Page 27 of Trashy Affair Duet

9. Bathroom Break

Cash

For the second time in a month, I’m thoroughly…poleaxed. It’s the most appropriate word I’m able to come up with, since the object of my obsession just left after agreeing to work for MontBlake.

For me.

Of course, she had questions. Like how long would it take to train her, when would she start, and why hadn’t I told her I was the CEO of a Fortune 500 company? She seemed to have a very accurate memory of our time on that plane.

For every one of her questions, I had one of my own. Only I couldn’t ask them. Doing so would be intrusive and personal.

Like did she love her previous boss?

How long did the affair last?

Did his wife find out?

Is he the reason she left Oklahoma?

No, she was heartbroken over the boyfriend—I remember that much. So the boss must have been the mistake she was talking about. I let my thoughts drift back to the last half hour, to her wide, deep brown eyes and the way she nibbled her lip. How she stared at me as if I’m the next mistake she’s going to make.

I’d give anything to dig underneath her exterior, to unearth her secrets and desires. But I won’t, even if it kills me. We’ve catapulted too far over the line of professionalism as it is, and it’s going to be hell to fight our way back to the right side of the equation, to the sum of boss and employee, minus a whole shitload of trouble neither of us want. That’s the way it has to be, since I’m blatantly ignoring the professional and right thing to do.

Which would be to send her on her way.

Hell, I might as well stop breathing. Watching Jules walk away a second time will gut me. No matter the right or wrong of it, she’s lived under my skin ever since I laid eyes on her. And the way she looked at me today…

Too fucking tempting.

I shouldn’t have hired her.

How the hell did this happen?

I glance at my watch and realize I’ve been sitting in a daze for the last twenty minutes. I’ve got emails that need sorted and answered, phone calls that need to be returned, appointments that need to be made, not to mention putting travel plans into motion. All of this shit piled up because my last personal assistant up and left last week without notice.

What I need is Jules.

I’m also behind on finalizing the building plans for MontBlake’s newest hotel. Ironically, it’s scheduled to begin construction in Oklahoma City soon. I don’t have time for this raging hard-on, compliments of one Jules Harley.

But God, she’s sexy. Bold. Blunt. She speaks before thinking, which can be a bad thing, but on her it’s a damn aphrodisiac.

Shaking the rails loose on that train of thought, I attempt to get my mind in the right headspace before she returns. I sent her down to HR to get the paperwork rolling, deciding not to have her sign a nondisclosure agreement about her knowledge of my marriage troubles. Having that document in place is company policy on such matters, but there was no way I could ask that of her. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

She’s the only one who knows, other than the private investigator I hired and the unknown person who outed my wife’s affair. Regardless of how little I actually know Jules, my gut tells me I can trust her.

Cursing under my breath, I check my watch again, remembering that Monica wanted to talk to me. Jules should be back in an hour or so, but my wife could show up in five minutes or five hours.

And I’ve still got a hard-on to deal with. I push to my feet and make my way to the private bathroom off the office. Once inside, I lock the door and cross to the toilet. I’ve got my pants unbuttoned and unzipped in seconds, and I’m leaning over the porcelain bowl, one hand pumping my cock as images of Jules play through my head.

My perverted mind has her bent over my desk, legs spread, her palms flat on the surface as I wind her golden locks around my fist. With every desperate stroke of my hand, I imagine thrusting into the hot, wet glove of her body. And her voice? Jesus, her seductive voice is begging for more.

Harder, Cash.

In this fantasy that’s way too vivid, I bury myself to the hilt, my fingers gouging her hips, teeth scraping over the slope of her shoulder. The scene plays out in my head like a porno as I let the pressure bust me wide open. I groan, loud and unrestrained, as I spurt cum into the toilet water.

I’m so fucked, and I definitely shouldn’t have hired her. But not hiring her was about as possible as not thinking about her.

Every time the skies open and rain beats down on me.

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