Free Lust by T. C. Anthony Page A

his hands grabbed me by my arms. He had stopped me from falling. He had also, for a moment, stopped my breathing.
    “Thank you, I’m fine.” I pulled away from his hold. What seemed like an hour was only a few minutes, but I felt affected.
    Pull it together, now!
    Adjusting my suit jacket, I took a few steps back and sat on the white terry cloth accent chair that had at one time been a comforting seat for me. Now, it was just uncomfortable, or maybe it wasn’t the chair. No, it was him; he was making me uncomfortable. As the many thoughts, though incomplete and most irrational, swirled in my head, I noticed that Mr.
    Mason pulled the other accent chair closer to where I was and sat down.
    As he sat, I stood, almost at the same time. “Would you excuse me for just a moment? I need to run to the ladies’ room.
    I’m sorry, I’ll be right back. Sorry.” And I ran out, jogging down the hall, passing the reception desk (all in my Louboutins, by the way) and into the foyer of the fifty-eighth floor. There was a general restroom there. I had used it once perhaps in seven years, but I needed to breathe. I needed to put a little distance between myself and Mason.
    Looking at myself in the restroom mirror, I noticed that though I was a total mess inside, I actually looked good on the outside. There wasn’t a hair out of place and not one flaw in my makeup. My attire was perfectly pressed and fit to my body with perfection.
    “What is wrong with you? Who are you? Where is this insecurity and anxiety coming from?” I couldn’t help asking myself questions that I knew I could not answer, not in my mind and not out loud. The anxiety grew. I felt shaky and uneasy as I replayed all the events that had happened in the last two days.
    It’s him. It has to be him. Every negative turn that has come about has been because of him or has been brought on by him. That’s why I’m so anxious, I’m suppressing my anger toward him, and my body is reacting. God, I cant keep this up. If I don’t learn to work with him without making myself sick, I’m going to have to find a new job. OK, well, some insight finally. It’s anger and not sexual tension.
    I tried so hard to convince myself internally about my physical and emotional reactions to this man who I barely knew.
    And then there was a scent. But it wasn’t a scent I smelled; it was a memory. I was recalling a soft, calming, attractive scent, perhaps a perfume I had worn? No. Perhaps it was a scent of Samantha’s? No.
    “What the hell?”
    I had to run into one of the stalls. Frantically unbuttoning, unzipping, and pulling down my slacks, I grabbed a few rolled pieces of toilet paper with one hand, and with the other, I pulled down my thong. Perplexed, I just stood there. I could have sworn my panties were wet; I thought I must not have calculated my cycle right and had gotten my period. Panties still at my thighs, I stood and stared confused at the bathroom stall door, and the scent returned.
    What is that? I kept thinking.
    I couldn’t wrap my mind around it, this amazing and sexy scent. I could taste it. My stomach tightened as I closed my eyes and breathed deep. Chills coursed through my body straight to my core.
    My eyes shot open. Something wet was going down the inside of my thigh. Opening my legs a bit wider and moving the hand holding the toilet tissue closer to my leg, I bent halfway at the waist and just peered at the skin of my inner thigh. Not moving my body, I was utterly confused, completely perplexed.
    Why the hell am I wet?
    Wiping my thigh and discarding the tissue, I unrolled some more and now wiped the inside of my sex, where the wetness had obviously come from.
    Oh my God. I’m really wet. What the hell? I am so losing my mind here.
    Shaking my head, I finished wiping myself off; I could not get past this. What was happening to my body? It was like I wasn’t in control of my own body anymore.
    I went over the last ten minutes, trying to figure out what I