My Shameful Secret Read online

  “He does not.” But even so, the thought makes my cheeks burn with pleasure, and my fingers shake a little when I open my email---

  Oh.

  “It’s my newsletter from a journal sub box,” I say in disappointment.

  Ginger makes a face. “I’d like to think that has to do with sexual Submissives---”

  “Of course not,” I gasp. “It’s a subscription box, for God’s sake.”

  She yawns. “Boooooring.”

  And then my phone vibrates again.

  “How many boring newsletters are you expecting today?” Ginger demands.

  I slowly shake my head. “That’s it.”

  And as soon as I say the words my heart jumps to my throat.

  It has to be him this time.

  Right?

  “You’re killing me here,” Ginger groans. “Just read it!”

  I reach for my phone, and the first thing I see when I click my inbox is his name.

  Stephen Blackmore.

  I look at my friend, stunned. “It’s him.”

  Ginger squeals. “Oh my God, what did he say?”

  Swallowing hard, I click on his message.

  * * *

  Mr. X: Stalk me.

  Stalk me, he says. A few days ago, that would have been a walk in the park. I know his schedule by heart. I know the people he hangs out with at the hospital. I know everything a stalker (not that I’m one) could know about him.

  But that was then.

  It’s different now. He knows I’ve been stalking him, and everything’s changed because of that. I mean, does he really expect me to continue following him around, staring at him, even knowing that he’s aware of my unspoken obsession of him?

  And besides, what if this is all a cruel game to him? What if it’s not just a fling? What if he’s a rich weirdo who’s thinking of re-enacting Cruel Intentions in real life?

  Then again, if I voiced my worries to Ginger she’d only tell me I’m overthinking it again, won’t she?

  More days pass, one after another, but I tell myself there’s nothing to worry about. I still have all the time in the world – or so I thought, until one morning I check my reflection in the vanity mirror and I’m startled to see that the mark has almost completely faded.

  Oh no!

  Didn’t he say he’d consider things done between us if I haven’t yet made a move once his mark is completely gone?

  What if he really meant it?

  The thought sends me into a flurry of action, and fifteen minutes later I’m speeding out of my apartment and heading off for work. I make it half an hour earlier than usual, which is perfect.

  Mr. X tends to get to work earlier than usual, too, and so I have ample opportunity to…

  To…

  Never mind what I’ll do or say, I think to myself, feeling reckless for once. Right now, what’s important is getting to him before my mark disappears.

  Butterflies swoop around my stomach as I take the elevator to his office. The entire tenth floor is empty save for the two nurses at the station. When they look at me suspiciously, I totally get it. After all, what kind of business can a lowly pencil pusher from Accounting like me have here?

  I park myself at the corner, away from the nurses’ watchful stares but perfectly positioned to see him step out the moment his office door opens. At around this time, he’d be making his first round for the day, so any moment now he’d be---

  And there he is.

  Mr. X emerges from his office, gorgeous and sexy, and with his lab coat over his suit, stethoscope around his neck, and clipboard in hand. I’m about to call out to him when I see a beautiful woman follow him out of his office.

  Oh.

  I recognize her right away. She’s another cardiologist – not as good as he is, of course, but still one of the best in their field.

  They start walking towards my direction and I’m torn between running away and keeping still. If I don’t move, maybe they won’t notice me? I duck my head unthinkingly as they come closer, and their conversation gradually drifts to my ears.

  Are you ready for tonight’s operation, Dr. Martine Peppers asks him.

  I’ve prepared for it, is Mr. X’s calm reply.

  I’m feeling a little nervous, the other woman confesses. It’s not all the time you’re asked to operate on a man like Sir Bartholomew.

  Oh! Understanding comes in a flash, and I turn away before the pair reaches me. Sir Bartholomew is a rather prominent political figure in Britain and his sudden arrival via helicopter has sent the entire hospital in a mini uproar. His presence here has been kept under wraps, with management making it clear that anyone who’s thinking of tattling to the press would have a hefty price to pay.

  I definitely can’t disturb him today. The thought has me reaching for the side of my neck unconsciously, and pain squeezes my heart when I realize what that could mean.

  If I let today pass and the mark is completely gone by tomorrow---

  My fingers dig into my palms.

  But if I approach him now and distract him from the operation---

  The choice is clear.

  My heart feels a little heavy as I head back to the elevator, but it’s more sadness than regret because I know I’ve done the right thing. And maybe, I think fatalistically, things are meant to happen this way.

  I press the Down button and bite back a sigh of frustration when I realize I still have to wait for the elevator to finish its trip up before I can get in.

  Drat.

  Behind me, I hear a couple of footsteps and I stiffen. Please let it not be them---

  “I’ll see you later then.” It’s Dr. Peppers.

  My heart sinks.

  There’s a second of silence, and Mr. X must have nodded since Dr. Peppers then continues, “Maybe we can get together for drinks afterwards?” Her voice has suddenly become throaty, and my eyes fly towards the digital screen of the elevator in desperation.

  Hurry up, elevator! I feel them stop right behind me, and I have a silly urge to run away. This is so not good. Why do I have to be the third wheel in this party?

  “What do you think?” I hear Dr. Peppers ask.

  “I think it’s better to keep things platonic between us.” Mr. X’s tone is polite and dismissive.

  I manage not to gasp aloud at his reply. Such words would have totally crushed me, but Dr. Peppers only laughs it off, and I’m quietly impressed.

  “You really are a bastard.” But the words are spoken in a low, breathless tone, and I realize that Mr. X’s rejection just seems to have turned her on.

  Oh wow.

  She really is quite the woman – but doesn’t she mind that I’m here, with a functional pair of ears?

  The elevator doors slide open, and I hurry inside, sticking to the corner and keeping my head bowed. The two follow me in, and the elevator doors close. Silence hums inside, which for some reason feels even tenser. Dr. Peppers’ phone starts to ring, and she picks it up right away. “What is it?”

  When the other woman starts talking briskly about another operation, I can’t help but raise my gaze, thinking that I might peek on them---

  And our eyes meet.

  Oh!

  The knowing glint in Mr. X’s blue-gray eyes tells me he’s been aware of me from the start, and my face burns. Actually, every inch of me burns and I don’t even know why.

  The elevator stops on the eighth floor, and Dr. Pepper steps out without looking back at Mr. X, still busy talking.

  The elevator doors close, leaving just the two of us.

  “You were going to leave without even trying to talk to me, weren’t you?”

  Knowing it’s useless to lie, I simply nod.

  “Because of Dr. Peppers?” he asks bluntly.

  I shake my head.

  He frowns. “Then why?”

  “Because I overheard your conversation about Sir Bartholomew,” I mumble under my breath.

  There’s a moment of silence, and he murmurs, “You really are something.”

  Something…like what? I look at him uncertainly, but the elevator has reached my floor, and when he only nods at me, I realize I’m being dismissed.

  Hurt squeezes my heart once again, but I keep my chin up as I step out of the elevator.

  The doors close behind me.

  My knees threaten to buckle.

  I guess that’s all I meant to him.

  Chapter 4

  I’ve just gone through the security check at the employees’ exit when my iPhone buzzes inside my pocket. I hesitate when I see it’s an email from Mr. X, but curiosity eventually wins over my still-smarting pride, and I click on his message.

  Meet me at my office.

  My face scrunches in an unhappy frown, and I stop walking just so I can concentrate on typing my reply.

  Me: No, thank you.

  Mr. X: I only have thirty-five minutes to spare.

  I grit my teeth. So what? Does he expect I’d come running just because he deigned to give me thirty-five minutes of his time? The more I think about it, the more irritated I get, and I find myself making a 180-degree turn.

  Mr. X needs to be taken down a peg or two, I think grimly as I march back to the office, and I’m going to do just that.

  When I reach his office, I don’t bother knocking on his door and barge straight in. I want to slam the door closed behind me, but good manners prevail in the end, and I allow it to close quietly. There are better – and more polite ways – to make my point.

  Turning around, I open my mouth to give him a piece of my mind---

  Mr. X is right in front of me, and before I can say a word he’s already cupped my face and covering my mouth with his.

  Ooooh!

  My knees buckle at the unexpected onslaught, and I f
utilely beat his chest, trying to shove him away even as my head reels at his kiss. But still it continues, and with every second that passes, the movement of his lips over mine takes over my senses more and more and more, until he’s dominated them completely---

  And I’m lost.

  My eyes close in surrender, and when my body softens against his, Mr. X pulls me closer to deepen the kiss. When he sweeps me up in his arm, I don’t let myself think where he’s taking me or what he’s about to do. I just want to lose myself in his kiss forever.

  “You taste sweeter every time I kiss you, Anisia.” The words, muttered against my lips, make me shudder, and I squeeze my eyes shut more tightly. How embarrassingly weak I am with Mr. X, to let myself be swept away with just a kiss and a few nice words.

  After lowering me to the edge of his desk, he lifts his mouth from mine, leaving me no choice but to let my eyes slowly drift open. When our gazes meet, he says quietly, “I hurt you earlier. Didn’t I?”

  I don’t answer, knowing I don’t need to.

  “I’m sorry.” His voice has become tight. “It wasn’t my intention. You caught me off guard, and I reacted instinctively.”

  I still don’t say a word, but this time it’s because I don’t even understand what he’s getting to. He told me to stalk him, and now he’s saying I caught him off guard?

  Mr. X shakes his head, snarling under his breath, “You’re the only one who reduces me into this state of incoherence.”

  His faintly irritated tone gets to me, and I can’t help but glare at him, muttering, “You seem to be blaming me for a lot of things when you’re not even making sense.”

  There’s a moment of silence and then I hear Mr. X mutter an expletive under his word.

  I stiffen. Is he actually cursing me---

  Mr. X’s blue-gray eyes widen, and then he says right away, “No.” His voice is firm. “That wasn’t directed at you. I’m furious at myself because I realized you were right. You’re not to blame at all. I am.”

  “I don’t even get what you’re blaming me or yourself for,” I blurt out.

  “I’m blaming myself for hurting you,” he says simply.

  Oh.

  “I could’ve said something earlier to reassure you, but I didn’t because…” His gaze becomes hooded, and his tone unreadable as he says, “When you told me you were going to leave because you didn’t want to distract me from Sir Bartholomew’s operation – you meant it, didn’t you?”

  I nod warily.

  “I thought you did.” His lips twist. “And that’s what caught me off guard. All the other women I’ve dated before you didn’t give a damn about my work.”

  Understanding finally dawns, and I say uncertainly, “I didn’t say it just so you’d think I’m nicer or better than them.”

  “I know that, sweetheart.”

  This time, a note of gentle amusement underscores his voice. It makes my cheeks burn for some reason, and I add hurriedly, “It’s only because we work in the same field – well, sort of – that I understand the nature of your job.”

  His eyes gleaming, he drawls, “Let me get this straight. Are you actually trying to convince me you’re not nice?”

  I grimace, realizing he was right, and when he starts to chuckle, I stammer defensively, “It’s not just that.”

  “Go on then.” His tone is patient. “Give me another reason to prove you’re not nice.”

  “Stop twisting my words!”

  “So you’re nice then?”

  “No! I mean, yes!” I shake my head, now feeling even more rattled. “What I mean is, I also said those things because I wanted it to be clear that this, umm---” The word ‘fling’ comes to mind, but I just can’t make myself say it, and so I end lamely, “I don’t want this, umm, thing between us to be an obligation.”

  “I see.”

  “I just want it to be fun.” I look at him earnestly. “It has to be fun for both of us, okay?”

  After a moment, Mr. X answers, “Okay.”

  His tone is mockingly obedient, and it’s just so unbefitting that I can’t help but giggle.

  Mr. X blinks. “You giggled.”

  Oops. My mouth snaps shut. “I’m sorry.” That was terribly unsophisticated of me.

  “You misunderstand,” Mr. X refutes. “I think it’s adorable.”

  I shrug, not at all convinced. From now on, I’m going to stop giggling and be more sophisticated.

  Mr. X sighs. “I can see I’ve got my work cut out with you.”

  Blinking in confusion, I’m about to tell him he’s not making sense again when he adds abruptly, “For what it’s worth, I am sorry about today. I know approaching me earlier didn’t come easy to you. On the other hand---” His gaze narrows. “Why haven’t you come earlier?”

  “Umm---”

  “I’ve been tempted to strangle you for having me chomping on the bits, waiting for you to make a move.” He pauses, and his voice is hard when he asks, “Or was that your objective all along?”

  “I wish I can be that calculating, but no.” I know I should be offended by his question, but honestly I’m more concerned. He must have dated a lot of manipulative women before me.

  “Don’t make me wait that long again,” Mr. X orders. Before I can answer, he goes on asking, “Well? What was your reason for making me wait?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, I confess the truth. “I was weighing the pros and cons.”

  His eyebrow arches. “And what are the cons?”

  “Just one,” I admit awkwardly.

  “And?”

  “And it’s that you could end up hurting me.”

  “I see.” His tone has become unreadable once more, but he doesn’t say anything else, and I actually like and respect him more for that. After a moment, he asks levelly, “And the pros?”

  “Just one, too.” And knowing that he’d want to know what it is, I lower my head to avoid his gaze as I mumble, “You’re really good at kissing.” The words must have shocked him because he doesn’t speak for several moments. Unable to bear the silence, I slowly peek at his expression---

  And that’s when I see the sexy tiny smirk playing on his lips, and I realize he’s only been waiting for me to look at him.

  “You’re such a---”

  “Good kisser,” he cuts me off silkily. “I know. You told me so, remember?”

  Oh God, how unbelievably cocky can this man be!

  I try to push him away so I can get off his desk, but he only laughs as he hauls me close to him. As I fall against his chest, he whispers, “I think you should know…” He pauses to lick my ear, and I gasp and shudder, taken completely by surprise.

  “It’s not the only thing I’m good at.” And as soon as he finishes speaking, I feel his hands going under my skirt.

  “W-what are you---” My voice trails off when his next action answers my unfinished question.

  Oh dear heavens, he’s taking my panties off…and I’m letting him!

  When he starts to part my thighs, I stammer, “What are you---”

  “Relax,” he interrupts me soothingly even as he gently pushes me back to the desk.

  I shake my head jerkily. Relax? Is he serious? How can I relax when he’s standing between my legs and I haven’t any panties on? Raising myself on my elbows, I start to tell him that things are going too fast---

  But it’s too late.

  Mr. X has planted his face between my legs.

  Oh.

  I feel the first lick of his tongue against my folds.

  Dear.

  And I fall back against the desk.

  His hands gripping my butt, Mr. X proceeds to eat my pussy. He starts slowly and leisurely, and he licks my folds for the longest time that when he finally thrusts his tongue inside of me I’m this close to orgasm.

  Clapping my hands over my mouth, I try to control my moans even as I writhe under the agonizingly exquisite movements of his tongue.

  The strokes of his tongue have become faster and deeper now, and my body writhes more uncontrollably under his mouth. Squeezing the cheeks of my butt hard, he grinds his mouth against my pussy, and it’s simply too much.

  My eyes roll back, and I arch against him as I come, doing my best to keep my screams to myself as I feel wave after wave of ecstasy pummel my wildly gyrating body.

  As I come and come and come, Mr. X laps up every drop, and the way his tongue continues to drive in and out of me nonstop prolongs my orgasm so that by the time the last tremor fades, I’m completely spent.