Page 41 of Worth Every Moment (Hawkston Billionaires #4)

SEB

“ W e’d love to run a joint marketing campaign,” says Arthur Knatchbull. “Luxury goods and Hawkston Hotels. It’s a perfect union.”

An alert pings on my phone, and I glance at it under the table. I’m in the boardroom with Matt and our leasing agents, meeting with the marketing team from Knatchbull Luxe about leveraging both our brands.

I swipe on the phone. Motion detected in my bedroom. What the hell? No one should be in there.

I click into the CCTV system and bring up the live footage. Erica’s standing in my room wearing a dressing gown, like she’s just got out of the bath or something. What is she doing?

A chill runs down the back of my neck, trickling down my spine. Fuck . What if she goes into the bathroom? She cannot go in there.

“Seb?” Matt asks, calling my attention back to the meeting. “Thoughts?”

I have no fucking clue what they just said. “Sounds good.”

Matt frowns. Fuck, I hope that made sense.

My gaze ping-pongs between Matt, Arthur, and the phone screen, but it’s the phone that captures my attention.

I watch, hardly breathing, as Erica pads about my room.

She lifts the photo she brought me, which I placed on the bedside table, stares for a few seconds before replacing it, and starts opening cupboards, peering inside.

She pulls out a suit jacket and puts it to her nose, holding it there like she’s inhaling it.

Wait a fucking second. Is she sniffing my suits? Her eyes flutter closed and when she tips her head back, her mouth slightly open, I imagine the sound of the sigh she releases.

And that’s when I know it for sure. She’s turned on.

I nearly leap to my feet, wanting to pump a fist in the air, but panic quickly suffuses my elation.

My bedroom is the one place I’ve carved out as absolutely mine. When I have parties, I lock the door. It’s my fucking space, and no one gets in. No one . Not even Erica Lefroy. Especially not Erica Lefroy .

I can’t take my eyes off the screen. It’s clear she has no idea that I can see her. If she knew, she wouldn’t be in there. Please, don’t go into the bathroom . She edges up to the bed, stroking the sheets with one finger.

“Seb? Are you with us?” Matt asks.

“Yeah. Absolutely.” That didn’t sound in the least convincing.

I glance back at the phone just in time to see Erica fling off her robe and toss it on the floor.

I can’t breathe. My heart feels like it’s exploding.

She’s naked. Completely fucking naked.

Oh, fuck.

Blood rushes to my dick. I rocket from my seat before anyone notices that I’m already half-hard. This is so wrong. I should have told her there are cameras in my room.

“Sorry. I have to go. Excuse me.” I gesture with my phone, then panic that they can see the screen, and shove it deep in my pocket, which serves the dual purpose of disguising my semi.

“Seb,” Matt says, his voice sharp. “This is—”

“Can’t. Sorry.”

I leave the room before anyone can say anything else and unmute the phone screen.

“Okay,” comes Erica’s voice as she talks to herself. “Let’s do this.”

Do what?

I start running to my office, dialling her number, but she doesn’t answer. I push open the office door and call her again.

No answer.

I dial again, with the same result.

I pull the phone from my ear and glance at the screen. Erica bends over, touching her toes like she’s limbering up.

Oh, sweet Jesus.

I should look away. I should put my phone in a drawer and lock it. Pretend this never happened.

But… I don’t. I can’t. Call me a weak man, but the woman I’ve fantasised about for years is bending over, naked, in my bedroom, when I expressly told her never to go in there.

Instead of doing the right thing, I click on my computer, loading up the live feed to the big screen as fast as I can, and take a seat.

She arches her back, hands behind her head, just like she did when she was sitting on my lap during the photo shoot. Except now she’s naked .

Erica Lefroy is naked in my bedroom. The only fucking problem is, I’m not there.

I drag my free hand down my face as I stare at the screen. Holy mother-fucking-fuck-fuck-fuck.

She’s doing some kind of yoga stretching at the foot of the bed, tits jiggling. Holy shit . My dick gives an angry throb beneath the desk, and heat rushes my entire body.

If only she’d answered the phone before. Maybe I should try again, but what would I say? “Hey, get out of my room. I know you’re in there because I can see you.” I can’t do that because she’s taken all her clothes off—

She flops back on the bed, gets comfortable, spreads her legs and raises her knees, pulls a tiny mirror from the pocket of her robe and positions it between her legs.

She slides her hand down and—

Oh, fuck . I cannot watch this. I can’t let her do this, not knowing I’m here seeing it all when she thinks she’s alone.

I jerk up from my seat, dick rock hard in my trousers, and lock my office door.

I grab my phone from the desk and dial her number, daring only the slightest glances at the computer screen between ring tones.

Yup, Erica is writhing, naked, on my bed, with a fucking mirror between her legs.

She tweaks a nipple and lets out a groan.

I’m already so turned on, I’m probably leaking pre-cum.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I dash over to the computer and mute the sound.

The ringing on my end of the line stops, and in the half-second of silence I expect the answer machine message to click in, but it doesn’t.

“Seb?”

Oh, my God. She answered. She answered the fucking phone . I pace to the window, away from the computer screen.

“Hey. Erica.” My voice sounds shaky. “Are you at home?”

Are you at home? What a fucking stupid question to open with. Now I definitely can’t admit that I can see her.

“Yeah,” she says, a little breathy. “Where are you?”

“In the office. What are you doing?”

“Making lunch.”

I have never heard a woman sound more turned on when telling me she’s making lunch. All the blood in my body surges straight to my dick, if it wasn’t there already.

“Do you need something?” she asks, still breathless.

“No. Sorry.” What the fuck am I doing? I’ll turn off the screens. Pretend I never saw any of this. “I’ll see you late—”

“Wait. Do you have a moment?”

What the fuck? “Erm—”

“Can you stay on the line?”

My skin prickles, and I glance back over at the screen where Erica is quite clearly still lying naked on my bed, touching herself. Looks like she’s got the phone next to her. Must be on speaker. “Huh?”

“Just… talk to me. It’s quiet here. I’d like to hear your voice.”

My whole body is one great electric fucking current. I’m about to short circuit. My brain might fucking explode. “You want me to talk to you?”

“Mmm. Yeah. Just for a bit. You can go in five minutes.”

Five minutes?

I pull out my desk chair and sit down. Tell her. Tell her you can see her. “Phone sex?”

She laughs. “Yeah. Something like that. Just talk to me while I make the food.”

Christ, she thinks I’m joking. And she’s still lying to me.

Fuck it. I start talking about my day, the meetings I went to, who I’ve spoken to on the phone…

But I’m not engaged with my own words because I’m watching Erica. Her perfect body sprawled out on my sheets, dark hair spread over the pillows. She’s propped up on them so she can watch herself in the mirror.

I stifle a groan at the sight.

“What have you been up to?” I ask, straining to keep my voice neutral.

She moans a little. Very quietly, so that if I couldn't see her, I wouldn’t know what she was doing. “I had the day off. I was looking at that Tatler spread about us moving in together.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I was reading it. You look so handsome in those pictures.”

My stomach turns over so violently that I might need emergency surgery to fix it, and when she pulls out the picture of me, which she’s obviously torn from the magazine, I think it drops right out of my fucking body.

She’s been sitting at home, flicking through a magazine article about us, looking at a picture of me , and getting all riled up. And she’s let herself into my bedroom to get it out of her system. On my bed. While listening to me talk shit.

Her back arches as her hand moves faster. Energy buzzes through me like it’s me she’s touching. This is the most mind-blowing fucked-up scenario I’ve encountered, and I’ve done a lot. Seen a lot. But nothing has turned me on like this before…

I can’t take it. I will definitely explode if I don’t do something about it.

I put my phone on speaker, placing it on the desk, and undo my trousers, releasing my dick, which is already thick and hard. This is so bad. I’m a bad man.

I grip the shaft, easing my hand up and down, and the relief is visceral. I have to bite my lip not to groan.

“Are you still there?” she says, one of her hands playing with her nipple, the other rubbing at her clit.

“Yeah.” I’m so hard I won’t last a moment. I tug on my dick, matching my speed to hers, hoping to fuck she can’t hear what I’m doing. “I’m here.”

“Ahh,” she moans, and it sounds like a lusty sex noise. She doesn’t even try to hide it. Fire whips through me. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“You okay?” Like I don’t fucking know.

“Uh-huh.” She places one hand behind her, levering herself up even more, getting a better view of her own fingers teasing her clit in that mirror. “Hang on. Something’s boiling over—”

Something’s boiling over? Erica Lefroy, you dirty little minx.

I nearly laugh, but I’m too fucking turned on.

My hips thrust forward, like my dick wants to leap right through the screen.

I wish. My muscles tense, my quads like rock as the sparking, electric pleasure of an impending orgasm shoots from the base of my spine, zapping up my shaft. My balls tighten.

“Seb!” Erica slams a hand over her mouth, her body going rigid, nipples swollen, as she orgasms right where I can see her. Quietly shuddering.

My orgasm shoots through me, thick ropes of cum decorating my fist, my other hand gripping the desk.

“Erica,” I gasp.

I wince as my orgasm tails off. That definitely sounded climactic… I lean back in my chair, breathing heavily and surveying the mess I’ve made. Erica, on the screen, has collapsed like a ragdoll, still naked, her perfect body spread across the white sheets. My sheets.

This is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me. And she doesn’t even know.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

My heart thumps. “What for?”

“It was nice not to have lunch alone again.” She stands and puts on the robe before remaking my bed.

“Oh, right. Yeah. Lunch. Well, if I didn’t have to work, I’d have lunch with you every day.” I cringe . I fucking would as well.

She inspects the bed, and, apparently pleased she’s left no trace of her activities, pulls the cord on her robe tighter. “I could call you.” She laughs. “Lunchtime phone chat every day. Like a real couple.”

I can’t bring myself to laugh. This is so messed up.

What does she even mean? And, more importantly, how will I ever tell her what I’ve done?

“You know where I am. Next time something’s boiling over.

” Good God, this is fucked . She frowns, but I add, “See you tonight,” and hang up before she can say anything else.