Page 45 of Damaged

“I saw him earlier,” he says, realizing this. “He was in the lobby when we came in. I recognize the ridiculous loafers.”

I look at the Russian’s feet. He’s wearing what look to be Gucci loafers, but I don’t get the best look in the dark out here.

“Do you still think he’s into me or following us?”

“I need to try to find that out. Can you help me?” James meets my eye. I don’t exactly know what his plan is, but I trust him. His tone is serious.

“Of course.”

An electricity starts at the base of my spine as he sets his strong hand there. He moves it down to my butt and holds it there.

“Is he still looking?”

I’m too busy inhaling a sharp breath to respond. My eyes are wide. “You tell me,” I finally manage to say.

“It doesn’t look like it,” James says with his voice of thick velvet.

His hand slides lower, right where I want it to go. He’s at the bottom of my butt, inches away from where I now ache.

I wish I wasn’t wearing jeans. Denim is too thick of a fabric, and I want his touch closer. For him to be able to stick his fingers in me on a whim.

Listen to me. I’m being insane. James is damaged. He may not be an asshole billionaire for no reason, but he’s still the kind of guy who would use me like a tissue.

He doesn’t get to both fire me and fuck me. That being said, I can’t stop the skin between my thighs from growing slick.

I’mdripping.

“I’d need a better look, but if they’re mob tattoos, we’d have a problem. Otherwise, he’s probably just the spoiled son of an oil oligarch. Nothing to worry about.”

James’s hand leaves, but the electricity lingers. “Come on. It’s late, and we should both try our best to sleep before tomorrow.”

I follow him back inside, and the Russian watches us again.

After we’re paid and out of the bar, James and I board the same elevator. I’m so delusional, I’m looking at the ceiling for cameras—none. Why am I looking?

Because I harbor the fantasy that James will hit the emergency stop button and tear my jeans open. Fuck me hard with those arms bulging with muscles and roped with veins.

The door opens onto my floor. Damn this thing is fast. I don’t move right away. I hesitate for a couple seconds before stepping forward.

“Goodnight, snowflake. Make sure to wear something so you don’t melt in this heat.”

I turn, and one of his green eyes vanishes for a fraction of a second before the elevator doors close.

He winked at me.

I stand there in sexual frustration. I don’t even have a man in my contacts that I can call for no-strings-attached sex when I’m back in New York. I realize how starved I am for touch.

James is simply the nearest man to me. I tell myself I’m still repulsed by the fact that he uses women for sex and cares only about making the next million.

But as I walk back to the room, I can’t get over what an idiot I am. I’m stuck for days with this Greek god of a man.

The least I could’ve done was pack my vibrator.

Sophia

I went back to the Stone Age last night and used my fingers to masturbate. No shame. It worked. It just took a little longer, and the tendons in my hand are sore this morning. I needed a release.

I’m in my longest dry spell of my adult life.

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