🔥🔥STEAMY ALERT—Ooooh boy 🔥🔥

♫ Don't pull your pants, before I go down
Don't turn away, this is my time
Don't make demands, I don't take none
Just say a prayer that it gon' get done ♪
{Lykke Li—Get some}

Coralie's frustration, as usual, translated into some serious song lyrics. But this time, before sending them off to Nikita, she saved and closed the document, giving herself a few instants to reflect on what she'd written.

The two compositions—one about encounters in elevators, the other about fantasies on balconies—were evident. Chester would recognize the words she used in the first melody—we're not friends—and Ryan would immediately place himself in the second-floor patio setting she'd mentioned in the second song.

"Shit," she said, shaking her head. "No, I can't share these. Not for a while, at least."

She reached for her phone, to call the coffee shop by the building for an order of frothy cappuccino, but the device buzzed for attention before she could even unlock the screen.

Not a call, thankfully—she was in no position to talk to anyone, right now—but a text.

From Michael.

MICHAEL: Hey, I know you asked for space, and I respect that. But I'll be in NYC next weekend, and I'd like to see you for coffee or something.

She grunted, preparing to fire her response back—but another message came through.

MICHAEL: Your need for a "break" is hitting me out of the blue, okay? The least you could do is explain it to me in person. Then I won't bug you anymore, not until you're ready.

"Fuck." She set the phone down and pressed her hands to her face, to stifle her groan. "He's right, dammit."

Her demand for space from him wasn't fair, and he didn't even know why. She and Ryan had made their agreements in person, and she'd also discussed the matter with Chester face-to-face. Michael had barely been accorded a hurried phone call, and she'd been blunt and cold about it.

And as she remembered that conversation, she missed him. She couldn't help it—he was always on the edge of her mind, peeking in, waving, with that boyish grin on his face. Her wet dream had been further proof of her feelings. He'd found his way into her fantasies, and she could have sworn he was in her actual dreams last night, too, but the images were too fuzzy to be sure.

Guilt grew in her gut. She'd spent the evening with Ryan, dodging cameras to ensure no one—ahem, Michael—would know she was there, and then she'd made out with Ryan, and rushed home to touch herself while thinking of him. Then she'd nearly jumped Chester in the elevator, and hadn't had a second thought about it. Yes, she and Michael were on a break, meaning that sleeping with either Ryan or Chester wasn't quite cheating. But it didn't change the disgust that had been in her for months, the emotions she'd left brewing inside while trying to move on with her life with Michael. Living a lie.

She owed him that much, right? An in-person explanation of what was going on? Could she tell him the full truth? Or lie through her teeth—as she had been for many weeks?

All the rules she'd laid out for herself had been broken with a single breath. A simple stare. A rapid hello, and all her walls had fallen. What she needed was professional help; not a meet-up with the third contender for her heart, which would bring on yet another reason to be confused.

CORALIE: How long will you be in town for?

She sat back in her seat and closed her eyes, hoping he'd take a moment to respond. Seeing his picture pop up on the screen kept digging a trench in her heart; one that split her heart into three equal parts. One that showed how she still had no clue which of these men she wanted. Not that she deserved any of them, after all she'd done. But the whole point of taking time away from them was to get answers, right? Not to scurry into their arms the instant her body needed a fix.

The phone vibrated, and she picked it up at once.

MICHAEL: For a week.

"A week, starting next weekend." She blew out a breath. "I'm not sure. Ugh."

CORALIE: Can I get back to you about this? I need to think about it. And if I choose not to see you, please, forgive me. I know it's unfair to you, but I promise, this is for the best.

This time, he didn't answer right away. He didn't answer at all. Fifteen minutes of glaring at the phone, and Coralie figured he was upset with her reply, or didn't feel the need to address it.

She resumed her original thought process of ordering a strong cup of java from downstairs, and began to dial the number—

Her office door whooshed open so fast and closed again so quickly she had no occasion to examine who had slipped in. Not until the culprit had planted himself across from her desk. A tall, muscular figure. Long-sleeved, logo t-shirt rolled up to his elbows, a hat over his near buzzed hair.

She wouldn't have recognized Ryan if he hadn't flashed her a gaze of his vibrant sea-foam eyes and revealed a slight quirk of his lips as he nodded at Coralie in salute.

"Ryan?" Coralie shot to her feet, dropping her phone onto the desk with a thud. She glanced at it briefly to be sure it hadn't broken, then peeked at the man towering before her. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

He removed the hat—a baseball cap, quite unusual for him. She nearly laughed; he'd once said he'd never be caught dead wearing one of those. He rubbed over his scalp. "Is this a bad time?"

Coralie slammed a fist to her desk. "Uh, yeah? Have you ever heard of calling first? It's your thing to show up unannounced all the time, isn't it?"

He chuckled. "It is my habit, indeed." He set the hat down and stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets. Said jeans were faded, with holes in the knees; not at all Ryan's style.

"What are you, incognito? Why are you dressed like you're trying to hide? You look like a creep. A stalker." Coralie squinted at him, torn between laughing and telling him to get out.

"I was hiding, yes." His legs pushed into the desk, as if to march through it, to reach Coralie. "I wasn't sure if anyone here knew about... me. In case they didn't, I didn't want to risk them leaking information to... him."

Coralie's eyebrows jerked up. "Wow, that's twice in two days that you've shocked me by giving a shit about Michael."

"No, don't get me wrong," Ryan narrowed his gaze, "it's you I care about. I don't want to ruin your relationship with him if you end up choosing him. I don't want you hurt."

Coralie collapsed onto her chair. "Correction—three times. What's gotten into you?" She crossed her arms and cocked her head, taking in his strange disguise. "What are you doing here?"

She saw him peer at the opposite chair, scrunch his nose, then return to her, deciding to remain standing. "The way we left things last night hasn't sat well with me."

Her eyebrows couldn't go any higher; and yet she raised them, nonetheless, sensing her mouth gaping open in surprise. "Huh?"

Had he come to apologize for being pushy, for seducing her? It would take so much of the burden off her shoulders if that were the case. If he took the blame, she'd feel less guilty about letting loose, letting him kiss her, touch her, provoke her.

"We shouldn't have done it, no... but once we started, it was too late. And I'm not okay with how you ran off." His voice was in its lower pitch—the one he took when he was about to scold her. Yet his features weren't down-turned nor did he have that air about him that he'd take when ready to yell. He was calm, shifting side to side, gaze fixed on her.

Her arms fell to her sides. "I had to. To stop it before it went too far."

He removed one hand from his pocket and placed it over his lower abdomen. "You should have let it." His fingers were close to slipping under his button, to wander into his nether region. Coralie froze, unable to remove her focus from him. "Not only were we safe up there—I'd made sure no one would follow us—but you left me seriously frustrated, Cora. Painfully so. I couldn't sleep, and... how do they say it? Oh, rubbing one out... that didn't help."

She gulped, unconsciously waiting for him to slide his hand into his pants. Expecting him to rub one out right there, to show her how he'd done it the night before.

He wasn't apologizing; he wanted her to apologize. For getting him hot and hard, then ditching him because of her conscience. He didn't regret anything; no, he wanted more. Was that why he'd come? To drag her back to his place, to throw her onto his bed, to finish what they'd started?

She should have thrown him out, should have scolded him for being so bold. For daring to accuse her. And yet... a fire awoke in her belly at the idea of him masturbating after last night. Like she had. They weren't so different, were they?

She sensed her cheeks flushing with heat. "I..." She looked into her lap, trying to pretend like she wasn't re-imagining her pleasure session that he was the star of. "I'm sorry. If it helps, I was frustrated, too."

Ryan snorted. "It doesn't. Now you've got me wondering if you... if you took care of yourself, too. Or were you too ashamed?" He set both palms onto the desk and leaned over it, as if about to crawl atop it and land in Coralie's lap. "Or was it like that one time, on camera? When you showed me... did you do that?"

Coralie bit her lip to not divulge the truth. To not confess that it had been much more intense than that instance on web-cam. That they'd come quite a long way since then, and the sensations the mere thought of him caused were beyond insane, beyond intense.

"Ryan." She gripped her armrests and sucked in a heavy breath, trying to get a hold of herself, to control her urges. He'd almost convinced her last night, and she'd almost succumbed not that long ago with Chester—this was a test. She had to fight the urge, deny the craving.

Keep your promises, Cora. Come on. Ignore your vagina, for once.

As she stood from her seat, Ryan swished around the desk and perched in front of her. They were in close quarters, forcefully jammed together, and yet he angled backwards, as if to give her space. He didn't touch her, but the scent of him—spicy as ever—was enough to make her want him to tiptoe his fingertips over her arms. Her shirt was low-cut, and she had no doubt he was ogling into her décolleté, but she kept her chin tucked, unwilling to get confirmation.

"Hey." He lifted her chin, and she winced. "No, don't look at me like that. We were close last night. And no, I didn't intend for it to happen, but it did. Doesn't that mean something? That we can't keep our hands off each other, even in a public place where we're supposed to be civil?"

She scoffed. "Yeah, it means we're nymphomaniacs. That your dick is relentless and my vagina—"

"—is delicious." Ryan's face was serious; not a hint of a smile, no amusement in his words. He'd meant what he'd said, and Coralie didn't know how to react.

"We're... on a break," she said, struggling to activate her vocal cords. Her lungs were tight, his aroma wrapped around her like a silk blanket, and she swore she heard his penis throbbing inches away from her.

"We are." He let go of her chin, trailing his finger down her neck, stopping before plunging into her shirt. "And I can bypass that once—so we can rid ourselves of our frustrations. Was it enough last night? Touching yourself to thoughts of me?"

Her breaths deepened, and the air entering her lungs seemed to suffocate her and soothe her all at once. His presence was toxic, yet necessary for her to breathe. He was so near and so far, and she sensed the electricity sparking off their bodies, the jolts that pushed her to bring him closer, to give in to all she'd sworn not to.

No, it wasn't enough; she'd yearned for the real him, to be really there, to really be exploring her with his fingers, his tongue. But he hadn't been alone in her thoughts, and she wasn't certain who she'd wished for, in the end. Him, with his magical touch; Chester with his skilled, slurring tongue; or Michael with his irresistible nibbles. And that fact—that indecision—had brought her to reality and convinced her to leave.

I was right to do so, I know it.

Ryan clicked his tongue and started to slither away, off to the side. "But if you don't feel the same, and my hunch was wrong, then I'll go. I'm not here to force myself on you. It may seem that way sometimes, but it's because I know you, Cora. I know your body, I detect its signals. And last night... you were about to give in, and something stopped you."

Yeah—our break. Michael. Chester.

To witness him controlling himself was such a rare feat, Coralie considered thanking him. She considered appreciating his restraint, and sending him on his way so they could continue their time apart. This was the mature side of Ryan, finally dominating his sexual cravings. It was the man she might choose if he acted like this more often, if he quit obeying his spontaneous desires.

But she was no better than him, with her own hunger bubbling up in her stomach, spreading down into her underwear. Like last night, it was too late; and this time, she wasn't positive she'd be able to run off. Nor did she want to.

Seeing him ready to walk away didn't please her. It caught her off guard. She didn't want him to go; she wanted to slam her tongue down his throat.

Her own frustration was triple his. Her brush-in with Chester had left her desperate to finish the day so she could expand what might have happened in yet another wet fantasy at home. And surely Michael would squeeze into her thoughts again, too, when she let her imagination go wild and envision what might happen if she agreed to meet up with him.

God, she was a mess; but Ryan was offering her a moment of salvation, wasn't he? That was what he'd come for—a quick fuck to clear their minds. A means to succumb to that itch, scratch it until it bled, then let it heal.

"Ryan." She reached out, and he allowed her to seize his wrist. His eyes were soft, his lips dripping with the honey she couldn't wait to lick off. "I do feel the same. I should stop you, but right now I'm wet as fuck and I need you to do something about it."

He didn't need long to process the information. He chewed on his lip and grabbed her hips to cram her against the desk. While planting feverish kisses on her mouth, he undid her pants, let them drop, then heaved her up onto the wooden surface.

As she removed her soaked panties, she licked her lips watching him undo his pants and shrug down his boxers. Goodness, he was massive. She'd seen his penis so many times, and so up close, and yet today it seemed thicker, more inviting than ever.

He plucked a condom from his pocket and rolled it on in haste. He parted her legs in a swift motion, and after a wink at her, he entered her. As he took hold of her upper thighs, his fingers digging into the sides of her butt, he filled her completely. Her limbs went numb with ecstasy as he slowly pressed into her. He didn't go in all the way yet, keeping his shaft halfway in as he moved its tip around inside, playing with the entrance to her lower lips, keeping her on the edge.

She cupped her hands around his neck, pulling him closer. "I love it when you tease me," she whispered.

He responded with a deeper thrash into her, and a rush of pleasure shimmied up to her nipples, tingling them.

As he continued to thrust, accelerating little by little, their lips locked. And with every charge of his body against hers, she smothered the need to scream out, to beg him for more—she was, after all, at work.

Shit.

She panicked, unsure why she'd allowed this. Ryan was off-limits. She was off-limits to him. And this was her job; Nikita was prone to barging in at any time. So were her other bosses. Had Ryan locked the door behind him? Should they take a brief break to do so now?

"Oh, fuck," she said, as his next thrust sent shivers up and down her spine, distracting her from her worried thoughts.

"Shh." He crammed his palm against her mouth, hard. "Be quiet, babe."

But she couldn't be quiet. She moaned into him, eyes rolling to the back of her head, extremities pulsating with pleasure as his rhythm grew faster, his member harder.

Oh, this was how she'd remembered it. How she'd envisioned it in her wet dream. Only thing missing was Chester to lick her breasts, and Michael to kiss her neck.

Before she could chide herself for letting them into her moment with Ryan, she shuddered, her entire body loading with fireworks. She ignited, spiraling up into the sky, squeaking so loud into Ryan's hand that he had to shove his other hand on top, to further muffle her noise. But he was smiling; he enjoyed her struggle, appreciated how she strained to not yelp out how he pleased her.

Seconds later, it was his turn. She'd never seen his face so contorted, his eyes so wide, and his every muscle so taut. One stroke, two strokes, three—and he exploded, collapsing into her. They fell onto the desk in a fit of laughter and heavy breathing, sweat dripping down their temples, a taste of sex and lust in their mouths.

That was it—that was the relief they'd both needed. The messy, moaning disaster she'd been avoiding, but that clearly, she'd been hoping for. It would leave her sore for days—desk-sex wasn't comfortable, no matter how hot—and should keep Ryan away for a while. Satiated, right? No more excuses—no more parties to invite her to, balconies to make out on, and private offices to sneak into to fuck her.

This had to be it. The last time for a long time—or forever, if she chose Michael or Chester.

Dammit.

Thinking of them reminded her of her dilemma, and how sleeping with Ryan had given him an unfair advantage. He had money, power, and knew where she worked, where she lived. Chester only knew her work-place, and Michael was across the country, for now.

Ryan pulled his pants up, fixed his wrinkled shirt, and put his hat on. He kissed her cheek, and hurried off as fast as he'd arrived. No need for explanations, apologies; he knew what this meant. He'd said it—to rid themselves of their frustrations. Well, frustrations were gone—for him, at least—and Coralie could return to her real life.

Well, for a few more weeks... until she had to render a verdict.

♥♥♥