Chapter 6

Abby

I wanted to go to his room immediately, knock on the door, let him peel my dress off the way he wanted to and bend me forward over his bed. I could see in his eyes that he was an aggressive man, that he would do it hard and rough, just the way I’d always fantasized someone would. I had to close my eyes and take a deep breath before giving Paul his dinner, try to still my body and make my thighs stop squirming together with need. I fanned my face for a moment before finally opening the door to Paul’s room, going inside and sitting next to him.

“Hi, Paul,” I said, smiling warmly when he opened his eyes at me.

“Abby,” he said.

“Yes!” I said brightly. “Good. Are you hungry?”

“Not really,” he said, frowning. “But I suppose Cohen’d throw a fit if I said no.”

I laughed. “Maybe.”

He sat up and I helped him scoot back in his bed, raising it so that he could sit up to eat.

“So, Paul, who is this woman named Abigail you’ve talked about?” I asked him gently, casually making conversation as I watched him feed himself. His hands were shaky, slow, but so far, he was able to do most of the work himself.

“Abigail,” he said. “Oh, Abigail was the love of my life. Didn’t I tell you?”

Something fluttered in my chest at the words, the revelation of who my mother was to him.

“You mentioned her. What was she like?”

Paul mumbled something, taking another bite of his food.

“Paul?” I asked him. He mumbled again, giving a quick shake of his head.

“What?” he asked. I sighed.

“Nothing,” I said, taking a napkin, wiping the side of his mouth. “You’re doing a really great job eating, Paul. That’s amazing.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I was always good at that. That’s how I got this gut.”

I laughed.

“I don’t quite believe that,” I said. “But I’m surprised by how well you move. I was under the impression that you had a little more difficulty getting around.”

“Oh, I do just fine,” he said, waving me away with his free hand.

He finished with dinner, pushing his tray away, and I cleaned his face up and left him fresh water before going back to my room. I knelt down next to my bag and pulled out the letters that I’d brought with me—love letters between Paul and my mother. I read one aloud, tears coming to my eyes at the description of my mother, as beautiful as I remembered her. I often read these letters over and over just to get a feel for what she was like, and part of my heart craved a love like the one that they had found together. All at once, James entered my mind. I put the letters back in my bag and pulled out my laptop, opening it up and pulling up my email.

James,

I have something that I really need to talk to someone about. Are you around? Feel free to ignore this if you’re busy.

Gabriella

I was relieved when his message popped up only a moment later: What’s going on? Are you OK?

I typed out a quick response.

I’m fine. I just feel so guilty about so many things. You’re the only person I can imagine talking to about this, but it kind of feels strange. I have been… very attracted to my new boss. I can’t get him out of my head. It’s mostly that I want him, but every time I find myself interested my mind wanders back to you.

I hope that’s not too much to say. I hope it doesn’t make you uncomfortable. I really enjoy talking to you and I feel like right now, you know me better than anyone.

He responded right away: How do you think your boss feels? I swallowed, my nerves on edge. He hadn’t responded to the intimacy of my email, but asked a short question instead. I wondered if that meant he was angry, but tried to tell myself that I was reading into it too much.

I think he wants me too, I typed.

My heart fluttered nervously in my chest when I saw James’s reply. I couldn’t imagine not wanting you, Gabriella. The words sent shockwaves straight to my pussy, my lower lips growing hot and wet.

I don’t want to do anything with him. He’s my boss. And I don’t want to be with him while thinking about you.

Do you imagine you would? You think you’d think about me while he was touching you?

I nervously picked at the keyboard. Maybe.

You would imagine me touching you instead. Do you like the thought of that, Gabriella?

Yes. I held my breath as I sent the answer, knowing that I shouldn’t be doing it. I was so hot, so wound up from my moments with Cohen, the emotional connection with James, that I couldn’t help myself.

How about you tell me what you would imagine? Would you do that for me?

I’d think about… it’d be hard not to think about how good it would feel for you to be inside of me. That would be amazing.

It would be. I have imagined it in the past, thinking about what you look like, wondering who you are. My own imagination has run wild with ideas. I have to admit that.

Tell me, I responded, my pussy aching in anticipation.

I think about a lot of things. I think about looking into your eyes while I fuck you. I think about how good it would feel to lie in bed and talk afterward.

My heart pounded in my chest, my throat dry. I felt my whole body heated and flushed, filled with desire. I couldn’t stop rubbing my thighs together on the bed, wanting him, wanting Cohen, wanting desperately to be touched. The guilt hit me when I thought of that—both of them, a different experience with different men.

James, I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t be doing this. I think… I’m going to go to bed. Please don’t be upset, OK?

I am not upset. Good night, Gabriella.

I shut the computer, lying back in bed. Before I could stop myself, I slipped my hand into my panties, my pussy so desperate that I couldn’t keep my hands away from myself. I had never felt so on fire than now, after my dinner with Cohen, my conversation with James. I froze when there was a knock on the door, heavy and flushed as I climbed out of bed.