As I felt my muscles relaxing, I shifted and realized how sensitive my pussy was. When did that happen? I hadn’t been this aroused in weeks. Images of Vincent’s profile invaded my mind. His arms. His chest. And his waves of blonde hair inches above my face earlier that day while I was sprawled beneath him on his couch, his probing fingers raising my skirt to my hips. He felt even better than he looked.

I was vaguely aware of my hand sneaking toward my aching sex. When the pad of my finger touched my clit, I paused. Masturbating about Vincent wasn’t going to make this any better. I needed to forget my attraction to him and think of him only as a client. Maybe I should ask Riley to set me up with a date or two; she’d love the opportunity.

As if seeing other men would solve my Vincent problem. I smiled when I remembered him calling Richard “Dick” at the end of our first meeting. Bad boy or not, he was gorgeous, charming, and had a sense of humor. Forgetting my attraction to him would be like forgetting to breathe.

Maybe one touch. I let my hand graze my clit lightly, stimulating the sensitive nerves there. My breath caught and I tilted my head back. It’d been a few days since I last touched myself, which was normal. But since I met Vincent, days felt more like months. I tried another touch and an unexpected shiver ran up my spine, making me gasp. I’d anticipated a slow build, but after a few light strokes, I realized I was already primed.

He’d bet me I’d masturbate to thoughts of him. The gall of Vincent Sorenson. I always thought I’d be offended if someone said anything so crude to me, but it only heightened my attraction to him, which was annoying. I wanted to resist and prove him wrong—more for my own conscience than his—but I was rapidly becoming too aroused to care. What would it matter anyway? I’d never tell him and he’d never know. He wouldn’t have the satisfaction.

Without wasting time, I continued pleasuring myself, increasing both the pressure and area with each stroke until I was gliding up and down my lips in a slow circuit, coming up to my clit and down, easing in and out of my aching sex. Fingers steadily at work, my thoughts went back to Vincent. The fantasy of his strong hands exploring my body with his signature boldness drove me wild. My breath started coming in quicker bursts as I shortened my motion, an orgasm swelling in my core.

My phone rang, interrupting the moment. On the second ring, I realized it was my work phone. At eight-thirty. Nobody called that phone after work unless it was important, and I was expected to answer no matter where I was.

Drying my hands on my towel, I leaned out the tub and reached into my robe—reflecting, not for the first time, on how ridiculous it was I had to take my work phone into the bathroom with me.

Strange. Whoever was calling had an unknown number.

“Kristen Daley,” I answered.

“I hope I’m not catching you at an awkward moment.” The familiar voice made my pulse leap.

Vincent. I became all too aware of my compromised state with him on the other line. Why did this have to happen to me?

I was tempted to hang up, finish my orgasm then call him afterward with a clear head but I wouldn’t know what number to dial. I took a deep breath hoping to calm my nerves enough that my voice would come out evenly. “Mr. Sorenson, of course not. How can I help you?”

“You know it’s Vincent,” he said, correcting me. “I’m afraid I have a problem.”

My heart skipped a beat. There were numerous problems he could have, one of them being regret for signing with my employer earlier today. “What problem are you having?”

He sighed deeply into the receiver. “I haven’t been able to focus on my meetings or get any work done. You’re constantly on my mind. I need to taste your lips again. Uninterrupted.”

I tried to think of something to say, but first had to find the pieces of my mind that had scattered across the bathroom.

“I’m flattered. But that sounds like a personal problem that I can’t help you with, Mr. Sorenson.”

“Vincent. And tell me if you haven’t thought about me as well.”

I briefly wondered if my company recorded conversations on this phone but remembered IT telling me they didn’t. Regardless, I needed to steer this discussion away from lips and tasting. “Vincent, I’m sorry, but this discussion just isn’t professional.” I didn’t understand why it was so hard for him to get that into his head.

“Then let’s end it. We’re two consenting adults who have a strong sexual attraction for one another. What do we have to do to make this happen?”

A curious bubble swam towards my chest and I popped it with judiciousness. “As an adult, I admit our mutual attraction, but you and I can’t happen. Personal relations with clients are forbidden by my employer. If you have a problem with that, speak to the Waterbridge-Howser human resource department.”

“I already checked. There aren’t any rules against it.”

Damn it, he was determined. “There are office politics. I could get fired or dead-end my career—I hope you understand that. You might not have anything to lose, but I do.”

“I’m losing my mind thinking about you.” The urgency in his voice was surprisingly endearing. It was both unsettling and relieving to know I had such an acute effect on him. “I felt the way you kissed me. You want more.”

My hand at my forehead, I closed my eyes and sunk lower into the tub as I tried to control my rapid breaths. “Vincent, it was a heated moment and we both got carried away. That’s all.”

His voice became dark. “Have you touched yourself yet?”

I hesitated, my grip on the phone tightening. “That’s really none of your business.” My response came shakier than I’d wanted and I silently cursed myself.

“Already,” he purred, the silky vibration raising goosebumps across my skin. “Kristen, let’s be reasonable about this. I promise you the real thing is better than whatever you’re imagining.”

I squeezed my thighs together to suppress the growing need between them and sighed. “Please don’t make this so hard.”

“I am hard,” he grunted then paused as if thinking, and when he spoke next his gruff voice was dripping with desire. “You’re naked right now, aren’t you?”

My toes curled against the drain cover. How did he know that? His ability to sense my arousal through the phone was uncanny, and I briefly wondered if he could also read my mind. “Nice try,” I lied, a smile creeping across my face despite myself. “But I need to get going, if that’s all.”

“God, Kristen. If you’re touching yourself right now it’s only a fraction of the pleasure I’d give you.” He sounded as pained as the throbbing ache growing between my legs. “You’re selling both of us short.”

His strong words had an even stronger effect on my body. I was afraid I was going to start touching myself again if I didn’t get off the phone. The need was becoming overwhelming with him on the other end of the receiver; he was so far away yet so close.

I exhaled deeply, preparing the words I needed to say to him. “As your advisor, I recommend you hang up the phone, then with that same hand pleasure yourself until your arm goes numb or you’re satisfied—whichever comes first. Once you’ve finished, you’ll have forgotten all about me.”

When he didn’t respond, I began to wonder if my brush-off was too harsh. Then he spoke. “I made the right decision to have you as my point-of-contact. You’re everything I expected and more. We’ll be in touch.”

I heard a click then silence. I looked at my phone a second before putting it back in my robe pocket. What did he mean I was everything he expected and more? Was that whole conversation just some kind of weird test? The idea annoyed me further.

I sighed in frustration. The sexy-relaxing combo I’d been working with wasn’t going to cut it anymore—all relaxation had gone down the drain with that call. I needed a glass of wine and my bed. It had been a long, long time since I’d been this horny. My entire body felt like a wound spring.

I swung my leg over the side of the tub, intending to get out but gasped at the sensitivity. My sex, forgotten during the heat of the conversation, was swollen with desire. Knowing I wouldn’t fall asleep without release, I rocked back into the tub and kicked my legs up. My fingers returned to where they’d been before and I resumed stroking, eager to flush myself of an irritating ache that had only grown worse during Vincent’s call.

I thought of Vincent on top of me, the way his strapped arms would look as they braced his weight, the feeling of his rough grip, the raw power of his lithe body stretched out.

My strokes became shorter as my orgasm neared its peak. You’re naked right now, aren’t you? His lurid accusation intensified the stimulation and I increased my pace until the sensation was unbearable. The next second I felt the first shudders of the most powerful orgasm I’d ever had rip through my core. I gripped the edge of the tub to brace myself as I trembled with relief and satisfaction.

After a few small aftershocks, I came down from my bliss. My head was clearer than it had been moments ago and I assessed the situation. There were worse things than having a hot billionaire obsessed with you. If I could keep my actions in check, working with Vincent would be great for my career. On the downside, he was seductive as sin and persistent to a fault. I briefly imagined all the women willing to do anything he asked of them. A bad boy like him could really hurt me, and if anyone should’ve learned that lesson, it was me.

I got out of the tub and dried off. It was already getting late and I was more than ready to slip beneath my covers to end this exhausting day, but my mind wouldn’t stop racing. After tossing and turning in bed for an hour, preoccupied with thoughts of Vincent, I grumbled in resignation.

I reached into my nightstand, grabbed my vibrator, and went for round two.

Chapter Six

The next few days went by in a haze. After the thrill of landing the account, it was back to the normal grind of the analyst life: making reports and parsing data to pass along to higher-ups. I stayed busy in an attempt to stop myself from daydreaming about Vincent. My next meeting with him wasn’t for a week, and I didn’t want to think about him any more than I had to. Doing so was too distracting and more than a little stressful.