by Score, Lucy
I understood it, recognized it even. But my compulsion wasn’t this pure, beautiful art. Mine wasn’t a celebration like Ally’s.
Mine was dark. Dirty. And I was drowning in it.
I stood there watching her, aching for her, as the night chill slowly worked its way into my bones. Cold. I was a cold man. I wasn’t capable of warmth. Of romance. Kindness. The woman on the other side of the glass deserved more than I could give her. But that didn’t stop me from wanting her.
I’d taken things that weren’t mine before. But not like my father. Never like my father.
My throat tightened, watching Ally slide to the floor and crawl toward the mirror.
I wanted what I couldn’t have.
I wanted her to the point of desperation. And it made me hate myself just a little more.
The office was closer than home. I couldn’t wait.
* * *
I gave a terse nod to building security and headed up to my office. The image of Ally crawling on her hands and knees was burned into my brain, distilled in my blood.
Tonight I’d done plenty of things to hate myself for. What was one more?
The forty-third floor was empty. And I fought my baser instincts by taking a slow lap. Daring myself not to do it. Willing myself to be strong enough not to.
But it was a losing battle.
I locked myself in my office, not bothering with the lights. By the time I crossed to the bathroom door behind my desk, I already had my cock out of my pants.
I kicked at the door, not bothering to close it all the way. It didn’t matter. I had more pressing things to take care of.
Closing my eyes, I fisted my dick at the root, willing the pulsating need to slow or stop. I leaned against the vanity with my free hand and tried not to fucking come on the spot.
This is what she did to me. Every fucking day. I’d never wanted anyone with this gut-churning intensity before. I felt like my neurons were carving monuments to the woman in my brain.
“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, giving my shaft one violent stroke. “Ally.”
I wished it was her. I wished I was pushing my way inside her while she wrapped her legs around me and breathed my name against my lips. I wished she was mine to take.
My vision was going black as I pumped into my hand. Hard, vicious strokes. I wouldn’t last. I couldn’t. Not when up against the imagined sighs from Ally’s pretty, pink lips. Not when I could see her crawling to me, those brown eyes begging.
“Dom? Oh my God! I’m so sorry.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The bathroom door burst open, and there she was, back in her dress and those boots. Had I fucking conjured her? Was this some cruel joke?
“Get the fuck out, Ally,” I growled.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I was dropping something off for Shayla, and there were papers for you to sign, and I used a key and…”
I chanced a glance at her in the mirror.
She was still there and she was staring at me. Her mouth a perfect O. My throbbing dick jerked, and I held it in a chokehold.
I was so close to coming. And she was right there.
But this wasn’t a fantasy. This was reality. There were rules.
And I was a goddamn monster.
Wanting her made me a monster.
“Dom,” she said softly.
I squeezed my eyes shut. “Ally, you need to go.” My voice shook.
“You said my name. Before,” she said, she took a step closer. She looked dazed.
She’d heard me say her name while I was stroking my own cock.
“Ally, I can’t hold on. Get the fuck out of here,” I said through clenched teeth. Desperation was bitter in my mouth.
She was next to me now. I could smell her goddamn lemon shampoo. “If you weren’t worried about anything else,” she began softly, “would you want me to stay?”
“Go. Now,” I growled. I could feel my pulse in my head and the crown of my cock simultaneously.
She laid a hand on my shoulder, and it almost broke me. “Answer me, Dom.”
“Jesus. Please, Ally.” I was begging her now. If I released my hold on my dick, I’d come. And she’d stand there watching. I couldn’t do anything but clamp my fist around my goddamn hard-on and look at her.
“Are you thinking about me?” she asked.
“Yes.” I snapped out the confession through gritted teeth. “Happy? I’m always thinking of you.”
“But you don’t want me enough to bend the rules.”
I chanced a look at her. Her lids were heavy, lips parted and wet as if she’d just licked them. “They are rules for a reason.”
She stepped around me and slid between me and the vanity. The tip of my dick was centimeters away from her stomach. “So you can want to touch me, to fuck me. But the rule is more important.”
Sweat was running down my back.
“Something like that,” I breathed out. Right this second, my own logic didn’t even make sense.
“I’m so pissed at you, Dom. But apparently that doesn’t mean I don’t want to know what it feels like to have you inside me. And I hate that,” she confessed.
“Join the club,” I rasped.
I tried to think about every unsexy thing in the universe, but nothing could tear my brain away from Ally. Not when she was stepping those fuck-me boots apart in front of me and reaching for the hem of her dress.
“Don’t you fucking do it,” I warned her.
“Can I show you? Please? I won’t if you don’t want me to.”
I wanted it more than I wanted anything in the entire fucking universe. More than I wanted to go back to my old life. More than I wanted my father to not be a monster. More than I wanted to come. “God. Yes.”
She lifted the hem of her dress, revealing those red panties I’d caught a glimpse of earlier. There was a wet spot on the front. She was fucking wet.
“Is that for me?” The words tore up my throat like they were made of glass.
“I think about you, too, Dom. I like fighting with you, flirting with you. And apparently, you being a high-handed alpha asshole is a turn-on too. And I don’t like it any more than you do.”
“I can’t be with you, Ally. Not like you want. Not while you work here.”
“And I can’t quit,” she whispered.
My dick was throbbing and turning an angry purple. I loosened my grip by a millimeter, relieved when I didn’t explode right then and there all over her.
Watching me, she slipped her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and slid them down her legs. I didn’t see a damn thing because the dress skimmed down, covering her goddamn promised land. Red cotton on smooth, milky skin. My dick spasmed. I resumed my chokehold.
She stepped out of them and handed them to me. They were warm. I barely restrained myself from holding them to my face and breathing them in like a fucking pervert. “Give me something to think about tonight, Dom. Please.”
She was handing me a goddamn fantasy. And that “please.” Those liquid honey eyes pleaded with me and had me taking an even firmer grip on my shaft.
Her petal pink lips parted as she watched me, and I imagined her on her knees in front of me. I couldn’t stop myself. Not even if I’d tried. Not even if the entire board of directors strolled through the door right now. Wrapping her underwear around my fist, I gave my abused shaft a long, hard stroke.
I groaned. But the whimper that tore its way out of her throat gave me the strength to hang on. I wanted more noises like that from her. And I wanted them all to myself.
We were inches apart in this bathroom. And I’d already crossed so many lines. What was one more? But this was the line. One my father would have crossed in a heartbeat without a second thought. Because it gratified him. Because he thought he deserved it.
I was different. I knew I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t deserve her.
“Ally. I can’t.” I shook my head, pinching my eyes closed. I couldn’t be like him.
<
br /> “Okay, Dom.” She sounded so fucking disappointed, and it made me feel even worse. I was the bad guy, even when I was trying to be the good guy.
I heard the sound of the bathroom door closing softly. And when I opened my eyes, I was alone in the washroom.
Alone again.
I couldn’t even go after her to apologize. Because I was too busy jerking off into those red panties. My balls ached as they drew up against me, and I felt it build at the base of my spine. In seconds, I was coming so hard it hurt. Watching in bitter, deviant fascination as my orgasm covered the wet spot that she said was for me. I kept coming, huge, wrenching spurts that couldn’t be contained by a little swatch of cotton. But I didn’t care.
“Ally.” Her name scorched my throat. “Ally.”
29
Ally
The name of the game was avoidance.
After a long, sleepless night punctuated by not one but two icy showers, endless mental pep talks, and searching the internet for “distraction techniques,” “how to stop picturing my boss naked”—don’t Google that one, by the way—and “how to become a monk,” I’d come to the conclusion that my only rational course of action was to pretend that Dominic Russo didn’t exist.
I’d been furious with the man. And then one glimpse of the purple-headed sea monster in his pants, and I’d gone all pizza delivery porno on him.
The pain on his face when I’d walked in on him had burned into me. As had the vision of him fisting that magnificent fucking erection through his open trousers.
Me. He’d been thinking about me. And when I made it clear that I was available, that he could have the real thing, he’d shut me down. The man was masturbating to a fantasy about me, and he still didn’t want the real thing.
The only thing that made any kind of sense was that he was hiding behind the rules, using them as an excuse. Because I was Elizabeth Bennett and so far beneath him it made him sick to entertain the thought of actually being with me.
That pissed me off all over again.
The next morning, I slunk into the admin pool, surveying the room like a gentle woodland creature scenting the air for… whatever eats gentle woodland creatures.
“Nice of you to join us,” Malina said snidely.
I was beginning to think she did everything snidely. Today, she was dressed in a winter white sheath dress with her hair scraped back in a perfect platinum bun. Her mouth looked as if it had either had a run-in with some bees this weekend or she’d paid a visit to a syringe of fillers.
“You look nice,” I observed.
She rolled thickly lashed eyes with contempt. “Ugh. Shut up.”
I shrugged, then flopped down in my chair to boot up my computer. While it chugged to life, my nice new work phone signaled a text.
Charming: We need to talk.
My brain screamed, “Oh, hell no,” as my traitorous lady parts started an inappropriate celebration.
I was not putting myself in a situation where I could see, hear, smell, or be within fifteen feet of the man. I didn’t know what was going on biologically with me, but I was an adult, gosh darn it.
I was not a hormone-driven teenager with no respect for consequences.
The one thing that I’d managed to drill into my head overnight was that this paycheck was the only thing keeping my father where he needed to be. And I wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardize that. At least, that’s what I’d told my vagina last night.
Panic danced its way down my spine. If he walked in here and demanded to see me, I didn’t trust myself to not do something stupid. It was fifty-fifty on whether I’d punch him in the face or just go straight for his zipper with eager hands.
Fortunately, salvation arrived in the form of my supervisor. Zara was hustling down the aisle between the rows of cubicles, sticky notes in one hand, Sharpie in the other. “I need a volunteer to go out and—”
“I’ll do it!” I shot out of my seat like I was spring-loaded.
Zara looked at me like the weirdo I was. “You don’t even know what the assignment is.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I said desperately. “If it’s out of the building, I’ll take it. I’ll take all of the out of the building tasks.”
“It’s ten degrees and sleeting outside,” Gola said, appearing behind Zara. She looked concerned. I didn’t blame her.
“I like the cold. Love it,” I insisted. Words I’d never strung together in my entire life.
“Well, that makes my job easy,” Zara said. “I didn’t even have to bribe anyone with lunch.” She handed me six sticky notes and then snatched her hand back when I ripped them out of her grasp.
“What’s the hurry? Is there a sale at the soup kitchen?” Malina sniffed, giving my outfit a judgemental once-over.
I wasn’t head-to-toe in designer labels, but I looked good. You know, in case I accidentally ran into a certain someone who ceased to exist.
I was wearing a swingy plaid skirt over ribbed tights. Solid thrift store finds. Linus had liberated my last season thigh-high boots from “the closet” for me. My turtleneck was a leftover from my Colorado life when I’d actually had more than thirty-two dollars in the bank after bills.
Come on, Payday Gods, and smile your blessings upon my bank account.
“Mal, soup kitchens are free,” Gola sighed.
“What’s the matter, Malina? Couldn’t find any small children to kick on your way to work this morning?” Zara asked, rearranging the rest of her notes.
Malina made a hissing noise and primly returned to her chair.
I picked up the bag I’d dumped on the floor and started for the elevators. I didn’t really think Dominic would come looking for me. He was more of a summoner. But I also wasn’t willing to take that chance.
“What’s going on with you?” Gola asked, her long legs eating up the distance between us as I yanked the glass door to the elevators open. “Everything okay?”
“Everything’s great,” I said. I felt the tell-tale red flush creep up my neck. I was a shit liar. “I’m great.”
She looked unconvinced. “By ‘great’ you clearly mean ‘about to lose your damn mind.’”
I frantically stabbed the down button on the elevator. Three times. “Ha! You look so pretty today,” I said.
The stairwell door opened on the far end of the hallway, and the man who didn’t exist stepped out. His eyes went straight to me.
I turned my back and stabbed the button again.
“Ally, I say this with love,” Gola said. “You need a massage and a facial.”
I could feel his gaze on me. It felt like wildfire licking its way over my skin. I had to get out. Now.
The merciful god of high-rise elevators shined his divine love upon me, and the doors opened on a dignified ding. I stepped inside, hurling my body into the already crowded car. I couldn’t afford to wait for another one.
“I’ll call you later,” I promised Gola frantically as I jabbed the close button.
Stubbornly, the doors refused to close.
Dominic was closing in, stalking toward me with murder in his eyes and—was that a fucking vest? That son of a bitch!
I let go of the button, ready to take a stance against him, against the vest. Just then, the damn doors began to slide toward each other.
His blue eyes were icy and troubled. He looked the same as he had last night, except he wasn’t, you know, violently masturbating and rasping out my name.
Was it weird that the sexiest moment of my life hadn’t actually involved having sex?
I went weak in the knees with a desire so carnal I worried I might die on the spot.
“Can I help you with something, Mr. Russo?” Gola squeaked as he charged forward.
I glared at him, channeling all of my angst and maybe a little bit of the heat emanating from my below-the-waist region through the sliver of space between the doors until they closed, severing our connection.
Everyone else in the elevator was staring at me, but I ign
ored them. A bead of sweat worked its way down my back as I let out a long breath. It felt like a victory. Like I’d just escaped a hungry lion. This dumbass gazelle would live to gazelle another day. The triumphant feeling stuck with me until I crossed the lobby and ducked out into the miserable cold, gray world.
* * *
My assignments were a mixed bag of pickups, drop-offs, and location snooping for various departments.
Halfway through my list, I broke down and ducked into a coffee shop. It was warm and cozy inside. It was also full of people who reminded me of the old me. Designers and writers, huddled over laptops, setting their own schedules, kicking back with foamy lattes they could afford.
I ordered a tall black coffee and looked longingly at the pastries in the case. Then remembered the thirty-two dollars in the bank. Payday was tomorrow. I just had to hang in until then. I’d cut it too close. I was almost out of groceries. The gas bill was due. And I was as far behind as I could get on Dad’s bills. I was holding my breath until that direct deposit landed at 12:01 a.m. Then, after writing those checks, I was going to buy myself a shot of whiskey. A bottom shelf shot.
The music in my earbuds cut off as my text alert sounded.
I knew before even looking at the screen who it was.
Charming: You can’t run forever. We will have this conversation sooner or later.
I grabbed my coffee off the counter and slid into a chair in the corner facing the steamy glass window.
Me: Nope.
Charming: Where are you?
Me: You can’t fire me.
Charming: I’m not trying to fire you. I’m trying to apologize and promise it will never happen again. If anything, you could have me fired. You should have me fired.
Me: What is wrong with you?
Charming: I don’t know.