Page 10 of Prey

Then I listen to it again. And again.

I'm so hard it hurts. My hand moves to my belt as I push my pants down. I wrap my hand around myself. And I stroke to the sound of his voice, the image of his body, the knowledge that he was in my office, on my desk, saying my name.

His release is still there. On my desk. The thought sends me over the edge. I come hard. Biting my lip to keep from making a sound. And then I sit there, breathing hard.

What have you done to me?

I text Leo.

Get the cleaners in early tomorrow. My office. The desk needs to be cleaned.

He responds: Of course. Any particular reason?

I type: No reason.

I don't tell him about Grey. I don't tell him about the fact that I just came to the sound of my secretary's voice.

That's my secret. And I'm keeping it.

Chapter 6

Grey

The moment I walk into the office, the air feels thicker.

Charged, like when the sky goes grey and everyone pretends not to notice. Cain is already here. That’s the first sign. He’s never here before me. I have his schedule memorized. He shouldn’t arrive for another twelve minutes. But his door is closed, and I can hear him moving around inside.

My mind races, missed meeting? Wrong file? No. I’ve been perfect. No mistakes. People leave when you make mistakes. I’m not letting him have a reason. So why is he here?

His door opens.

I feel him looking at me. The kind of look that lands on your skin like a hand.

"Morning, Grey."

His voice is the same, low, measured. But there’s something underneath it.

"Good morning, sir."

I look up and smile. He’s standing in his doorway. White shirt today, sleeves already rolled to his elbows, no jacket, no tie. His hair is slightly damp, like he showered recently. Like he’s been here for a while.

His eyes move over my face, slow, deliberate. He’s looking at me differently.

"Come into my office," he says. "We need to discuss the William revisions."

"Of course, sir."

I stand up and follow him inside. He sits behind his desk, I sit across from him. The same chair I sat in yesterday. The same leather. The same view of the city behind his head. But something is wrong. I can't put my finger on it. The office looks the same. Neat desk, books are in order, jacket on the rack.

But the air is different. It smells like me.

That’s impossible. I was careful. I cleaned up. I never leave traces. But I sat on his desk last night. I touched myself. I said his name.

The memory hits me like a physical blow. My face stays neutral. My hands stay steady. But inside, I’m screaming.

He doesn’t know. I was careful.

"Grey?"