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“Good girl.”

I press the toy against myself through my underwear. Just testing. Exploring.

The sensation shoots through me like electricity.

I’m wet. I’ve been wet since I started thinking about him. Or maybe since even earlier. Since the car ride, or since his hand clamped around my arm as I got out of the elevator. Since the moment he appeared in that unlit office like a devil summoned from the pits of hell.

I push my underwear aside and touch myself directly.

His thumb is in my mouth. I’m sucking on it like it’s the only thing keeping me alive. He makes that low rumble in his throat. Approving. Pleased.

“That’s it, Ms. Everett. Just like that.”

I increase the speed. The vibration buzzes against my clit and I bite down on my lip to keep from moaning.

His other hand moves to his belt. The leather whispers as he pulls it free. The buckle clinks.

I imagine what he’d look like. What he’dfeellike. Huge and hard and demanding.

“You look so pretty on your knees for me, Ms. Everett,” he says in my head. “Right where you belong.”

I arch up into the toy. The pressure builds in my belly.

I picture his fingers replacing the vibrator. Thick and rough, knowing exactly what to do. Pushing inside me while his thumb works my clit. His breath hot against my ear.

“A good girl, yes, but also such a bad girl. Wanting what you can’t have… Craving the forbidden… That’s very bad indeed, Rae. So why does it make you so wet? Why doIbring you right to the edge of oblivion?”

I’m close. So close. My thighs are shaking.

“Cum for me,” dream-Lukas commands. “Now.”

I do.

The orgasm explodes. I clamp a hand over my mouth to muffle the sound. My whole body trembles as it rolls on and on.

When it finally fades, I’m left panting in the dark.

The vibrator hums uselessly against my thigh. I turn it off. It’s only then that the full weight of what I just did comes crashing down.

I am so screwed.

I lie there for a long while, staring at the ceiling. Then I peel myself out of bed and stumble to the bathroom.

I turn the heat up until it’s almost painful. If I can just hit the exact right temperature of “scalding,” I can burn away the shame. I can scrub the evidence off my skin and out of my brain.

That’s the plan, at least.

To no one’s surprise, it does not work.

No matter how hot it gets, the water does nothing. I scrub until my skin is pink, but the fire circulating low in my belly refuses to fade.

When I finally step out, I’m still thinking about him. I towel off mechanically. My reflection in the foggy mirror looks guilty, like someone who just did something she shouldn’t have.

Because I did.

I pull on an old t-shirt and climb back into bed. The sheets are rumpled, but they’re cool to the touch now. I shove the purple vibrator back in the drawer without looking at it, so it knows I’m not happy with what it just persuaded me to do.

My body is satisfied and relaxed, purring in a way it hasn’t in months.