The Devil Wears Black(86)

“I love that you wear dresses.” He kissed my nose. I snatched his lips before he moved away, devouring him passionately. “It makes you fuckable not only theoretically but logistically too. Thing is, I don’t have a condom,” he whispered into my mouth. “But I’m clean.”

“I’m on the pill and clean,” I said.

“Well, I’m about to dirty you up.”

As he entered me, the thought that I was breaking one of my very own rules occurred to me. Having sex without a condom was most definitely real-relationship territory. Then again, not having sex with him right now would likely kill me.

He entered me deeply, grabbing one of my thighs and stretching it along his body.

I threw my head back, banging it against the door, then whimpered. “I’m going to die.”

“Be a good sport and wait a few minutes. I’d really appreciate coming before I leave here.” He pushed into me harder. I laughed. He laughed too. Was it weird that we were laughing while having sex? Probably. But it was the essence of Chase and me. Whatever we had with each other was always dipped in something crazy.

Bathroom sex proved to be less sexy than advertised on TV. For one thing, we were both sweating. The industrial AC didn’t extend to the restrooms. My dress clung to my flesh like wrapping film. I looked up at Chase, surprised by the boyish vulnerability I saw on his face when he thought I wasn’t looking. The orgasm built inside me. Every time he entered me, the tip of his buckle hit my clit. I was shaking all over, not exactly sure what suspended me in the air from falling flat on my butt. Physics aside, I didn’t want this to end. Ever. And that frightened me.

“Come, Mad,” he groaned.

“No.” I kissed the curve of his jaw. “No, no, no. I want to continue. Can’t you hold it a little bit longer?”

“I can,” he said painfully, but he was losing himself, I could tell. His eyes were hazy, the first tremors of him coming undone, making his tight muscles dance. “But the time . . .”

Just as he said it, I came apart, letting out a loud moan, clutching his shoulders. He held me in place, but instead of pumping inside me and searching for his own release, he cupped his hand over my mouth.

I heard the door to the restroom flinging open, then slamming shut. It felt like a bucket of ice water was dumped all over my orgasm. My eyes flared, my mouth pursing behind his hand.

No, no, no, no.

He lowered me down to my feet, helping me smooth my dress over my thighs, still hard and unsatisfied. I slapped his hand away, feeling the tears stinging the backs of my eyeballs. Of course he’d said it would be okay. And of course it wasn’t. I was such an idiot to trust him. But I couldn’t deny my own responsibility. I was the bubbleheaded cheerleader who’d agreed to go bareback in that imaginary truck bed. Hell, I’d let the quarterback take a shit all over me.

“Mad,” he said, tucking himself back in. There was something surprisingly pitiful about watching Chase still hard and wanting, trying to console me. I knew he hadn’t wanted this to happen. That he’d tried to warn me when he’d heard the door. “Whoever it is doesn’t know that it’s you. Your legs were wrapped around me, so they couldn’t see your shoes. All they heard was moaning. For all they knew, there was someone constipated in this cubicle.”

“One of my legs was wrapped around you,” I countered, while we stood in the stall, which suddenly felt so much smaller than it had been when we’d first entered it. I wanted to get out of there but dreaded leaving at the same time. “Just the one. The other was still on the floor.”

“Your shoes are not that recognizable,” he tried to reason. We both looked down at my shoes. I was wearing flowery heels with a yellow bow at the front. Pretty darn recognizable unless you lived on a Eurovision set.

“Maybe they didn’t look down,” Chase suggested.

“After hearing a couple having sex in a bathroom stall?” I laughed bitterly. “Fat chance, Chase.”

“Mad.” He bracketed my face, pressing his temple to mine.

I shook my head, trying to escape his touch. “Whatever. You got your way. Wasn’t it your bottom line today? Getting your way?” I sounded bitter and not myself.

“Mad.”

“What?” I snapped.

“Don’t worry. Whatever’s gonna happen, we’re going to deal with it together.”

My knees high-fived each other the entire way to my office. I tried to give myself an internal pep talk. Tell myself Chase was right. There was no reason to believe people knew what we’d been doing or that it had been me in the stall.

I returned to gather and dump all the food containers in the kitchenette. There a note was waiting on the fridge, typed out in a Word document so no one could recognize the handwriting:

Riddle me this: She is cute, small, and a little MAD,

but her milkshake still brings all the boys to the yard.

More specifically, I just caught her with her pants down, having sex with Black & Co.’s big boss.

The one who wears BLACK and normally dates the likes of Kate Moss.

With this kind of lip service, no wonder she just got a promotion.

So much for being Martyr Maddie, full of goodwill and devotion.

I ripped the note from the fridge and threw it into the trash can. Storming to my station, I glanced behind my shoulder. Nina was busy filing her nails, humming an Ariana Grande tune with a smile on her face. She caught me glaring at her, picked up a pint of milkshake on her desk, and took a noisy slurp.