Page 5 of Praise Me: Soldier

No. It’s July’s turn.

CHAPTERTWO

July

I’m so flustered,I forget how revolving doors work.

Walking too fast, I run smack into the glass, hanging my head in shame and slowing to a shuffle. Did I even grab my purse running out the café?

Yes. Yes, it’s on my shoulder.

With sweaty hands, I fumble through the process of taking out my badge and swiping through security, blurting a hello to the guards who are watching me with speculation. Probably because I never leave my desk for lunch and the one time I do, I come back looking like I got swept up in a tornado.

In a lot of ways, I did.

His name was Theo.

When I get into the elevator and punch the button for the twenty-third floor, I don’t process any of the conversations taking place around me. I’m careful to keep a distance between me and the person beside me, just in case I’m as hot to the touch as I feel. Wouldn’t want to burn anyone alive.

What just happened?

Like…what?

For starters, I sat down at the wrong table, which is humiliating enough, because…that man, Theo, was nothing short of a ten in the looks department. Way out of my league. Tall, intense. An abundance of sinewy strength. Weathered.

Straight up hot. Life experience hot. Capability porn hot.

Who was I kidding sitting down across from him in my sensible sweater and oxfords? Now that I’m the last one on the elevator, I groan up at the ceiling. When I drop my chin again, I catch my reflection in the steel doors. Flushed. Glassy eyed.

He came.

He climaxedat the table.

The memory of it returns in perfect clarity, just throat muscles straining, his chest rifling up and down, her eyes zeroed in on my mouth.I’m going to bust if you don’t stop touching me, July. Hell, if you keeplookingat me like that, it’s going to happen.

I move aside my scarf, staring at the reflection of my spiked nipples through the front of my sweater and…suddenly, I’m noticing the curve of my hips, the shape of my calves. The wild toss of my hair.

Am I attractive enough to make a man spontaneously ejaculate?

Did that really happen?

My body thrums as if it did. There’s a drumbeat pulse between my thighs and a telltale wetness making my panties cling uncomfortably. When I blink, I’m assailed by the vision of Theo on the other side of the elevator, charging at me. Shoving me backward against the wall, jerking my skirt up and filling me.

Baby’s a virgin, he mutters thickly in my ear.Lucky me.

The elevator doors open and I’ve never felt more exposed walking into the sweeping floor comprised of cubicles, offices, a lounge area. Donner Advertising has been my work home for two years, since I graduated from Tulane. It doesn’t feel like home right now, though. I’m in a waking dream in which I’ve arrived here naked.

“You have clothes on,” I murmur to myself, throwing my purse down on my cubicle desk. But I don’t sit down. I’m too restless. I’m…

Oh man, I’m so turned on.

I barely even know what this feeling means, I’ve been turned on so few times in my life. Men always make me feel like an alien. Like a placeholder until they can find someone sexier and more confident. Theo…he made me feel like the ultimate catch. My thighs quiver like jelly as I stand and stare at my workspace, my tummy in a perpetual summersault, remembering how he jerked and grunted into the cloth napkin, his ripped body in the throes of an orgasm.

Without thinking, I turn on my heel and beeline for the restroom. What I’m planning to do is shameful and scandalous, not to mention unethical, but I can’t concentrate. I think…yes, I think I need to touch myself or I’m going to melt. My clit throbs excitedly now that the questionable decision has been made, my underwear clinging tighter, as if my sex is swelling with anticipation. Have I ever been this aroused before?

Before I can reach the bathroom—and much to my horror—my boss, Elsa Vikander, blocks my path. “Miss Newsom. You’re back from lunch.”

In dramatic eye makeup and a leather dress, this woman has modeled her entire personality on Maleficent. Normally, she makes me shake in my oxfords, but I’m still coming down off the strangest lunch date of the century, so all I can do is stare at her and try not to look like I was on my way to masturbate in the company bathroom. “Good afternoon, Ms. Vikander. What can I do for you?”

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