Had he realized how wet I was? How badly I wanted him? Even now, I throb at the thought of it, the huskiness in his voice, the dominant way his hand had closed around my thigh. If he had knelt, had lifted my skirt and bared my ass, run his fingers along the Brazilian cut of my underwear, if he had dragged my panties to the side … I slide my hand down, to my swollen clit, and softly brush my fingers over it.
I could feel the heat of him when he had moved behind me, the brush of him against me. I’d almost said I didn’t care about commitments and risks and had him take me to his bedroom right there. Naked, I open up the door and step into the shower, closing my eyes as the hot water hits my skin. And I’ll never be able to wear that skirt again without thinking of his pen pushing up the fabric, his hands so close behind it. I consider the suit, then toss both the jacket and the skirt in the direction of my bed. I turn on the shower and unclip the garter belt, rolling the expensive hosiery down my legs and stepping out of my damp panties, leaving the pile of lingerie on the floor of my bathroom, the rest of my undressing done with less ceremony.
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