Page 87 of Worth Every Risk

His cum is still leaking down my thigh when the door closes. I lie with my hands on the desktop for a few moments before I can bring myself to move. I’m like a rag doll, slumped naked across the desk, the cool air touching the wet warmth of my empty pussy.

I can’t process what’s happened. All I know is the bliss of the orgasm he ripped from me has well and truly faded, leaving a quiet ache in its place that’s threatening to break into something far more painful.If this relationship was just sex, surely I wouldn’t feel like something inside me is dying?

I asked for this… I know I did, but it still feels terrible now that he’s gone. I grab another handful of tissues and clean myself up some more, although I know I won’t get it all. More of him will seep from my pussy until I shower and go to bed. It’s brutal, like pus seeping from a wound that won’t heal.

I will myself to hold it together. I can’t afford to fall apart over this. I need this job. I pull my t-shirt over my head, covering up that spot he kissed on my back, which still burns from the touch of his lips as though he branded me with his goodbye. Of all theplaces he’s kissed me and touched me tonight, that one hurts the most.

It’s faster to gather my clothes than my thoughts, and I’m dressed and leaving the room before I’ve made head or tail of what’s going on or what happens next. I take one step into the darkened hallway.

“What are you doing in my dad’s study?”

I jump, spinning to find Charlie standing in the hall, hands on his hips, staring at me like he’s caught me in the middle of a robbery. I blink for a second, desperately hoping he didn’t see Matt leave.Holy hell,maybe Matt’s right. We can’t do this. Shouldn’t have done this. Talking to his teenage son who thinks I’m ‘just the nanny’, while Matt’s cum is leaking, warm and sticky, down my thigh, feels wrong. So horribly,horriblywrong.

A rampage of thoughts battle through my mind as I stand in the beam of Charlie’s accusatory glare. I filter through them, hoping to hook onto something that will suffice as a viable excuse.

I slide my hands into the back pocket of my jeans, touching the brochure I slipped in there earlier. I pull it out and flash it at him.

“Summer camp,” I tell him. “I’m going to book you in.”

His eyes narrow a fraction before he nods.

“Welcome home, Charlie.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, before pushing past me towards the lift.

The heat scorches as we stand beside the boat on a narrow strip of concrete in Valletta. The sky is bright blue and cloudless, and the air so hot the warmth spreads up my nose when I inhale. There’s a whole group of us—me, Matt, the kids, Matt’s brothersand Kate—and even though I’m trying my hardest to avoid looking at Matt, I’m failing. It’s only been a couple of days since he bent me over his desk and I came so hard I saw stars, but I’m finding it hard to come to terms with the fact that it’s over between us. I’m in agony. My body is wracked with pain, and all I want to do is crawl into a ball and hide. To make matters worse, Matt’s brothers keep giving me weird, assessing looks, which makes me wonder what he’s told them. Not that it matters now he’s ended our arrangement.

I try to tell myself it’s okay… that this was only ever meant to be a casual thing, which is exactly how I like it. Better that it ends now before I get more attached.

Bullshit.

This wasn’t casual, and there’s something unbearably cruel about being here with him, so close I could reach out and touch him, and yet knowing I can’t. Might never get to again. And traveling together, making small talk, discussing the details of the journey all while my heart feels shredded, is a challenge I hadn’t foreseen.

To make matters worse, I can still feel the sexual tension fizzing off him, sparking at my skin like unearthed wiring every time I accidentally catch his eye. He might have made a decision with his brain, but his dick is not on board. You can cancel an arrangement, but you cannot cancel sexual attraction. Not like this. It doesn’t go away that easily.

But it’s not just about sex, is it?

I shift my thoughts away from the pain of this ridiculous scenario and take in the sight before me. I don’t know anything about boats, but this one is something special. It's absolutely huge. There are uniformed staff waiting for us to board, and the railing along the bow is so highly polished it looks like no one’s ever touched it. The whole thing is beautiful; it looks brand new.

It's hard to process displays of wealth like this. My mind was already blown after the private jet we took. It had bedrooms and bathrooms and the largest, plushest leather seats I'd ever seen. I’ve been containing gasps of shock all day, whereas everyone else takes it completely for granted. It’s normal for them. Even Lucie and Charlie are completely at ease with the extreme luxury.

“Ready?”

I stiffen at the sound of Matt’s voice so close to me, but when I look round, he’s staring at Lucie, holding out his hand for her to take. She grabs it eagerly, and only when he’s about to lead her onto the boat does he glance at me. The heat in his casual stare is undeniable. I’m sure it’s unintentional, but it blindsides me and I miscalculate my next step.

“Need a hand there?” Matt’s brother, Seb, takes hold of my elbow to steady my reeling.

I like him the most because his manner is more open and friendly. Nico’s a tad uptight by comparison, but I’m delighted to see his girlfriend, Kate, again. We might not have spoken much, but because she was there after Lucie fell in the river, I feel a kind of bond with her. It’s almost like having a friend here, which I know is deluded.

The guys are all ridiculously handsome. It makes me wonder what their parents look like. Matt and Nico look the most similar, with their dark hair and eyes, whereas Seb is softer somehow. Lighter hair, blue eyes. A warmth to his resting expression that the others lack. He’s more carefree… at least it seems that way.

“Thanks,” I say. “Getting dizzy staring up at this enormous yacht.”

“Yup. Big boat. Matt picked it out to compensate for his small dick.”

I frown. “He doesn’t—”

“Gotcha,” he says, a dimple appearing on his cheek as he smiles at me. Embarrassment flares through me, and I press a hand to my face, knowing I’m turning red. Pain crashes in behind the humiliation.It doesn’t matter how big his dick is, because I’ll never see it again.

---