“What is this?” Her voice is squeaky, and her eyebrows draw up.
“For you,” I say, clutching my Chanel bag. She pulls out the dark-colored bottle and her smile spreads even wider than the sky. “Thank you for having my back at the meeting and for all you do for me.”
“Thank you!” she squeals, then eyes the label. “This must have cost a fortunate. You shouldn’t have.”
She comes from around the desk and engulfs me into a large hug, and I hug her back. She smells like fresh flowers after a rainy day. Then she releases me and sets the wine back into the bag and places it by her desk. She leans forward as if she’s about to tell me a secret.
“Just a heads up. Felix has been sitting in your office for thirty minutes.”
My heart seizes in my chest and blood rushes to the back of my neck.
Why is he in my office? I gave the band strict orders to take their three months’ vacation, because after the summer, they’ll have a lot of work to do.
“I nearly jizz in my panties when I saw him walking into your office.” She picks up her latest fashion magazine and fans herself. “I’m going to need a tall glass of water after drooling over him.”
I leave Betty’s office and stride to mine, which is three doors down from her. As I open the glass door, my breath hitches at the sight of his back. I set my purse by my glass desk and sit in the leather chair. His feet are propped on my desk as if he owns it. I take deep breaths and my eyes meet his and my heart beats into a frenzy and my mouth waters. The black t-shirt hugs his torso and the black baseball shorts hang loosely on his hips. He looks like a god. A euphoria god. And his pine sap scent flirts with my nostrils.
“What brings you to my office, Felix?” My tone is nervous, like a sitting duck. He peels his off-white sneakers from my desk and sits forward, taking out his cellphone from his shorts then resting both of his elbows on my desk.
I haven’t seen him since yesterday. My cheeks are flushed, maybe from it being warm outside or maybe it’s because of him. He makes me hotter than the sun.
“I want your opinion on something.” His eyes cling to the screen.
“Is it something Easton wrote?” I ask, taking the pink hair tie from my drawer and putting my hair in a tight ponytail.
Easton is responsible for writing their profound lyrics; despite him being crude and rude, his music is so raw, and rich, and edgy, and it speaks about heartbreak and love. The kind of heartbreak you rather die than experience and the type of love that makes you want to find your soul mate.
“No.” He clears his throat like he’s about to deliver a speech at a graduation. “‘I want to suck your dick, own it, possess it, worship it.’”
My body stiffens, my heart leapfrogs in my chest, and a ting of nausea burns in my stomach.
“‘You’re like a sex god to me, turning me on and on and on. I want to ride your dick until there is no drop of cum left.’” He smiles at me like a cat caught a mouse that he’s been dying to devour. I wrinkle my lips, snatch the remote from the desk, and tap the button to bring down the shutter. Then I shut the door to my office.
“Where is my goddamn diary?” I screech. I place my hands on my hips and tap my foot, trying to keep from putting it in his ass.
He stands up from the desk and tucks his phone back in his shorts, leans down with his hands in his pockets and whispers in my ear. “I put it somewhere safe, Sadie.” His confidence wraps around me. My name sounds rich and warm on his perfect lips, like eating warm fudge on a cold night.
“Give me my shit back! You lied and said you haven’t seen it. Asshole!”
He grabs my half-bottle of grapefruit juice from my desk and guzzles it down, then tosses the bottle in the waste bin. “I never told you that.” He pauses for a few beats. “How would you feel if I wrote those things about you? And you found out about it?”
I don’t respond. Guilt washes over me like a tidal wave. I shouldn’t feel guilty about what I wrote, those words weren’t meant for anyone to see.
“I asked you a question, and I expect an answer,” he demands, and his words cause my chest to clench. I never like taking orders from anyone, but the way he says those words massages my ears.
“I’m your boss, remember?” My words come out shaky and small.
“Technically, but your dad writes our checks, not you, Thumbelina.”
“Embarrassed.” I finally answer his question.
Just shoot me now and put me out my misery.
“I jacked off in the shower a few times thinking about what you wrote about me.” He steps closer to me, and I step back, leaning against my desk. He yanks my ponytail gently, exposing my neck, and his eyes stay clinging on my mouth. I swallow thickly and hard, and I feel my pulse throbbing in my neck. His soft and supple lips trail down my neck like soft flower petals massaging my skin. My sex becomes wet and needy. So needy.
“I want your lips bruised and red from you sucking my dick. I
