Page 54 of 10 Days to Ruin

Pretty sure he’s still drooling all over his laptop,I text back, giddy and delirious.

LFgggggggggg!is her immediate reply.

I want to shout from the rooftops, to throw open my window and let everyone in New York know that I, Ariel Ward, just got the better of the smug asshole commonly referred to as Sasha Ozerov.

Since that seems like a bad idea, I go with Plan B, which involves pressing my face into a throw pillow and screaming.

But even when I’m done with that, my body is still thrumming with restless energy. It’s a heat that has nothing to do with the stifling New York summer and everything to do with the way Sasha looked at me when I straddled his lap.

Like he wanted to bury himself in me and never come out.

His eyes were huge, his hands tight, and his breath was a harsh rumble in his chest. He was one whispery moan away from spontaneous combustion.

I got him so fucking good.

Problem is… there might’ve been some collateral damage.

Namely, the raging inferno currently blazing between my thighs.

I kick off my heels and pad across the hardwood floor to my bedroom, the skirt of myveryeffective librarian costume rubbing around my thighs. It’s probably wrinkled beyond repair, but honestly, who cares? It served its purpose. I ought to hang it in the rafters like an athlete’s retired jersey.

I opt for another form of post-Sasha celebration: self-care.

The battery-operated kind.

I rummage through my nightstand drawer, pulling out my trusty vibrator. It’s a sleek, rose-gold number that Gina gifted me last Christmas with a wink and the sage advice,Never underestimate the power of a good buzz.

Truer words have never been spoken.

I unzip and toss my skirt aside. The cool air of my window unit A/C is everything I’ve ever needed. Then I settle back against the pillows and flick my never-fails boyfriend to life.

Bzzz.My eyes drift closed.

In the black void behind them, two blue circles appear.

His face swims through the darkness. Of course it does. I’d normally try to force myself to revert to one of my old reliables—I mean, whomst among us hasn’t borrowed Jason Momoa to get where she needs to go, right?—but given how insane this whole day has been, I just let it happen. Stealing Sasha for my own selfish pleasure kinda feels like yet another tally in the win column for me, anyway.

So he’s there, hovering in the darkness. I reach out an imaginary hand and feel Sasha’s imaginary stubble beneath my fingertips. I trace the line of his jaw, dropping to his throat, his collarbone, the valley between his pecs.

In my mind’s eye, he’s exactly as I left him: chewing the inside of his cheek, shirt unbuttoned, tie askew, skin feverish everywhere I touch.

Ms. Ward…he rumbles.

Who, me?I taunt back in my head.You look upset, Sasha. Is something wrong?

You’re going to be the fucking death of me.

I laugh, both in my fantasy and out loud, because there are way too many hidden meanings in that sentence for it to be a smart thing to say out loud. I don’t need the reminders of the stakes here; God knows I’ve spent enough time thinking about them as is.

What I need is for Dream Sasha to do what Real Sasha would never:Let me use him how I need.

I up the vibration. New sensations skitter through me as I tease aside the hem of my panties and touch it to my throbbing clit.

You stay right there, sir,I order him in my head, pushing back on his chest with one heel as I sit on his desk. He leans back in his office chair, legs spread wide. I shimmy my underwear down my thighs and let it dangle from my stiletto.

Then, with a playfulOops,I drop it in his lap. Sasha starts to reach for the lilac g-string, but I stop him with a toe to his wrist.

No, no, no,I scold.Keep those hands right there. Yes, that’s a good boy. Right on those armrests. Where I can see them and make sure you’re not being naughty.

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