“I care,” I mumble.
And then he clasps my face and before I can go spastic, his lips touch mine. He kisses deeply, his tongue slipping into my mouth. My thoughts, my insecurities—they whoosh out of my head and all my built-up tension starts to tighten again.
The distraction works too well. Because when he draws back, a few of the models clap and whistle in jest. Lo shakes his head at me as my elbows blush.
“Don’t listen to them.” He rolls out my chair and guides me until I’m sitting behind my desk once more. And he hangs onto the back, his head dipping low as he meets my ear. “Just think of finishing that kiss tonight.”
I turn my head a fraction to see his sharp features, all ice. “And what if I can’t wait?”
“You can,” he assures me, but his muscles flex, worried by my sudden claim.
“You’re right,” I say. “I can.” I nod, knowing I have to. I have to wait in this chair, with my back to ten male models, and I have to finish double checking my spreadsheet. I nod again, trying to build confidence.
He kisses my temple one last time, leaving me completely aching. And every so often, my arousal turns to embarrassment and shame. I wonder if any of those models can read my sinful thoughts—or if they just think I’m a bizarre girl. I shouldn’t care about the latter, but being reminded that I’m not normal makes me feel…wrong and dirty.
After Rose assigns the models outfits, she stops by my desk. “You look flushed.”
I shrug sheepishly. What else is there to say to that?
“You don’t have to be here, Lily,” she says. “You can go home early.”
“I need to finish this.” I tap my screen. “And I want to ride home with Lo.”
“You’re uncomfortable,” she says.
I am, but I’m desperately trying to do the right thing here. I’m trying to be better. “It’s okay.”
She pats my shoulder. “If you change your mind, let me know. I won’t be upset by it.” She returns to the models, and she flocks Katie and Trish, making sure they’re doing their jobs well.
After ten minutes, I regret drinking two mochas this morning. I have the worst urge to pee, and that means spending time alone in the bathroom. And hello, I’m aroused too, and the allure of self-love is overpowering like a drug.
I cannot squirm any longer in my seat. I don’t want to attract more unnecessary attention to myself. So I stand and walk tentatively to the bathroom past both Trish and Katie’s work stations. I look over my shoulder just once, and I spot all the models pulling on sport’s coats, button-downs, collared shirts and golf shorts, all of the clothes tailored and chic.
Lo meets my gaze. He’s full of questioning. I mouth, bathroom. He nods, but he must see the need creeping over me like a cancer because his worry never disappears. But I can wait to have sex. I’ll be fine, I try to convince myself.
I shut the door behind me, and after I finish on the toilet, I touch my panties, about to raise them around my thighs. But I hesitate for one strong second. Because the place between my legs throbs so badly, and I remember the blissful feeling if I just touch once. I’ll be floating. I want that.
I shut my eyes and spend a great deal of time in a mental battle. I end up pulling on my panties, but my jeans stay around my ankles. I close the toilet lid and sit on the maroon suede covering. The bathroom smells like pine and cranberries, a glass vase of potpourri emitting the aroma.
It makes leaving ten times harder.
And then the door opens. I forgot to lock it! I internally shriek. I struggle with my jeans. “Someone’s in here!” I shout, but the body slips inside anyway.
With his back to me, Lo locks the door and then turns around, catching me frozen—with my jeans midway up my legs, with the toilet seat closed.
“I didn’t…” I start. Does he believe me?
I wouldn’t. I’ve been caught with my pants down.
It looks like I didn’t even try to wait. It looks like I gave up.
{ 10 }
LOREN HALE
I rub my lips, not sure what to make of Lily sitting on the toilet lid with her jeans halfway up her ankles. I worry about her heavy breath and the shakiness of her hands. She’s an addict who needs her next fix.
“Lo, I didn’t,” she says again.
And I believe her this time. Tears threaten to spill down her cheeks, and I rush to her before she has a major breakdown. I squat to match her height, and I place my hands on her knees. “Hey, shh.” I cup her face and rub a fallen tear with my thumb. “You’re okay.”