I stand in the pool house for a while, unable to move. I feel languid and relaxed and content. But after a while I also realize that I’m still naked, and covered in a good amount of James. I clean myself off and toss that towel in the laundry before hunting for my bathing suit. Even though I’m dressed again, I wrap another towel around myself. I don’t want to encounter anyone in the house in this bikini. I’ve pushed my luck as it is.

I slip out the door of the pool house, and it’s just a mere few steps from that door to the back door of the house, and the proximity shocks me. I’ve never noticed just how close it actually was. I slide the patio door open, and close it behind me. Turning to go to my bedroom, I nearly jump out of my skin.

My father is sitting at the table in the kitchen, papers spread across its surface. I thought he might be home, but he nearly always does his work in his office. The fact that he was that close to where I was just well and thoroughly fucked makes me ill. I manage not to stare at him—I’m still pissed, and I definitely don’t want him asking questions about my day. I slip through the kitchen to the stairs, and I don’t even think he noticed I was there.

The reality of the situation hits me: James said it was a bad idea, and it is. If my mother had seen me, if my father had wondered why I’d come inside in a bathing suit but not seen me in the pool, if one of the house staff had come in to get the laundry, since we didn’t lock the door. Oh god. We were incredibly lucky, and I wanted him so much that I didn’t really think it through.

I wanted to piss off my dad by hitting on James, but if he found me fucking one of the hired help, it would be a catastrophic event of biblical proportions. He’d be furious at me for ruining his perfect reputation, for doing something that could jeopardize his business. That’s rule number one. Never do anything that endangers the business. I’d never get a job in architecture. One word from him, and no one would touch my resume with a ten-foot pole. I don’t know if he’d be so angry that he’d kick me out or disown me, but the way my father’s been acting lately I wouldn’t count it out.

By the time I reach my room I’m hyperventilating, my body humming with panic. I can’t sleep with James again. There’s too much at stake for me to risk it for sex. Amazing sex. Mind-blowing sex. Get it together and stop thinking about the sex, Vera. My body tenses, and the thought of not being with James again sends a pang of unhappiness through me.

But it doesn’t matter. It can’t matter. I get in the shower and I make sure that the water is scalding. The heat reminds me of James’s skin, and the water running down my body reminds me of the way he looked at me in the pool. Just the thought of that look and my body reacts, getting wet and ready for the pleasure it now associates with it.

No. This has to stop—I can’t get carried away every time I think about him. If I let myself go there I’ll never be able to stay away. I find my rattiest comfy clothes, hoping that dressing in the least sexy thing I own will be at least a little bit of a mental barrier. I have plenty to do without this distracting me. I have to look for new places to apply. I have to work on my ELIH—Efficiency Low-Income Housing—project. I have to find a way to make sure I don’t have to go to work for my father.

But as soon as I sit down at my desk, I feel it—the not unpleasant soreness of muscles I haven’t used in a while, the lack of tension in my body in the aftermath of bliss. I remember the feel of his hands on me, his mouth on my breasts. I can only imagine what his mouth would feel like other places. I realize that my eyes are closed, and I’m both reliving and adding on what might be. Snap out of it, Vera.

I bury myself in the internet. I hit every place I know looking for job openings, but when you’ve been looking in the same places for three months, you can pretty much tell when there’s nothing new. It still takes forever—hours. I even check resources that would take me out of the state. I even check ones that would take me out of the country.

I do find one new prospect, and it looks promising, so I submit my resume. It’s a simple application in comparison to some of the other ones I’ve put in the last few weeks, but that’s fine with me. I shut my computer and move over to my drafting table.

On the way I catch sight of my bikini where I abandoned it on the bed, and my mind is immediately back in the pool house where James is untying it. I feel hot in my clothes, like just the memory of his fingers inside me is enough to raise my body temperature. I grab the bikini and chuck it into the closet. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

I focus on the ELIH project that I’ve started. I’m trying to balance cost-effective materials and quality of life. I want to find a way for the buildings to afford the same space and comforts as any other house. But I’m also trying to cut the building and labor cost so that people with smaller incomes can afford to actually own their houses. I’ve even made sure to include space in these plans for a small garden area.

I hear James’s voice in my head, telling me he’d like to explore my garden further. God, how hot would it be if he took me in the garden? Surrounded by flowers and sun and sky. I can’t say I don’t want that.

Damn it.

This clearly isn’t working. I’m never going to get any work done on this if just looking at the plans makes me think about him. Anger at my body and brain rises up—I mean it was good, but was it really that good? It hasn’t been so long since I’ve had actual and good sex that I need to sit here and crave it. It was good. Fine, great. But I can move on. There are more important things than my sex life.

I get into bed and flip off my light, forcing myself to relax, to sleep. I’m starting to drift off when the memory of him finishing on me floods my mind, hard and strong. I groan into my pillow. Fine. It was amazing. It was—no pun intended—fucking amazing. I can admit that, and I still have to say no to sleeping with him again.

But what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, and he never has to know just how hot and bothered he makes me.

I slide my hand inside my underwear and I’m already so wet that my fingers slip across my clit. I brush my other hand across my breasts, remembering how he pulled me against him using only my nipples. My hips jerk against my hand as I dip my fingers inside myself. I can see his face filled with lust, feel his body hovering over mine, and imagine that his fingers are inside of me instead of my own. The feeling of his cock plunging inside me comes back, vividly. My thumb circles my clit as I remember him stretching me out and filling me up over and over.

I move my fingers faster and I’m grinding against my hand as the pleasure of this moment and my memories combine. There’s an orgasm rising inside me, and my first instinct is to slow down. I want to let it pour over me slowly, savoring every second. But I know with a deep certainty that if James were here he wouldn’t stop. James would not stop if he were fucking me, relentlessly, until I come. Once again I imagine it’s his hand, and he doesn’t give me a break. I can feel his lips at my ear, whispering the dirty things he’s going to do once I finish. My fingers are moving faster and deeper and I’m breathless, hovering on the edge of pleasure.

I imagine his lips running along my skin—down my throat and along my breasts. My thumb slides across my clit, and I imagine it’s his. He tells me to come, demands it, and I do. My hips arch off the bed and the pleasure rolls from my pussy up my body and through my breasts. I tease myself a moment longer, trying to make the feeling last.

Pulling my hand away from myself I stare at the ceiling. He’s here for an entire week. How am I supposed to make it through six more days, knowing what’s under those clothes? Knowing exactly how he can make me feel?

Seeing him tomorrow is going to be torture.