What They Don't Know (Won't Hurt Them Trilogy #1) (4 page)

“The wall... my
head... doesn't matter; but, you'll need to hold on.”

“Why in the hell
would I need to hold on to your head?”

“When I lick and suck
the juices from your inner thighs, my head and the wall will be two
of your three points of contact.”

“Really? And what
would be the third?”

“My shoulders under
your legs.”

Heat flushes my face.
This man has given me a mental orgasm, and I just want to get away.

I move to the side to
allow him to walk past me, and he does. I turn to the stepper I was
stalking; and when I take that first step my legs are noodles. This
man hasn't even touched me yet. Yet? No effin way! He’s caused me
to lose focus. Thirty minutes, and then I'm getting out of here. I
start with a higher incline because my legs need to feel the burn.

Ten minutes into my
workout, I'm stepping and listening to my music. I see a man dive
into the pool, and he's swimming like a fish. He looks like he's a
professional swimmer. His body is solid, but I can't see his face. He
swims two laps and only comes up for air briefly on each lap. He
finally stops, and I'm staring when I notice his ear has a nice chocolate diamond. He covers his face with both hands and clears away
the excess water. That's when I notice those cat-like eyes from
Friday. I squint again like a ninety-year-old, and tilt my head to
the side. It's him. The pool guy from Friday is the ass who
strong-armed me in the café. The fucking arrogant douche who drives
my car. The perv who wants to lick my inner thighs. Damn. He's
looking at me with his head tilted and a smirk on his lips. He’s
getting me wet just off eye contact. I'm done.

I head directly for the ladies locker room, stopping to get my towel, before stepping into the steam room. After sliding the door shut, I sit with my back against the wall, close my eyes and cover my face with the towel. After a few minutes, someone joins me. I hear heavy breathing, and I pull the towel off my face, squinting to see through the fog. After a couple of seconds my eyes focus and I'm startled by the vision before me.

“Get out!”

Pool guy is in the
ladies’ steam room stroking himself. Not quite jerking off; but a
sensual stroke, and I take the time to actually notice this. My
vagina has a mind of her own and defies me; she notices it too.

“Please, get out,”
I whisper.

“What's wrong,
honey?”

“Not my name.”

“Oh, but it fits
you.”

“Please leave,” I
say again. He's now at full erection, and I'm not trying to look.
Really, I'm not. He's a bit bigger than Bryant is. At least a full
inch larger in girth, and maybe one, one and a half inches in length.
Pool guy could do some damage to my goodies, and I'm not having that.
I slowly rise from the bench; I don't know what to expect from this
psycho. Really sexy psycho. I'm not scared of him per se, and I'm not
sure why I'm not. I’m scared of the way my body is reacting. I'm
scared someone might walk in.

“I'll leave if you do
one thing for me.”

“You don't even know
me.”

“That's what makes
this so stimulating.”

“Can you just go,
please?”

“You like the way my
cock looks?” He looks right into my eyes.

“Can you please just
go?” My breathing has picked up.

“Answer the question,
honey.”

“Please, just go. I
won't report any of this.”

His expression turns
serious, like at the café. He takes two steps toward me, and I
freeze and squeeze my eyes closed. He's so close to my face I can
feel him there.

“What will you
report, honey?”

“Nothing,” I
whisper.

“No, you can report
whatever you like, but what would that be, honey?”

“Nothing,” I
whisper again.

“Honey?”

“Not my name,” I
say, trying to steady my voice.

“Tell whoever you
like that I stroked my cock, and it turned you on. Didn't it, honey?”

His voice is deep and
throaty.

“You don't have to
speak, honey. You can nod your head if you like. Now, let's try this
again. When you report me, tell them I stroked my cock in front of
you, and it soaked your joggers. Tell them it made your pussy throb
to the point you wanted to touch yourself.”

I'm breathing heavier
than normal; he's so close. His lips are less than an inch away from
mine. With my eyes still closed, I can feel the sweat that has built
up on my forehead dripping. I briefly open my eyes, and oh my god,
sweat drops from my forehead, and lands on his lips. He licks his
lips, holds his head back, and closes his eyes.

“If your pussy tastes
anything like your sweat, I'll exhaust your body from my mouth
alone.”

“Hmmm.” Where did
that sound come from? Shit. Was that me?

“See, your body is
confessing.” He moves back and puts his luscious cock in his
trunks. “Go ahead, tell them I turned you on to the point you'll
have to go home and pleasure yourself in the shower. Clearly, either
you don't have a boyfriend or he isn't taking care of those inner
thighs. Either way, the body doesn’t lie. When you're ready, I'll
let you tell me all your naughty secrets,” he says, as he walks
backwards, cocky as hell. That's when I get a look at his body; the
man's body is flawless. He has no tattoos, and his body is cut. His
abs form that V-shape right at his shorts’ waistline. My mouth is
watering, and I feel the need to speak.

Before I can say a
word, pool guy backs out the door and winks as he adjusts himself. I
sigh with relief but can't believe what just happened. I tell myself
I'm going to wait a few minutes before leaving. I peek out the door
of the sauna room and no one is in the locker room.

No
fucking way, no one saw that ass come in here?
Shaking my
head, I walk toward the front desk.

Who
does he think he is? I'm reporting his ass all right!
As I
make my way to the front desk, I look around trying to spot a
manager.

“Can I help you,
ma'am?”

“Uhh, yes, can I
speak to a manager? I’d like to report an incident.”

“Okay, wait right
here, ma'am.”

“Where the hell am I
going?” I say.

The front desk clerk
side-eyes me as she walks away. I give her attitude right back.

“Just a second.”

She comes back with the
manager. “Can I help you, ma'am?”

“Do you think I'm
much older than you?” I say in an annoyed tone.

“Uhmm, okay. I'm
Bruce, the manager. What can I do for you? Crystal mentioned you
wanted to report an incident?”

Just as I start to
explain, pool guy strolls by with his arrogant smirk and a beanie
over his hair. He looks as if he just showered; and I swear, in slow
motion, this guy licks his lips and duck face kisses me. WHAT THE
HELL? I lose all train of thought just then.

Why has this man
affected me this way? He continues out the door.

“You didn't just see
that”? I ask Bruce.

He and Crystal, the
front desk chick, turn around and then back at me. They shake their
heads in unison.

“You didn't just see
that guy?”

“Well, we saw him
leave.” Bruce shrugs. “That's it.”

“He gestured at me.”

“Is that whom your
incident was with?” he asks as he points his thumb behind him
toward the door.

“Uhh, yeah,” I say
sarcastically. “Yes, yes it was. Can we call the police?”

“I'm sorry, Miss?”
He gestures his hands.

“Watts,” I say in a
stern, high, and irritated voice.

“I'm sorry, Ms.
Watts. We didn't see anything Mr. King did.”

“Mr. King?” I
scrunch my nose. “So you know the guy?”

“Well, yeah, he's
sort of a silent owner of the club. Hell, the chain of clubs.”

“Are there cameras in
this place?”

“Well, I can't answer
that,” Bruce says as he breaks eye contact with me.

“I take that as a
yes. Is there one in the sauna, steam room, whatever?” I'm talking
hysterically now.

“No, I can confirm
that,” Bruce says.

“You know what, never
mind, don't even worry about it. I'd like to cancel my membership.”

“Okay, Ms. Watts,
let's look at your account. Cancellation fees are required, and it
looks as if you've only been a member for seven months and attended
at total of...” he trails off.

“Does any of this
matter?” I interrupt.

“Well, I guess it
doesn't, if you’re cancelling. Usually, we give prorated
cancellation fees to members who’ve been with us for at least a
year; and since this is a two-year contract…” He's still talking.
I feel like I'm in the episode of ‘Friends’ where Chandler and
Ross attempt to cancel their health club memberships.

“Yeah, that's fine; I
just want to cancel.”

“If there is anything
we can do to convince you to stay with us...”

“Can you buy pool
guy, uhh… Mr. King, out of his ownership?”

“Well, no, of course
not,” he says.

“Well, no,” I
scoff. “Of course not.”

“Well then, Ms.
Watts, you will be charged the one hundred seventy-five dollars,
which you should see on your monthly statement, and you're sure that
we can't...”

“Uhmm, no, but thank
you. I'm sure I can find another gym.”

“Good luck,” he
says.

“Yeah, well, fuck
you,” I mumble.

Monday. It's only
fudging Monday.

The remainder of the
workweek is slow; my boss is M.I.A., that isn’t normal for him. I
usually catch him after the weekly financial meeting; he was
pre-occupied with other business. He did give me a card and
chocolate-covered berries. He knows the way to my heart. My week is
complete. Except, I haven't heard from Bryant nor have I found a
replacement health club.
This
Mr. King is apparently, someone to know. Wait, no he's not.
Out
of all the health clubs, I picked the one big-ass chain that he is
involved with.

I'll
just cut back on fatty foods, and I'll run three times a week. Maybe
I should buy a treadmill, that way I won't have to leave the house.
“Hahaha.” I had to laugh at that myself. I am in no-way getting a
treadmill or running
. Good
thought process though.

I'm pulled out of my
thoughts when my boss rings my phone. “Hey, boss, what can I help
you with today?”

“Hello, Bria, can you
come to my office. I have something to discuss with you.”

Oh, shit, I hope this
isn’t about what I saw or heard on Monday night.

“Okay, boss, do I
need to take notes?”

“Yeah, it wouldn't
hurt.”

“Okay, I’ll be
right in.”

I slowly walk to Mr.
Wilke's office, and I'm nervous. He can't terminate me… can he?
Hell yeah, he can; this is his company. I didn't do anything to cause
me to be fired. I tap my pen on the side of my leg as I move closer
to his office. Trying to prolong the inevitable, I pause at his door
before entering.

“Hi, Mr. Wilke,
you've been busy.” He looks up.

“Busy is an
understatement, love. You know I've been going through this merger,
and Bryant has purchased one of the failing companies?”

“I knew he was
purchasing a company, but I didn't know you were involved. Is that
the reason I haven't heard from him?”

“Yes, probably,” he
states. “He's a business genius; the financial plan he has set
forth for that company is, by far, the most creative plan I've ever
encountered. It will capitalize within a year with his plan, and you
know Bryant. He doesn't hold on to anything that long.”

I say quietly to
myself, “Yeah, don't I know it?”

“But that's not what
I called you here for.”

“Okay.”

“You know you have a
real talent for organizing and planning things and such.”

“Okay” is all I
manage to say.

“My wife was really
impressed with her suite set-up and dinner date. She said it was her
fantasy come true.”

“Good, great! I’m
glad you two enjoyed it.” I wiggle my eyebrows up and down.

“Oh, no, love. It was
for her and whichever flavor of the month she’s jockeying now.”

My mouth hits the
floor.

“What, Bria? You had
to have known my wife and I have separate sex lives.”

My mouth is still open.
I’m in awe. “Mr. Wilke, I can’t listen to this. I can’t.”

“Bria, love, you’re
an adult, and I know you have a sex life. You’re beautiful, sexy as
sin, and your rack is just—”

“BOSS!”

“What? Okay, listen.
In reality, I’d do you, but Bryant would have my head.”

“Boss, you can’t
say that to me.”

“Bria, seriously? Do
I ever sugarcoat anything?”

“No, but we have a
level of professionalism.”

“And a personal level
too, Bria. I’m sure you saw some of my assets. I know for a fact
you heard them.” He lets out a grunted laugh. I am now blushing,
and I can’t believe I’m having sexual conversations with my boss.
The man who pays me quite well, on and off the books, is talking sex.
It hits me right then; it’s hush money. Oh, my GOD! I’m being
paid to stay quiet. My face feels hot; I know I’m cherry apple red
by now.

He pushes away from his desk, and folds his hands on his lap, and he continues to speak. I’m only half listening, because the thought of hush money makes me feel guilty.

“Bryant loves you to
the point, where even I can’t interfere with that,” he confesses.

“Huh? Wait, what?”

My boss eyes me. “You
honestly don’t know? Bryant is in love with you?”

“Bryant isn’t in
love with me; we’re very close friends.”

“I’d say,” Mr.
Wilke replied.

“What do you mean?”

“Bria, I’m not
blind. Bryant adores you, and he isn’t willing to sacrifice your
friendship.”

“He told you that?”

“Who do you think
told him to hit that?”