The Fantasy (10 page)

Reaching down, he clamped his hand around hers. “Lube. That’s it.”

“Okay,” she relented and brought her free hand to the side of her skirt. Then she slipped her fingers underneath and took out a small packet.

Apparently, she’s a fucking Girl Scout. Always prepared.

After she oiled him up, she went to work, firmly squeezing him from root to tip, twisting both hands around his cock and rubbing it to attention. He pumped his hips up at a steady pace through her clenched hands and tried not to think about any fucking thing but how good it felt. The beginning tremors of a rush ran through him, but just as quickly, they were gone.
 

“No, fuck,” he spat, grabbing at his hair in frustration as he felt his erection begin to diminish.
 

She felt it too and moved her hands faster, trying another position as she urged him on in seductive purrs. This couldn’t be fucking happening. Not again. What the hell was going on?
 

So he’d looked up images of Reagan, and now, all of a sudden, he couldn’t get himself off? What was that? Some kind of fucked-up guilt trip? He knew he couldn’t have her, and ever since secretly jacking off to her, he couldn’t fucking come to save himself.

Fuck this shit.

He sat up and pushed the hooker’s hands off his useless body.

“Stop. Just fucking stop.”

“Is there a problem, sugar?”

He shot her a look that was full of anger and frustration and grasped for his wallet, which was in the pocket of his pants that were currently around his ankles. Pulling a couple of bills from it, he threw them across the console at her, and told her cooly, “Just get out.”

Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Excuse me?”

He pressed a button to unlock the doors, reached over her, and opened hers. “Get out.”

“You is a twisted motherfucker, lettin’ girls out in the middle of an alley when the least you could do is drive me back the two blocks to—”

“GET. OUT.” His voice vibrated through the air and had her jumping out of the car.
 

She wiped her hands on the sides of her scant dress, yelling obscenities at him as he leaned over and pulled the passenger’s door shut. “Don’t bother comin’ back here—you or your limp-ass dick!” he could hear her shout as he peeled out of the alley.
 

Nausea twisted through his gut and the sting of unshed tears burned his eyes. He hated who he was like this. Hated it yet couldn’t escape. He couldn’t decide which pain was worse: the physical agony, the fucked way he’d used and disposed of another human being, or the guilt and humiliation of having to acknowledge who he really was.
 

Evan didn’t fidget. Didn’t move. He merely sat in the boardroom chair, watching and listening to Bill as he wrapped up the highlights of the week and what they needed to accomplish come Monday.

Or at least that’s what he assumed was going on from observing the man’s lips move. He couldn’t actually hear anything other than the blood pounding in his head,
each beat a taunting reminder that he was no longer in control of his unruly body—it was controlling him.

It was taking every ounce of willpower to keep still. If he moved, he’d crack, and those fissures would spread until he crumbled completely and irrevocably apart. So he sat there, his eyes glued to the front, his hands in his lap, and hoped the expression on his face was a pleasant one.  

She
was seated across from him, a fact he’d become aware of the second he’d walked into the room. He’d decided that the best way to deal with that was by not dealing at all—so he ignored her.

“That’s all from me for now,” Bill said as he closed the leather folder he had on the desk in front of him. “I’m sure you’re all anxious to get out of here and enjoy your weekend. So remember what I said—this week’s numbers were good but not good enough to spend your life savings. So wind down, relax, and come back ready to make even more money.”

There were low murmurs around the room as people pushed back from the tables and stood, filing one by one out of the room,
her
included. Evan waited until they’d all exited and then rose to his feet, ready to leave without having to engage anyone in conversation. He was almost to the door when he heard his name from the front of the room.

“Hey, Evan? Will you wait a minute?”

Fuck.

He plastered on his poker face as his guard went back up. Then he turned around to face Bill. There was an expression Evan didn’t like in his eyes. It looked like something similar to fucking concern. He hoped there wasn’t about to be a ‘come to Jesus’ meeting right there in the boardroom, or he’d be tempted to throw himself out the fucking window.
 

The man reached down to grab a manila envelope and held it out to him. Evan looked at it in confusion for a moment before taking it.
 

Bill laughed. “It’s just the numbers Reagan gave me to look over for the Whitehead account, not a pink slip.” When Evan jerked his head up, Bill continued. “You looked at it like it’d bite your hand off. No need. You seem to be getting back into things nicely, son. Accounts look good, and Reagan showers you with praise.” He leaned closer and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “But don’t tell her I told you, of course.”
 

He took the envelope from Bill and gave a quick nod of his head. At this point, it was the only reaction he trusted while the man was watching him so intently.

“She left before I could return them and she needs them for her final report. Can you take them over to her before you leave today?”

No. No, I fucking can’t,
was what he wanted to say. But instead, he managed a polite, “No problem,” and moved to step away.

“Oh, and Evan?”

He froze and gripped the report tighter, waiting for the axe to fall.

“Are you doing okay? You look a little...off today.”

He rubbed a hand over his chin and tried for a smile, but he knew it wasn’t fooling Bill for a second if the perceptive eyes watching him were any indication.

“Yeah. I’m just not sleeping that well. I guess it’s finally catching up to me.”

Bill tapped his fingers on the table in front of him and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, that’ll do it. Try and catch up this weekend, yes? We can’t have one of our top managers looking like he needs a week’s vacation. We need you alert, son. You know, to instill confidence.”

Evan forced a small smile. “Of course,” he said and walked swiftly back to his office.
 

Once there, he shut the door and leaned against it, quickly loosening the tie that was suffocating him. He took a gasp of air, but it wasn’t enough. After shrugging out of his suit jacket, he threw it over a chair along with the envelope and leaned back against the door, letting the coolness of the wood seep through his damp shirt. He hadn’t even realized he’d been sweating, the effort of trying to be normal and present at the office obviously taking a physical toll on his body.
 

Raking his fingers through his hair, he struggled again for a deep breath to calm his hammering heart. He didn’t know how to ease his suffering, and that’s what was sending him over the edge. He’d tried all of his usual go-tos and still nothing.
 

The addiction that had once ruined everything in his life was dragging him back under again. If he didn’t get a handle on it soon, he was going to fucking drown. He looked down at his shaking hands and was reminded of the very catalyst of his downward spiral—Reagan.
 

It was because of her that he’d started out on this never-ending quest to get his rocks off, and he knew deep in the pit of his stomach it was because of her that he fucking couldn’t. Exasperated, he moved over to where his briefcase was sitting on the desk. He needed to get this the fuck over with and go home.

A knock sounded on his door while he was gathering up his stuff, but he ignored it, not wanting to deal with anyone at the moment. He needed to wait until everyone else was fucking gone before leaving. No need for others to witness him in the rock-bottom state he was wallowing in.
 

The knock sounded again, but this time, a head peeked around the door. A blond head. A very attractive but unwanted blond head.
 

As Reagan took in his state of undress, her expression turned troubled. She stepped into the office and shut the door behind her. No words were exchanged as she looked at him, her eyes conveying understanding. Understanding and...fucking compassion. The look made him sick, and he turned away in disgust at himself.  

“Please leave.” His voice was quiet as he closed his eyes, his knuckles in fists on the wooden desk.
 

He wasn’t a praying man, but he would have said one now if she would just go away. The rope that held his body together was threadbare, and if it snapped, he wasn’t sure what he was capable of. And he just couldn’t let her see that. Not her.
 

“Ev—”

“I said,” he cut her off without looking back, “please leave. There’s an envelope on the chair for you. Just take it and go.”

The silence that engulfed the room was thick as they both stood frozen where they were. He was waiting to hear her footsteps taking her out the door and away from him. Away from the hell that was brimming just under the surface. But he couldn’t hear anything. Not one fucking thing.

He shut his eyes and squeezed them tight as he balled his fists until they hurt.
 

“Evan…” Her voice was soft, coaxing this time, as if she were treading carefully around a wild animal in the room, and really, with the way he was feeling, she was fucking smart to be wary. “Evan, look at me. Please?”

And isn’t that just the fucking problem? I don’t want to stop looking at her.

He shook his head, and as he did, footsteps came closer.
 

“Stop,” he called out, and her steps halted.
 

“I’m not leaving,” she said, her voice defiant.
 

He imagined that, if he turned around right then, he’d see her arms crossed and her head haughtily tilted up. That visual, the one of her confident and bossy as hell, almost had him swiveling in her direction. She wouldn’t remain so arrogant for long if she got her way; he’d have her pinned to the wall with his hand up her skirt in five seconds flat.
 

“Then you’re inviting trouble. I told you to get out.”

“And I told you I’m not going anywhere.” Her voice had climbed in volume as she stubbornly refused to leave. “Now turn around and tell me what the hell is wrong with you. You’ve been a mess all day.”

He laughed then, the hysteria inside bubbling up and forcing its way out in a humorless sound. God, she was testing his patience, and fuck, it was just about out.

Slowly, he pivoted on his heels, and when he was finally facing her, he brought his eyes up to lock with determined,
brown
ones.

“Okay, Reagan.” His voice was low, and as he drew out her name, he saw the way she shifted where she stood. Not so confident now that she was face to face with a man who was clearly holding on by a thread. “Now what?”

Her eyes were watching him carefully, gauging his every move, and when she took in a breath of air and pushed her hair back behind her ear, he noticed the way her breasts tested the shirt’s constraints.
 

She took a step toward him, and Evan couldn’t help but think she was either brave or incredibly foolish as she asked, “Now tell me what’s going on. Your bloodshot eyes aren’t fooling anyone. Did something happen?”

He gripped the sides of the desk by his thighs and focused on her beautiful face before him, feeling his lip curl in a derisive smile. “You.
You
fucking happened.”

She flinched at the menacing tone of his words. “Me?” When Evan didn’t respond, she got defensive. “And what exactly do you mean by that?”

His eyes wandered down her body inch by inch, taking in all of her. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a sexier woman in his life. It was then that he realized his dormant cock had taken interest.
 

Of course it fucking has.

Reagan looked immaculate. Her blond hair, styled in soft waves, rested softly against the silk of her shirt. It was a cream color with black buttons that ran down the center between two of the most spectacular breasts he could recall having ever seen.
 

The curves of her body were highlighted in a tasteful way beneath her black pencil skirt. But the way the shirt was tucked in, showcasing her tiny waist and the flare of her hips, made him want to grab ahold of her and hike it up so he could see what kind of lace was beneath it.
 

And she
was
the kind to wear lace. He knew because he remembered in stark detail watching her peel her magnificent body out of it once before, and fucking hell, that was what was going to get him the release he’d been chasing now.

“Hey.” She snapped her fingers to get his attention again. “What the hell is the matter with you? I’m not gonna ask again.”