I slam the apartment door, drop my bag on the floor, and stand in the entryway for a second, breathless, as if I'd run all the way from the office.
I'm still full of him.
His scent, his voice, the pressure of his body against mine.
I can still feel his fingers under my skirt, his hard cock rubbing slowly against my ass, his mouth whispering filth into my ear.
I'm shaking.
I'm soaked.
And I hate myself a little for it.
I collapse onto the couch, legs spread, head falling back.
I close my eyes.
"Say yes, Amelia…"
His voice loops in my head.
I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling.
"He's married, fuck. Married."
I say it out loud, as if it could bring me back to reality.
It doesn't.
I grab my phone.
My hands are still trembling.
Group chat "The Bitches" with Lola and Chloé.
7:24 p.m.
Me:
I just got home.
I'm losing my mind.
He cornered me in his office.
He pinned me against the desk.
He said… things.
Like really filthy things.
I was two seconds away from begging him to fuck me right there.
He has a wife.
I disgust myself.
But god, I've never been this turned on in my entire life.
Help me.
7:25 p.m.
Lola:
WAIT WHAT ???
ON THE DESK ???
WHAT EXACTLY DID HE SAY ???
7:25 p.m.
Chloé:
You almost got fucked by your married boss and you're dropping that like it's a casual Friday night??
I WANT EVERYTHING.
EVERYTHING.
7:26 p.m.
Me:
He flipped me around, pressed me against him, and I felt how hard he was, like insanely hard.
He told me: "Nothing's stopping me from bending you over this desk and fucking you until you scream my name."
I moaned. Like actually moaned.
I'm soaked just thinking about it again.
I'm awful.
7:27 p.m.
Lola:
YOU. ARE. NOT. AWFUL.
You're a legend.
He's married, okay, and??
He's hard for you. You're wet for him.
That's pure chemistry.
7:27 p.m.
Chloé:
Claire Allen can go fuck herself.
She looks bored as hell in that marriage anyway.
You want him. He wants you.
Own it.
7:28 p.m.
Me:
But… morally… it's disgusting.
7:28 p.m.
Lola:
Morals my ass.
You're 29, not 79.
You didn't sign up to be a nun.
He wants you. You want him.
You're both adults.
Period.
7:29 p.m.
Chloé:
And honestly, if he's not wearing his wedding ring, he's already picked a side.
7:29 p.m.
Me:
And what if he starts again on Monday?
What if I can't say no anymore?
7:30 p.m.
Lola:
Then you'll say YES.
And you'll come tell us every detail after you've come three times.
7:30 p.m.
Chloé:
We'll book the table in the back at the café downstairs to celebrate.
I stare at the screen.
My heart is still racing.
I can feel the heat between my thighs that won't go away.
I laugh, a shaky, slightly hysterical laugh.
Me:
You two are absolutely not here to save me.
7:31 p.m.
Lola:
Nope. We're here to encourage you to finally live something that makes your body wake up.
You spent two years being "good."
Now you want to be dirty.
Enjoy it.
7:31 p.m.
Chloé:
And send us a picture after, we want to see the face of a girl who almost orgasmed on an oak desk.
I lay my phone on my stomach.
I close my eyes.
My hand slides to my neck, right where he bit my skin.
It moves down slowly over my chest, my stomach, under my skirt.
I sigh, defeated.
I whisper into the silence of the apartment:
"If he closes that door again on Monday…
I'll say yes.
And fuck everything else."
I smile in the dark.
I know I'm screwed.
And for the first time in a long time,
I'm perfectly fine with it.