Page 7 of Perfectly Wrong

“You’re amazing,” he repeated, his breath hot against the back of my neck. Every word, every touch was driving me to the brink.

“We shouldn’t... We can’t,” I whispered, a rare moment of clarity breaking through the haze, as my whole body trembled.

“Do you want me to stop?” He did, and I gasped at the sudden pause.

“No, please.”

Screw it. He could do whatever he wanted, and he knew it. And though I wished it would last forever, I reached my limit after a few more thrusts, shattering around him with an orgasm so sharp and intense, it felt otherworldly.

“Elena.” Sam’s voice broke as he whispered my name, holding me close as he followed me over the edge.

After a few moments, he stepped back, leaving me with an unexpected sense of emptiness.

“We need a shower,” he murmured softly in my ear.

Still dazed, I turned to face him. Sam looked even better now, with beads of sweat on his forehead mingling with the water still dripping from his hair. I reached up to stroke his perfect face, and we kissed, before heading to the bathroom to take a well-deserved shower.

The night before was a blur. As I walked out of my house, leaving Sam completely passed out, I tried to piece together everything that had happened. After we got home and had sex, we took a shower together. We started talking, but that led to a second round. Later, we made sandwiches and ate them while watching a movie, and I fell asleep on his chest. I woke up in my own bed, unsure how I’d ended up there.

I felt confused, guilty, embarrassed—but I couldn’t deny it: I was also happy and very satisfied. Beyond the fact that he was ten years younger, I had to remember that Sam was a client, and I was being paid to be around him. No matter how good it felt, it was wrong to take advantage of that situation.

Before leaving, I made us breakfast. Just something simple, but enough to give him the energy to get out of my house. I also left him a note saying I was heading to work and wished him a good week, hoping he’d get the hint not to come back.

“I have some ideas!” Vicky exclaimed as I walked into the office. “I just need to check with Design, but trust me—it’s going to be amazing! Oh, and they want us to incorporate flowers. Don’t ask.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be on my team if your ideas weren’t at least amazing, but flowers? How are we supposed to connect Sam Martin with flowers?” I laughed and paused by her desk to hear what she had in mind.

We spent hours discussing the project and the research on his fan base. The idea behind the tour was to show everyone that Sam wasn’t just the boy from the video platform. People needed to see that he’d grown up and was more than ready to take on the fame he was achieving—and deserved.

“The whole point is to make it look upscale. Everything from the merch to the stage design to the ticket printing needs to feel premium. Parents need to feel like they’re paying for an experience, not just a concert,” Peter was explaining when a knock interrupted him.

Lola, my assistant, poked her head into the office. “Mr. Martin is here, Lena. He wants to see you.”

What?

“Do we have anything scheduled?” Vicky flipped through her planner in a panic.

“No, it’s fine,” I said. “He’s probably here to share some ideas for the project. Lola, can you take him to the creative room? I’ll be there in a minute.” My assistant nodded and left, and everyone else looked at me, curious. “I spoke to him last week and asked him to bring any ideas he had for the tour. You know, if he thought of anything specific he wanted included. I’ll see what he has to say.”

“I can go with you.” Matt moved to follow, but I stopped him at the door.

“No need. I’ll just take some notes on what he says. Help Peter with the paper samples so we can figure out if it’s a good budget choice. And we need to find that key visual piece, Matt—the one that represents the entire tour!”

Before he could respond, I left and closed the door behind me.

My heart was racing, and not in a good way.

“Hey!” Sam stood up as I walked in, a huge smile spreading across his face.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, closing the curtains to block the view from the hallway.

“Well, since you didn’t leave me a phone number, I had to come by to tell you that last night was incredible.”

Oh, God. Sam was a sweet guy—still a bit like a teenager, but sweet.

“Look, you can’t just show up at my office unless we have a scheduled meeting.”

He looked puzzled. “Why not? I mean, after last night…”

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