Page 137 of Inflame

“Well, I hope the smell of my pussy stays on you as a reminder,” I grunt out.

I toss my head back in ecstasy, my hair flying wildly in the moment. I brace myself with arms extended, shifting my hips backwards to thrash into Nic’s unyielding thrusts.

“Give me it, Claire. Let go.”

“Ahh…”

“Your pleasure is my pleasure,” he growls out, sucking in air deeply.

As if his words are my release button, I relax my inner walls and allow the orgasm to move through me like a hurricane.

“Nic!”

“Yes, baby girl… I’m right there with you.”

I feel the flood rush through me, as Nic holds us both up from flopping onto the floor. His cock pulses inside me, filling me up with his release. I turn boneless. Nic scoops me up, kisses my ear, and places me up onto the countertop.

“When you act like a bad girl, you get fucked in break rooms.”

“What happens when I act like a good girl?” I inquire, genuinely curious.

Nic’s sexy smirk lets me know he likes our little flirting game. “Then you get fucked in break rooms.”

“Seems to me, I always win.”

He fixes my panties into place and smooths down my dress. With gentle fingers, he runs them through my hair, straightening the mess that was made in the act.

It is in these little gestures of attentiveness that I fall a little harder. A little more. Until I know that I won’t be able to stop what is happening between us.

I think I am in love with Nic Hoffman.

39

NIC

Graham warned me that watching out for Angie and Claire would have its challenges. He just didn’t warn me how exhausting it would be on my nerves. He was one hundred percent correct in telling me that disaster follows these two wherever they go.

It started with Claire tripping and falling on her way out of the building, nearly causing a blood bath as she opened up a previous wound she had scabbed. Then when I got both of the girls back to the penthouse, Angie started throwing up with what I assume was food poisoning. I called Graham’s personal physician, Dr. Mitch Saber, to come check her out and confirm that she just needed to suck down some fluids to avoid dehydration. He prescribed her some anti-nausea pills just in case the food poisoning is really a stomach bug. There’s no good way to check for viruses, so it was really just a backup plan.

Fielding calls from Graham, who is literally going insane with worry over his girl being sick and hurt while he is away, is not fun either. I have basically told him that if I’m going to take care of things here, I need to spend less time trying to take care of him too. I cannot split my focus and get the job done right.

I finally have Angie resting comfortably upstairs and not retching into the toilet. Claire is camping out on the sofa and refusing to eat. What in the world… I am going to scream if she doesn’t stop acting weird.

“I can order you some takeout from the vegan place just a couple of blocks away. There is also a really good Greek place that just opened.”

“Ugh, quit talking about food. My stomach feels wavy,” she groans, doubling over.

“What do you mean wavy?” I ask slowly, feeling the vein in my forehead popping.

“I need fresh air. Open the window.”

I stare at her in disbelief. Being at the top of the building, there are no windows that open. That is not a thing.

“I’m going to—”

Claire darts up from the couch, runs down the hallway, throws herself into the spare bathroom, and slams the door.

“Claire,” I yell, trying the doorknob. Luckily, she didn’t lock it.

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