Free Play Me Hard by Tracy Wolff Page B

steps away to dispose of the condom.
    I watch him for a second, loving the sexy ebb and flow of his shoulder and back muscles as he moves. Loving even more the way he glances over his shoulder at me, like even those few seconds are too long to go without seeing me.
    But I can’t stay here forever, legs spread and ass naked against his desk, no matter how much I wish I could. So gingerly I climb down, pick up my bra and dress off the floor. I slide them quickly back into place. The panties are a lost cause, so I scoop them into a ball and deposit them in Sebastian’s trash can.
    Staring at them there—bright and garish and completely out of place against the pencil shavings and sheets of white paper currently residing there—totally kills whatever sex buzz is still humming through my veins. It makes me feel cheap. Out of place. Like I could never belong here in Sebastian’s world.
    Which is true, right? After all, I just finished fucking the boss in his office for the second day in a row. And once again I let him do anything he wanted to me. Talk about a cliché.
    The only problem is I don’t belong anywhere else, either. And of all the hats I’ve tried on in the last fourteen months, of all the people I’ve tried to be—or not to be—this is the one I like best. The one I might actually like to wear around for a while, just to see how it fits.
    I don’t know if it’s that realization or if it’s the picture my panties make in his trash can or if it’s just that I’m able to think clearly for the first time since Sebastian told me to put my hands against the window last night. But whatever it is, I’m suddenly completely freaked out again. Completely terrified of what is. What was. What could be.
    And once I acknowledge that emotion, all the rest of them come rushing back into me, too. Everything comes rushing back.
    My sister.
    My father.
    Carlo.
    My mother.
    The choices I made fourteen months ago and the choices I continue to make today.
    The look of disappointment, of disgust, of
rage
on my father’s face this morning, right before I turned to flee.
    I try to keep it together, to keep the seething, roiling mess of my thoughts from showing on my face, but I must not succeed, because Sebastian reaches for me. “Do we need to talk about this?” he asks in an obvious echo of his earlier question.
    My answer is the same now as it was then, as well. “No.”
    He looks unimpressed, his smile rueful and his electric green eyes anything but amused. “Yeah, well, now that my dick isn’t actively involved in the conversation that answer isn’t going to cut it.”
    “It’s going to have to.” I nod toward the black chrome clock hanging on the opposite wall. “I need to clean up. I’m supposed to be on the floor in fifteen minutes.”
    “Fuck the floor,” he tells me, and outside of sex, it’s one of the few curse words I’ve heard Sebastian use. It gives me pause. Or maybe it’s the tone of voice he says it in—firm, no-nonsense, absolute, that stops me in my tracks. He usually doesn’t talk to me like that unless he’s fucking me and judging from the fact that he’s yanking his own clothes back into place—and putting distance between us as he does it—an instant replay really isn’t an option right now.
    But standing here, hashing over my feelings and my past, isn’t, either. Not now. Maybe not ever, but definitely not now. And definitely not with him.
    “I don’t really have any desire to do that,” I say, going with flippant to get me out of this mess, because everything else is too complicated and hurts too much. “God only knows where it’s been.”
    The look he shoots me is distinctly annoyed. After-sex humor definitely not for him, then. Good to know. Especially since that’s about the range of emotional depth I have to offer him right now. If he doesn’t want it, that’s not my problem.
    “Do you mind if I use your bathroom again?” I ask, already striding across the lush