forwards to give him a glimpse of my cream satin knickers. I push my hand inside and start to finger myself, but itâs not enough. He can only imagine what Iâm doing. I want him to see. I want him to know what Iâve been going through for the last month, as Iâve watched him in all his beautiful glory and had to resist.
I ease my trousers down over my hips, let them fall to the floor, aware every moment of where we are and how wrong this is. But I canât seem to stop myself from wanting it, from wanting him. My knickers follow suit. I keep my gaze firmly locked onto Lucas Brady as I slide my fingers over my exposed pussy, through the hair that covers my mound and down to the soft wetness below. I stopped waxing when I got my divorce, so Iâm hardly neat down there, but Lucas doesnât seem to care.
Heâs watching the movement of my hand as I touch myself. For the briefest of moments, his gaze lifts and I find myself looking right into those dark, dark eyes and it is as if he understands how much I have held myself back from, how much I am holding myself back even now. Iâm exposed, but he isnât seeing all of me, not yet. My clit is hard and throbbing beneath my fingers and the first rub of my thumb across it has me biting into my bottom lip to keep from crying out.
âIs this what it was like for you?â I ask. âKnowing someone was watching?â Because the fact that he is watching seems to have heightened every sense in my body, driving me on, driving me to feel more, to want more. My climax is rushing towards me with the force of a freight train and there is nothing I can do to control it. I slide a finger inside my pussy to try and ease the ache, but itâs not enough, so I add another and I fuck myself with my hand as my thumb works my clit and Lucas Brady watches me.
I am going to come, and I am going to come now, and it is going to be loud and messy and everyone in the office is going to know.
Oh, god.
I wonât be calm, responsible Meredith any more. Iâll be that horny bitch Meredith, the one who canât control herself. And then Iâm there, riding through an orgasm that makes my head feel like it might explode as my vagina tightens round my fingers in wave after intense wave of pleasure, and I am going to scream, only I canât.
Because Lucas Brady is all around me. His hands are on my body, holding me, soothing me, grounding me, as his mouth covers mine and he swallows my uncontrolled howl. He tastes of the two sugars he adds to his coffee and he tastes of something more, and for the briefest of moments I find myself kissing him back, my hands fisted in the front of his tank top.
But then it is over, and there is nothing in the space but the sound of our breathing. I uncurl my hands and push him away. I snatch at my underwear and my trousers and pull them up, fastening the zip with shaking fingers. I shove a hand through my hair and try to find my balance, but it has deserted me. I pull in some air, force it out again. It only tastes of him, anyway.
I should say something, I know I should. Something cutting and vicious that will put him firmly back in his place. But I donât have the words. So instead, I open the door and storm out, marching back to my desk with my head held high and my heart racing. I send out a group email saying that Iâve got a headache and Iâm going home, then I shove my feet into my shoes and pick up my bag and leave.
And wonder how long I can make the headache last.
Chapter Five
I spend the rest of the afternoon lying on the sofa and watching rubbish on TV and when that fails to work, I take a bath and reorganise my wardrobe. By the time Iâve polished all my shoes and folded all my weekend T-shirts, Iâve regained some semblance of being in control.
I stick a ready-made lasagne in the microwave and open a bottle of wine â if Iâm going to have a headache in the morning, I might
Learning to Kill: Stories