“Hold here,” he says, taking my hand and guiding it down to where my underwear is pressed to my thigh. He’d been holding it to the side, exposing me, and when my hand replaces his, suddenly it feels like I’m offering myself to him.
Here.
Take it.
Have it all, my body says as he bends low and blows cool air against my wetness. My hips jerk off the carpet, trying to ease the mounting tension. His hand finds my thigh and he uses gentle pressure to keep me still as he does it again. Cool air. A kiss pressed against my upper thigh. A finger skimming my folds. He sinks his finger inside me slowly, like he wants to savor the sensation. I’m tight around him and I try to relax. He adds a second finger and stretches me. I’m arching for him, letting him fuck me with his fingers in this dark closet because I’m not Madeleine Thatcher anymore. This is someone new, someone who left her inhibitions at the closet door.
“Could you come for me like this?” he asks, and I laugh.
Can’t you feel me starting to shake? I want to ask. Can’t you feel the way I’m starting to crumble beneath you?
He bends down and I have his hair in my hands. I’m tugging on the strands as his lips draw closer and closer to where I desperately need them. A lick. A taste. It’s hardly more than a few seconds of sensation, but the pleasure tears through me. He adds his thumb to the mix, swirling it across my bundle of nerves, and I’m crying out for him.
His free hand clamps over my mouth, trying to muffle my cries. His tongue drags across me. I try to stay quiet, but his fingers are working inside me, sliding in and out even faster. It’s like he’s telling me to stay quiet and moan louder all at once. I’m shaking. I’m close. The first few ripples of pleasure warn me that I’m going to crash and burn in a few seconds, that soon his hand will need to suffocate me completely to keep me quiet.
“Madeleine,” he whispers. “Madeleine.”
My name has taken on another meaning. It’s a plea and a command, and when I come for him, he says it a third time, pressing each syllable to the inside of my thigh.
I come back to earth slowly, putting together the pieces of our closet rendezvous as Adam crawls off me and tugs my skirt back into place. My shirt is still missing. My bra is unhooked, sitting askew on my chest. I’m pretty sure I have second-degree carpet burn on my back.
Adam is already standing.
“What about you?”
I think I see him smile in the dark. “There’s not enough time.”
Of course there’s not enough time!
“Oh God. I can’t believe we did that while your mom and sister-in-law were in the house.” I groan as he pulls me up to stand beside him.
He chuckles and helps me straighten my clothes.
The closet door is unlocked and pushed open. I have no clue how long we were in there, but it was long enough that I have to blink my eyes as they adjust to the light in the master bedroom.
“You look great,” he says, fixing his now-wrinkled scrubs.
He looks sexy, but his hair is tousled and his lips are red. A quick glance in the master bathroom mirror proves that I look a million times worse. My makeup is smeared. My clothes are creased. My hair is frizzy, and no amount of finger combing will flatten it back down to normal.
“Relax,” Adam says, eyeing me from the doorway. “They probably haven’t even realized we’ve been gone that long.”
Oh they realized all right. Diane has a knowing smile on her face when we stroll into the kitchen a few minutes later.
“And so that’s the house,” I announce to Adam as though I’m trying to conclude a fake tour.
“Wow. That was some tour,” Kathy says with a laugh. “We’ve been sitting here for almost thirty minutes.”
Adam nods. “Yeah, I really liked the house. I wanted Madeleine to show me every nook and cranny.”
“And did you, Madeleine?” Kathy asks with feigned innocence. “Did you show Adam every nook and cranny?”
Adam tries and fails to cover a laugh.
I pretend like I don’t understand subtle innuendos.
In all, it’s the most embarrassing experience of my entire life, and I decide that I won’t be able to look Diane or Kathy in the eye for at least a month.
Maybe a year.CHAPTER NINETEENADAMI keep my promise and don’t see Madeleine until the real estate mixer the following weekend. I’m not happy about it, and my office staff isn’t either. They don’t know the source of my moodiness, why I’m suddenly quick to snap and annoyed by minor mistakes, but I can tell they’re all scared to be around me. One morning midweek, I am about to wish one of the assistants a good morning and she scurries out of the reception area so fast that she spills half her coffee on the floor.