Page 38 of Boss Abroad

The wait is torture. But then he sends me an eight-second video of him sucking on my panties and moaning. Moaning.

I can only see half of his face, his head tilted back, showing the power and veins of his neck. Fuck me, he’s strong.

He’s holding the camera further away this time, and I can see his shoulder moving up and down.

My hand flies to my mouth, open in utter shock. He’s jerking off.

Mouth still agape, my hand flies to the screen to press play over and over again. I’m getting wetter with each replay of his grunts. I never thought I’d say this, but I have a favorite porn clip.

L:

Now if you excuse me, your fucking sweet taste and refusal to see me compels me to handle something on my own. Sweet dreams, Doc.

It takes a few minutes for me to regain my composure and snap out of the trance he has me in. I get my vibrator out of my bedside table—I did unpack my essentials—and play Liam’s video on repeat until I come twice and am so spent, I fall asleep without turning my toy off.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

liam

I should be admitted to a mental facility as there’s clearly something wrong with me.

And I should be studied too.

This must be the first case in human history of someone regressing thirty years in their mental state, because I sure as fuck feel like a teenager right now.

And to be fair to the teenager version of myself, I don't remember acting in such an idiotic fashion back then.

Or I could be thrown in jail, as this is clearly stalking.

Not only am I sitting in my car, waiting for April to arrive so I can follow her in, but I’m also following her as she makes her way here by tracking her new phone. This is not only inappropriate and condemnable, but I’m 99.9% certain that it is also illegal and warrants grounds for imprisonment.

I’m always the first one into work, always. But not today, not after I met the feisty young doctor. She’s not only too young for me, she also makes me act wholly inappropriate for my age, too.

But fuck if I’m not aching for another fill of her.

This morning I painted every tile in my bathroom in her honor and still can’t get her out of my head.

Every time I contemplate picking up my phone to hire an escort—an act as mundane and ordinary as ordering a food delivery—something halts me.

I know it’ll be, at best, as satisfying as jerking myself off and I’ll still be left craving April by the end of it. So I stuck to free manual labor.

It’s been twenty-four minutes. Does this woman have a watch? Should I have bought her that instead of a phone? Where the fuck is she? It’s almost 9 am.

I’ve already cleared all my inboxes and had two video calls with business partners from Dubai and Hong Kong. My patience is wearing thin and my leg is bouncing so much it should add to my step count of the day. When the digital clock in the top right corner displays nine o'clock sharp, I shut my laptop, drop it in my bag and tell George that I’m heading inside.

As I lay my hand on the door handle to push it open, April arrives.

The car she’s in doesn’t make its way into the parking lot. It stops at the gate. She steps out of it in high heels and a skirt tighter than a sailor’s knot. Tighter than my clenched fist around my cock last night, and this morning, on her behalf.

At least now I can swear to God that this encounter was a coincidence and I won’t be lying, I lie to myself.

As I'm about to exit the car, rehearsing my surprised expression at the remarkable series of events that led us to meet by total chance, I spot Physio Guy exiting the vehicle, too. The scene robs me of any spontaneity, and my hand freezes on the door handle.

Does this fucking parking lot have something against me?

Is this woman incapable of riding alone in a car?

My morning goes sour as I watch them enter the building in a too friendly manner for my liking and I consider having this parking lot imploded.