When Miss Groper walks away, I can't help myself. I decide to taunt Raya, even though I do everything possible to hide the traitor that has grown hard in my pants.
"Not used to being felt up, Raya?" I ask while flipping the page on my magazine. I groan inwardly, but remain stoic on the outside. Tampon ad? Really? I don't need this shit right now. Gross. "With a shining personality like yours, I would've assumed no one could resist," I add, still sounding cool and unaffected.
I use my peripheral to watch her, keeping my spying discreet. Her scowl is actually adorable, but I move my attention to the page as I flip it, praying it's not another equally disgusting ad. Crap. Yeast infection ointment? Oh God. I'm never having sex again now. Too much. Way too much.
How I hold my smirk in place... I don't know. All I want to do is gag right now. Guys aren't supposed to see this... this... gross stuff.
"Raya?" the woman calls. "You ready?"
The second she's out of the room, I toss the magazine down like it's on fire. Then I glare at the cover with the sexy woman in a skimpy bikini. She's just a damn Trojan Horse, and I fell for the trap. That should be illegal. At the very least, it's unethical.
I'll fill out a comment card before I leave. If men sit out here, they should have proper reading material.
Leaning back, I put my hands behind my head and listen to the muffled sounds. Fortunately, it's a little slow today, so listening is easier. I can't make out what they're saying exactly, but the mention of swimsuits makes the traitor in my pants get even harder.
Hell no. Hell to the fuck no. I will strangle my dick if it continues to react to the evil little woman down the hall. In an effort to hopefully walk off this rock in my pants, I move and start sifting through the weird assortment of dresses. I hear one of the girls talking to my father on the phone, and I roll my eyes at her syrupy sweet voice.
Sarah Martin. Should have known. I forgot she works here.
When Sarah walks out from down the hall, I roll my eyes, listening to her giggle flirtatiously. That's a pointless endeavor. My dad's a dick, but he still loves my mother. It's his most redeeming quality, so the young blonde needs to quit thinking she has a chance.
This is taking too long. I need to make Raya hurry up.
Heading down to where she is, I hear a wheezed, "Help."
That's... creepy.
"Raya?" I ask, leaning closer to the door.
"Can't breathe," I hear in a strained whisper.
Holy Shit!
I push through the door, flinging it open fully, and try to figure out what I'm seeing. Silky, dark hair has fallen around bare shoulders and is resting on one seriously tight corset—not what I need right now. But when I see how red Raya's face is, I can't help but burst out laughing.
Fortunately, the overwhelming humor kills some of the strain in my pants.
I walk behind her, push her hair over her shoulder, and ignore my cock when it responds to the slightest graze of my hand on her skin. Then she has to go and shiver against my touch. If this wasn't so funny, I'd probably be doing something really stupid right now.
"Don't move," I say through a snicker, and then I start unlacing the tangle of tight knots.
When I get it loosened, she coughs and heaves for more air, making my smile twitch. This would be so much more amusing if she didn't look so good.
"Don't ever let Sarah lace you up. She's got a nasty habit of making girls with curves pay."
Sarah is actually the only one here I know, and that's only because she stalked Tag for a while. Crazy bitch.
But everything leaves my mind when I see a dark-colored mark below the corset and disappearing up behind it. What the…?
"Holy shit," she says in a cough, but I'm too busy loosening up the laces more, trying to see where this ungodly bruise starts and ends. "It's not like I'm obese," she continues, sounding furious.
Seeing the way her body curves in just the right places makes me want to explore. But after spotting the vicious bruise in front of me, my heart almost stops and kills every bit of my lust as guilt floods me. No. Dad said she had no serious injuries. This can't be from the house.
"No," I mutter in response to her obese comment. "Not even close."
My hands rest on her hips as I stare blankly at the proof of how severely wrong this all could have gone.
"Is this from the roof collapsing?" I finally ask, dreading the answer as I motion to the bruise.