Forbidden Surrender (Forever 1)

She screamed in delight, got up, and bounced over in her blue shorts and sorority t-shirt to hug me. I dropped my bag and reciprocated as best I could.

Riley seemed oblivious to my mood. “We have to go out and celebrate,” she said.

“I don’t know. I’m really tired.”

“Come on! This is the biggest moment of your career. I would kill to have something like this happen at my job.”

I looked at her and my shoulders slumped. “Sorry, I just need to wind down with a bath and fall asleep tonight. It was a really big day.”

She looked at me and frowned. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”

Maybe someone. I couldn’t bring myself to talk about it yet, so I shook my head. “I’m just totally beat. Stressful day.”

I felt her gaze linger for a second longer but she moved on. “Okay. But we’re celebrating this weekend and I’m absolutely not taking no for an answer. We can try that new tapas place. Sangria!”

I smiled. “Sounds like a deal.”

Riley nodded and went to the fridge to get what was probably her seventh diet coke of the day. “So what actually happened in the meeting?”

I looked away. “It’s kind of a blur. We talked, and after a while he was satisfied and signed. It’s hard to remember the details.”

“So this means a promotion, right? I remember you saying landing accounts was everything.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

I’d lied to my roommate. Remembering every second of that meeting was no problem at all. The problem was forgetting.

I went to my bedroom to change into my robe before walking into the bathroom. As I drew hot water for my bath, my thoughts lingered on Vincent. The audacity he had to kiss me in his office had me stuck between upset and impressed. I supposed it was to be expected from an adrenaline junkie like him. Obviously most of the risks he’d taken up to that point had worked out just fine. If this one failed, it was no sweat off his back. I recalled the incident in Cape Town. Compared to being bitten by a poisonous spider, kissing a girl was nothing.

I shrugged off my robe and poured my favorite bubble bath soap under the tap. The cinnamon candle I chose was one of my favorites, and I lit it while waiting for the tub to fill up. Once it had, I turned off the tap and stepped in, submerging myself up to my neck.

The warm water and fragrant scents had an immediate effect on my nerves. I’d chosen bubbles with notes of vanilla, sugar, almonds, and just a hint of musk. The combination was relaxing while making me feel sexy—something I needed because I wasn’t getting anywhere with my dating life. Or lack thereof. It’d been a long time since I’d even kissed someone, let alone had to resist a kiss. I’d forgotten these things take willpower.

I leaned back and closed my eyes, feeling the bubbles pool around my chest and neck. This was just what I needed. I wiggled my toes and started a body scan meditation I learned in yoga class, gradually relieving the stress from my system.

As I felt my muscles relaxing, I shifted and realized how sensitive my pu**y 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?”