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He slides in and shuts the door. “What are you doing with Bailey?”
“Making her crave me. Now if you will excuse me, I’ve got a massive erection that I need to attend to, so unless you want to sit there and watch me jerk off, fuck off, and I’ll see you upstairs as well.”
“Eurgh,” he groans and gets out, slamming the door behind him.
I chuckle and take my jacket off and place it over my lap, knowing this will get messy. I haven’t had a need to see to my own cock for a while, but I’m not above a good tug when the situation calls for it, and this definitely calls for it. I unzip my pants and pull it out, groaning softly as I stroke it slowly before gripping it tightly. I lean back and close my eyes, already close to my orgasm. I bring Bailey to mind, and it’s not long before I spurt my cum all over my jacket.
“Fuck, Bailey. Fuck.”
Panting and sweating slightly, I stash my dick and zip up. Folding my jacket up neatly and placing it on the floor of the car, I slip out and head into work as if it didn’t start with a satisfying stripping of Bailey’s layers and my own pleasure.
Definitely worth every second of torture I inflicted on myself by teasing Bailey with my fingers when really, it’s my cock that I want to get wet.
ChapterTwenty-Two
Bailey
Disappointed and shaking,I make my way up to my desk. I can’t believe it is only my third day here. It feels like a lot longer than that with everything that has transpired.
I chuck my bag under the desk and sit, pulling my chair up close. Switching the monitor on, I wait, tapping my fingers, and glancing every so often at the elevator.
Where is he?
My heart jumps when the doors ding open, but it isn’t Archer.
It’s Owen.
My nerves fire up in a different way. I need to know if he read that letter and what he makes of it. But how do I even begin to broach that subject without outright accusing him?
“Bailey,” he says softly with that dazzling smile as he walks by.
“Owen,” I reply, trying to appear aloof and shit, but it doesn’t work. His gaze drops to my tits before sliding slowly back up to my face, his smile going darker with desire.
“Did you come in with Archer?” he asks.
Startled by the question, I nod slowly. “Yes, he was outside my apartment this morning.”
“Did you tell him I was there last night?”
I shake my head. “No. Have you?”
“I will.”
He jabs the desk twice with his forefinger and then backs away, turning to walk to his office, where he enters and closes the door behind him. I have no idea what to think about that, and I’m glad he didn’t require a response. It’s clear that they both want to play with me, whatever game this is, not to mention Finn, but I can’t take them seriously. I can’t get hurt, and I wouldn’t even know who to choose even if that option was laid bare to me – which I highly doubt.
I think briefly about Scarlet, the heroine of the secret society romance. She didn’t have to choose. They all wanted her, and she wanted all of them.
I snort as my ego inflates at the thought of the same choice, or lack of choice, being presented to me. In my dreams, maybe.
All I know is that these men are dangerous and very good at what they do. It’s probably all a massive conspiracy to turn me into a blubbering mess and then ditch me, humiliate me…initiateme. Trish is a bitch, but her words are starting to make sense.
Well, two can play at that game.
Okay, four. I will let them have their fun because God only knows I’m enjoying the teasing. But they will have another thing coming if they think they will break me. I will play along like agood little girland then stick my middle fingers up at them when they deliver their final blow and dump me for the next pretty noob who walks through the door. If I know how to doonething in this life, it’s to protect myself.
My dad walked out and left my mum to fend for us on her own in a crummy two-bedroom apartment that had seen better days. I moved more times before I left for university than I can count on both hands. Sometimes in the middle of the night, tired and half asleep while my mum skipped out. I grit my teeth. I haven’t seen her since I graduated, and I have no intention of contacting her. She knows my number. She wants to talk to me; she knows where to find me. AndDad? Well, he can fuck right off. I didn’t need him growing up; I don’t need him now and his stupid, irrational ‘gifts.’ I dislike that he knows where I live, so maybe it’s time for me to put what my mother taught me into practice and move. Move far away.
I bite the inside of my lip and pull up the search engine in front of me. I type in one-bedroom apartments, London, and then balk at the prices when they pop up.
