Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
I snap out of my spiraling thoughts at the buzz of my phone, glancing down to read the new messages with a smile.
Mister Mystery: I could still take care of you, even if I can’t come see you. What do you think about properly christening your new office?
Riley: Planning to send me a bottle of champagne to break over the desk? I don’t think the cleaning crew would be very happy with me.
I snort at my own ridiculous little joke, leaning back against the edge of my brand-new desk as I wait for a response.
Mister Mystery: I was going to suggest you make yourself come for me on your new desk, actually. If you’d prefer champagne, I can always send you a nice bottle ;)
My mouth drops open as heat flushes through me. I instinctively look over my shoulder even though I know no one else is here.
Riley: I’m at work!!
It’s supposed to be scolding, but I doubt my mystery man will take it as such. I can’t deny it’s hot to think about. Especially knowing that Nick is just on the other side of the wall.
Mister Mystery: And you have an office all to yourself now. Be a good girl and go lock your door, Miss Morgan.
A shiver runs down my spine as arousal pools in my gut. No one has to know how fast I cave to that instruction, making my way to the door and flipping the lock with a quick turn of my wrist. It’s only because it’s him asking. He’s already proven just how good he can make me feel without ever having to touch me.
Riley: Walk me through it again? Please?
I can’t help asking, the memory of his filthy words flashing across my screen that night in the bath making my desire skyrocket.
Mister Mystery: Liked it that much last time? What a sweet little thing you are, Princess.
He’s already typing again, so I don’t bother to respond just yet, simply allowing the need to build. I hop up on my desk, glancing nervously over my shoulder one last time before I work my skirt up my thighs, stopping just shy of indecent.
I know that no one can see me—this window is fifty stories up and almost definitely mirror-plated on the outside for privacy—but that doesn’t make it feel any less exposing to look out over the whole city as I wait for him to tell me exactly how to get myself off.
For him.
Shit, that shouldn’t be so hot. Maybe I have more of an exhibitionist streak than I thought.
Mister Mystery: I want you to finger yourself, stretch yourself out for me. Imagine me between your thighs, think about what I’d do to you if I walked in on you like that.
My breath comes out slow and shaky, my eyes slipping closed behind my glasses as I trail my hand up the inside of my thigh. I jolt at the first brush of my fingers against my panties, the fabric already wet enough to slide teasingly against my clit.
It’s not hard to conjure up an image of him, all broad-shouldered and muscular with demanding eyes and a wicked smirk.
I let my mind run wild as I slide my panties to the side and drag my fingers through the wetness gathering between my legs. It already feels incredible, and by the time I circle my fingers around my clit, I’m biting my lips to stop myself from making any noise.
My phone buzzes again, and I lift it with my free hand, panting softly as I read the text.
Mister Mystery: I want you to come thinking of me splitting you open on my cock, and then I want you to lick your fingers clean for me.
My clit throbs against my fingertips at the words, and I don’t bother trying to make this last.
Maybe it’s just because I’m at work, or maybe it has something to do with Nick being on the other side of the wall, but I’m so keyed up I can hardly think straight. My mind circles, throwing fantasy after fantasy at me as I slide my fingers inside myself slowly, enjoying the stretch and wishing for more.
Memories of that Halloween party flash behind my eyelids, and I clench down around my fingers as I remember how that man’s fingers felt inside of me.
He was built similarly to both Nick and my mystery man, muscled and tall and sure of himself, and he worked me into an orgasm with hardly any trouble. Maybe I have a thing for masks, or maybe it’s just men who remind me of my boss, but I let myself meld everything together. The man from Halloween flows into the masked man from the gala in my imagination, and he magically has Nick’s eyes, his voice, and his domineering aura as he pins me against a wall and makes me scream.