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“Have you ever saran-wrapped someone’s toilet?”

“I have, actually,” I nod. “My brother’s, but as soon as he couldn't get the lid up he just walked down the hall and used mine. And his aim is trash so it kind of backfired on me.”

“I’ll let you in on a secret, Camila, you have to wrap it under the lid.” I hold out my palms, confused. “I saran-warped Jonas’s toilet and then put the seat down to cover it. I took him out for alongnight of drinking, when he woke the next morning he lifted the lid to pee and it sprayed back all over him and the bathroom.”

“Oh. My. God. Are you an evil genius?” I can't stop the laugh that rips out of me.

The restaurant is filling up now even though it's getting late. We’ve been talking for hours and I only just noticed the view outside now. The city is alive beneath us. Miles stands, holding out his hand and I take it as he walks me over to the glass wall not far from our table; the view overlooks all of downtown. I place my hands on the wall and my body hums when he stands directly behind me. His powerful arms press to the wall on either side of my head, encompassing me in his heat.

Lights twinkle all over, the Golden Gate Bridge glows in the distance and I’m taken aback for a moment. Everywhere I look I’m mesmerized. “Incredible, isn't it?”

“Yes.” His voice drops. And when I look up over my shoulder his smoldering eyes are staring right at me.

I slowly turn my body around to face him. The hairs on my neck stand straight up as I lean against the glass wall. I’m burning with an intense desire to touch him. Tobetouched by him. He stands noticeably still and I don’t know what propels me to do so, but my hand lifts and falls to a spot on his chest. As if in answer his heartbeat knocks against me.

“Tell me something,” I breathe.

He looks down to where my hand is pressed to his chest, his lips twist to the side as if he’s trying to decide something. Slowly he brings one hand off the wall and places it on my hip and I fight the urge to lean into that touch even more. His mouth drops down to my neck and I draw in a deep breath. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I saw you in the shower.” His whisper caresses my skin like a feather.

My heartbeat is erratic. I shouldn’t entertain this. I knew what I was doing when I grabbed that towel. Only Miles couldn’t have gotten out of there fast enough, so I assumed that was his way of telling me to remember our arrangement. “And what have you been thinking?”

A sound somewhere between a hum and a groan vibrates against my neck. “Well, when I jerk myself off every night, I imagine my hand is your warm, wet mouth with those soft lips wrapped tightly around my cock. And when I come, it's your body, your nipples, your face, your sweet little cunt that I’m thinking about.”

It’s as if I’ve stabbed a socket with a metal fork. My body is short circuiting at his words. My breath is caught somewhere in my throat but even if I knew how to respond I couldn’t. I’m thankful he is holding me up right now because without his arm around my hip, I’m positive my knees would buckle and I would go straight to the ground.

His arm moves from the wall behind me and his finger traces a light trail down my face, along my collarbone, and over my nipples. My gaze settles on his lips as he continues to slide the back of his fingers down further towards the aching spot between my legs. At this moment, I would sell my soul to the devil to have him touch me. Never mind the fact that we’re in a dark corner of a public restaurant. I can feel his solid fingers through my skirt and my soakingwet underwear and I shamelessly arch my hips into his touch.

“Are you wet for me, Camila?” Since I still can’t form the words, I dig my fingers a little deeper into his chest and nod my head. “Good.”

Is this why I haven’t had positive sexual experiences? Do I have a praise kink? Am I so detached from myself that I can’t even think of things that I might enjoy? No man has ever talked to me like this before. We’re not even naked and I’m pretty sure I could orgasm from his words and his touch alone. I want to tell him I need more. I need him.

“Miles, I—” My voice is embarrassingly breathy.

His eyebrows knit together as I register a coughing sound. We both straighten and look back towards the middle of the restaurant where people hover in a crowd and I spot a waiter on the phone. One man is choking as another is giving him the Heimlich, and it's silent for a moment before the man succeeds in vomiting his food all over the floor. People all around let out a sigh of relief and waiters frantically run around to help clean up and tend to the man.

Miles looks back at me and extends his hand, the moment is gone now and he’s clearly ready to go.

Eyes wide, I take his hand and wonder,what the fuck just happened?

Miles

After dinner last night,I walked Camila back to her room and left her there with a quick goodnight. I could feel her eyes burning into my back as I started back to my own room. The whole drive home, the tension in the car was suffocating and I couldn’t stop thinking about how grateful I was that that man almost choked to death.

I’m aware of how terrible that sounds. But when Camila’s hips shifted further into my touch, and that sweet little moan escaped her lips, I almost took her right there.

I blame it on a combination of her consuming all my waking thoughts and my fist being the only thing to give me release in a long ass time. However, what started out as a sexual attraction has started shifting into something I don’t recognize. No one has ever held my attention the way she does. I appreciate her witty remarks even if they seem to surprise her when they sneak out. It’s like getting a glimpse into who she really is behind that meticulous appearance she puts on.

What really gets me though, is the way she so easily opened up to me. She might have hesitated a few times but I waited, trusting, that she would continue, and when she did it made me comfortable enough to do the same with her. I mean, I told her about my parents for Christ’s sake. While she might not be afraid to tell me about her struggles and the pressure she feels to make her parents proud, it's obvious she’s never expressed this to them.

So yeah, maybe I’m terrible. But if that man hadn’t almost choked to death, I’m sure I would have done something that I couldn't come back from. Tonight, Camila and I have to play the part of a happily married couple for everyone, but most importantly the name partners. Now is not the time to blur the line.

I stretch my neck from side to side while taking an aggravated breath. I can’t get this last cuff link on my sleeve and when I contemplate chucking it across the room, I know my annoyance has more to do with being on edge about seeing Camila and less about the way the toggle keeps falling out of my sleeve. When I left this morning for my workout, I came home to a note that said she would be out most of the day,‘prepping for tonight.’I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I knew she would be here and be ready when it was time to go so I didn’t question it.

High heels clip down the hallway and my fingers continue to fumble with the cuff link. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her perfectly polished toes peeking out from under the long slit of her black dress. My eyes trail up her leg, to her waist that's pulled in tight by the fabric. My gaze continues up to her breasts, and then her face. She’s wearing light makeup that only accentuates her already stunning features. Her hair is pinned back away from her face but still flowing freely down her back. Nervously twisting her ring around her finger she mumbles, “Do I look okay?”

I wonder if she's questioning herself because I must look insane right now. The cuff link I’ve been wrestlingfor the last ten minutes slips out of my fingers and falls to the floor with an echo. But I still can’t take my eyes off her. Her lips purse to the side as she floats over to me. Her wine-red fingernails lace around my tie as she straightens it before sinking down to the floor in front of me.

I all but come in my pants at the sight of her kneeling before me.