an attempt to keep me distracted from my own thoughts.
Because it’s so early there’s little traffic, and I make good time back into the city. The building is quiet, and I go to my little office to wait until the ten a.m. messenger delivery. My uncle wants me to make copies of the discovery—why is it always copies?—for several of the partners. After that I’ll head back out to the estate for the client meeting.
I use the time to read some of the files from the Sterling murder. If I’m going to be helping out on it, I need to know more. There was no sign of forced entry into the mansion, but Mrs. Sterling was strangled to death. There was a sign of significant struggle inside the room where she was killed—the bedroom. In the first interviews, Mr. Sterling said he had no idea who could have done this. He admitted he had plenty of enemies in the corporate world, but didn’t know of any who would resort to murder. He swore he wasn’t in the house. They had a fight and he went for a drive, but the security system doesn’t show him leaving when he says he did.
I get absorbed in the details of the case, memorizing what I can, and soon the alarm on my phone is going off, telling me it’s ten o’clock.
The messenger is right on time, and thankfully the file isn’t as large as the ones from that first day. I don’t think this one is going to break the copier. At least I hope not.
And it doesn’t. The copying goes smoothly, and I have the packets prepared in record time. I put them into the office mail slot to be picked up, and take a breath. At least today is going to plan. So far so good. I’ve avoided Andrew, and successfully completed my first task. Coffee. I need coffee.
Unlike most offices, this place has amazing coffee. The espresso machine kicks major ass, and I deserve some of that goodness in my life before I drive another two hours. The coffee room is actually my favorite place in the entire firm. It’s warm and welcoming with deep armchairs, mahogany bookcases, and rich colors. There’s nearly always people in here reading files or taking a break, but I get lucky. Since it’s still early in the day the room is empty.
I take my time making my favorite kind of coffee, and find the largest travel cup I can. I’m pouring the coffee into the cup when I hear the door open behind me. I hold back a sigh. It was only a matter of time before someone came in.
“This was the second place I looked.”
The coffee splashes over the edge of the cup and I bite my lip to keep from cursing.
“The first was the copy room,” Andrew says as I mop up the spilled coffee.
“Oh? Well I guess you just missed me in there.” Don’t look at him. Don’t engage. Don’t want him.
Pfft. Fat chance of that.
I feel him come up behind me. “You left before I could even say good morning.”
“I had to get on the road.” I snap a lid onto the coffee cup.
“Hmm…I thought it might have something to do with the fact that you think I’m a despicable person.”
I turn around to face him, letting my anger into my voice. “I didn’t say that.”
Oh, turning around was a big mistake. Because now I can see him in his perfectly cut suit, and now that I know what’s under it I’ll never be able to look at him the same way. He steps toward me, blocking me in with his arms on the counter. He always seems to try to keep me from running. But I suppose that’s my fault since I’m the one who’s always running.
“You didn’t say it, but it’s what you meant.”
“You wouldn’t give me a straight answer.” I give him my best glare, and all he does is smirk.
“I did give you a straight answer. It just wasn’t the one you wanted.”
I stand up taller, squaring my shoulders and preparing to make a stand, but damn everything in me wants to kiss him again.
He slides one hand down my ass and presses my hips against his so I can feel his cock rising. Fuck. I want this, and no matter what I say, I know that I do. My body is wet with anticipation; sense memory telling it that pleasure is coming. “And how was that a straight answer?” I ask him, my voice gone husky with lust.
“No matter what my professional goals, Naomi, I told you that I wanted you, and I do. So when I have my tongue in your pussy, or when I’m sliding my cock inside you over and over again, or when you let me fuck your mouth, anything that is between me and your uncle is absolutely irrelevant.” His words spark images in my mind, and I’m so turned on that I’m halfway to coming. He moves his hand from my ass and slides it up my thigh, underneath my skirt. “Does that makes sense now?”
“Yes.” It’s really the only word there is. Whatever the question is, the answer is yes. “I’ve never done anything like this, you know.” I’ve never let anyone this close, never let anyone touch me like this in public. It’s dangerous and addictive and hot.
“Baby, I know. That’s what makes it so much fun.”
His fingers find my clit, and I’m so wet that my stocking and panties may as well not be there at all. His thumb starts rubbing rhythmic circles, and the friction of the fabric and his fingers has me about to break. The door opens, and Andrew smoothly reaches up to the cupboard around me to get a cup as his hand disappears from under my skirt. In seconds it’s as if nothing happened except for the fact that I was denied an orgasm, and I could absolutely kill the woman who just came in for coffee, totally oblivious.
Andrew pours his own cup of coffee, smirking at me. Holding back a scream of frustration, I head for the door. I can’t believe I let him get to me like that. Damn him for being so perfect, and so good. And damn his logic for actually making sense. Damn him for not making me come. Damn him. Damn everything.
“Don’t forget your coffee,” he says when I’m almost to the door. He saunters over and hands it to me. “We all deserve some small pleasures that we’re actually able to finish.”
With the image of his smirk burned in my mind, I head to my car and run away again.
