What. The. Hell. Was. That?

OK, I knew what that was. That was an orgasm. The first one I’d had in a long time that hadn’t come courtesy of my trusty vibrator. And it was a damn good one, still vibrating through my body.

I slumped back on Emerson’s desk, my limbs like jello. I could barely move, my legs splayed out, my skirt bunched up around my hips, and one of my shoes dangling preciously off of my toes. The rest of my clothes were strewn around the room.

As the high from my orgasm began to fade, I became self-conscious of my position. And very aware of the bulge in Emerson’s pants. Obviously he hadn’t found any relief, but he didn’t seem to mind very much. In fact, the whole time he had seemed utterly focused on my pleasure and my pleasure alone.

I couldn’t remember the last time I had been with a guy who hadn’t been looking out for himself in the bedroom.

Then he surprised me even further.

“Go on a date with me this weekend,” he said.

I blinked at him, not sure if I had heard him correctly.

“A date?” I repeated dumbly. “You mean like dinner and a movie? Didn’t we just kind of skip that part?”

He laughed. “No. that was just a preview.” His eyes smoldered, and I felt it everywhere.

“I’m too busy to date,” I said automatically.

He gave me a smirk. “So make time. It’ll be worth it, I promise.” He leaned over and kissed my bare shoulder, and I shivered.

“OK,” I whispered, my body humming.

“Great,” he said, straightening up. “Saturday? I’ll pick you up.”

I nodded dumbly, still lost in the afterglow.

If this was just the previews, I couldn’t wait for Saturday.

Sex had ruined my brain. At least, my orgasm had. All week I couldn’t focus—my mind returning time and time again to what Emerson had done to me on top of his desk. I couldn’t wait to find out what he could do on another, more forgiving surface.

Say, a bed.

I told myself that the whole thing was a bad idea. Because it was. I hadn’t been lying when I told Emerson I was too busy to date. But he was a pro at getting me to forget myself—and all the boundaries I’d created.

He distracted me. All day. All week.

I didn’t want to want him. But I did.

Maybe after we’d had sex, I’d lose interest. Or he would. Isn’t that what usually happened with guys? It was all about the chase. So when the chase was over, then maybe this infatuation, or obsession, or whatever it was, would be over too.

Somehow, I didn’t think so, but it was a comforting thought, especially when I was trying to focus on things at the law firm. We had another meeting about our high-profile divorce case today. Laney—the soon to be ex-wife—was standing firm in her request for fifty percent of the assets. In return, her ex-husband had leaked naked pictures to the press. The partners were discussing how to deal with it. I was taking notes.

“It’s her own fault, really,” Lucinda said after the meeting as we were all heading back to our desks.

I stared at her.

“How is her ex-husband leaking nude photos her fault?”

“Come on.” Bryce rolled his eyes. “If you don’t want pictures like that to get out, then don’t take them.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“You two do remember that we’re representing the wife, not the husband, right?” I asked. “Because you seem to sympathize with him way more than you do with her.”

“It’s not our job to sympathize with our clients,” Lucinda said with a sniff. “It’s our job to win for them. And I can do my job and think that our client should have done a better job protecting herself.”

“You’ll be a better lawyer if you can separate yourself from the client,” Bryce added.

“It’s no use trying to explain that to her,” Lucinda said as if I wasn’t even there. “I caught her comforting the client the last time she was here. Playing therapist.”

Bryce laughed.

“I won’t apologize for caring about my clients,” I argued, but Bryce and Lucinda just waved me off and walked away.

“And you shouldn’t apologize,” a voice said once they were gone.

I turned to find Arthur standing there. He gave me a slow, assessing look.

“It’s good to have empathy for the people you represent,” he told me. “But don’t let it muddle your head.”

I nodded, not exactly sure how much of my conversation with Bryce and Lucinda he had heard.

“You’re doing good work,” he continued. “And our client made a point to tell us how much she appreciated how caring our associates were.”

My eyes widened.

“Thank you,” I told Arthur, pleased that I was being noticed. And for the right reasons.

He nodded and headed off towards his office.

As I made my way towards my own desk, my phone rang. It was Kelsey.

“Are you ready for tomorrow night?” she asked.

I had told her about my date with Emerson—though I had not included the details of how we agreed upon that date. She didn’t need to know that he had gotten me off on his desk in his office. Or maybe I just didn’t want to share it. Yet.

“I think so,” I told her.

“You’re prepared?” she demanded.

“I don’t know what you mean by prepared.” I sat down at my desk.

“Yes you do,” she said with a laugh. “Are you prepared, down there?”

I wanted to laugh.

“If you’re asking if I’ve gotten a bikini wax, the answer is no.” At least, not since my last one a few weeks ago. Everything was still acceptable down there, and even though he hadn’t gotten up close and personal with it, Emerson hadn’t seemed to have any complaints.

She gasped. “Are you crazy? What if he wants to have sex?”

That wasn’t in question. He was going to want to have sex. I wanted to have sex. We both definitely wanted to have sex.

Doubt began to creep into my mind. Maybe I did need a bikini wax.

“I’ll book one for after work,” I told her.

My regular waxing place was booked solid for the next couple of days, so I found another place online. After all, according to Kelsey, this was an emergency.

“You need wax?” My esthetician was a sturdy looking Russian woman who looked like she took great pleasure in covering women’s delicate parts with hot wax and yanking their hair off.

“Yes.” I gestured towards my crotch area. “All gone.”

She frowned at me.

“No hair,” I tried again. “Straight down.”

“Straight down?” she repeated.

I nodded.

“OK,” she told me. “You take off clothes.”

I half expected her to wait in the corner while I changed, but she stepped out of the room to give me privacy. Ten minutes later I was on my back, knees open, with a surly Russian woman looking right at my privates.

“You ready?” she asked.

The things we do for hot sex.

“Yep,” I said, clutching the side of the table as she spread hot wax on me.

Whoever had invented bikini waxes was my least favorite person at the moment. But it was a necessary evil. I wanted to have sex, didn’t I? And I wanted Emerson’s jaw to drop when we finally got naked in front of each other. That kind of reaction would be worth the pain.

Because there was pain. So much pain.

“Done,” my Russian agent of torture finally said, after I was pretty sure she had removed all of my hair and several layers of skin. “Pay up front.”

Then she was gone.

I sat up, my skin tender, and glanced down.

What. The. Fuck?

She had waxed an arrow down there. I stared at it for a moment, wondering if I should call her back in and have her get rid of it. Then, I thought about how much pain I was already in and decided not to bother. At least now when Emerson and I got naked, he’d know exactly where to go.