Page 42 of Worth Every Moment (Hawkston Billionaires #4)

ERICA

A few hours after I left Seb’s bedroom, I invited Amy over. I was itchy with guilt, and I needed someone to talk to about it.

I let myself into his room when not going in there was the only rule he gave me.

I disobeyed it so flagrantly, giving in completely to my untamed desire.

I let him talk me through it, and hearing his voice, even with the corporate shit he was murmuring about, made it so much more delicious.

I’ve never had an orgasm like that before.

It wrecked my body. I felt it in every cell, buzzing and tingling, lingering in my system for minutes after it was over.

I deceived him. I used him. I’m the worst friend in the world.

But I can’t regret it.

Once I’ve told Amy all the sordid details, she leans across the table towards me, eyes alight with glee, and says, “You slut. On his bed too.”

“Okay, yes. That was naughty. I feel really bad. He told me not to go in there.”

Amy performs an exaggerated eye roll. “When I told you to do mirror work, I did not tell you to go lie down on your fake boyfriend’s bed and do it.” She pauses, as if reconsidering her words. “Not that Seb would mind. If he knew, he’d probably come in his tailor-made pants.”

I point at her. “Do not. I repeat do not tell him. Ever .” She nods and I pin my lips, contemplating not sharing for a second, but then I blurt, “He rang. When I was… you know.”

Her eyes go so wide that I tilt away in case her eyeballs actually pop. “And you answered?”

“Yeah. I made him stay on the line while I…”

Amy slams her hands on the kitchen counter and leaps from her seat. “You did not! Did he know? I mean… did he know what you were doing?”

I shake my head. “No. I was very quiet. Told him I was cooking.”

“You are bad.” She cups both hands over her mouth and squeaks.

“That’s so bad. Without his consent? That’s like…

oh, you little devil!” She laughs, muffled at first, until she lets her hands fall and releases a sound so loud it fills the room.

“I’ve half a mind to tell him myself, just so he knows what he’s got himself into.

You pretty much violated the man.” She waves a hand in the air like she’s casting a spell.

“He ought to know what his ‘girlfriend’ gets up to when he’s at wor—”

“Stop.” I cover my face and groan. Amy knows this is all fake; she’s the only one I’ve told, not just because I trust her, but because I have so much dirt on her, I could take her down forever.

Actually, I probably couldn’t. Amy doesn't give a shit about that stuff. She’s all free sex, wild music, and hanging out with Seb Hawkston in public.

She’d bounce right back up again like one of those weighted inflatable dolls. “It was bad. I feel terrible. But…”

Amy cocks her head. “What?”

“You need to see what’s in his bathroom.”

I get up from my seat, beckoning her to come with me, heart thumping as I prepare to disobey Seb’s rules for the second time in one day. But I have to show someone what’s in his ensuite. Have to. I was so surprised when I saw it, I nearly fainted.

Amy follows me through his bedroom, which is so neat, there’s no way he’ll ever know I came in here. I push open the bathroom door, and there it is.

Me.

“Holy shit!” Amy squeals, her mouth dropping wide. “You’re on the wall. You’re fucking huge.”

“I know.”

We stare at the image of me on Seb’s bathroom wall.

It’s a sultry black and white one from the Claudia Kirchwood shoot.

Even I have to admit, as objectively as possible, it’s beautiful.

I’m in a white silk dress, gazing up at the sky, my shoulders resting against a marble column.

As I stare at it, my conversation with Seb when I gave him the framed photo the day I moved in, drifts through my mind.

“ If you were in love with someone, you’d probably have at least one photo of them in your house.”

“I guess I would have one.”

Does this photo mean what I think it means? My breathing shallows and my thoughts scatter. I feel like I’m going crazy, not knowing what it means or what I want it to mean. I need Amy to say something to anchor me in place before I fall apart.

She steps up to it. “This is proper art. Wow.” She taps it.

“Water-resistant. This bad boy is bathroom-ready. Must have cost a fortune.” She turns to me, eyes wide.

“I think he had this made. Commissioned it for his bathroom.” She jerks a pointing finger at it.

“This is why he locks his bedroom when he hosts parties. This is why he takes women to the hotels.” Waving both hands at me, she bounces on the spot.

“He never brings them back here. It’s some weird thing he has.

No one gets into Seb Hawkston’s actual bedroom.

Fuck me, it’s because you’re already in here .

” She laughs. “It’s ironic that you’re the one person he probably should have locked out, given what you got up to today. ”

I’m hardly listening because my stomach is in knots. “Is that really true? He doesn’t take women here?”

“Haven’t you heard that rumour? Always in the hotel.”

Ah, shit. I feel even worse now. This place is his sanctuary, and I violated it. “Yeah, I’ve heard it. But I didn’t know for sure.” Guilt squirms in my gut. “We should get out of here. He’ll be home soon.”

Ignoring me, Amy steps back from the picture, eyes glinting as she looks around the large bathroom, all marble surfaces and chrome fittings.

She paces towards the shower and walks into the huge glass chamber until she’s standing beneath the shower head.

“Knew it,” she says, gazing straight at the enormous photo of me.

“How many times has he jerked off in the shower staring at you? Fucking millions, I bet.”

It hadn’t occurred to me, but the image is placed in perfect view of the shower. Has he done that? Would I like it if he had done that? A coil of heat smoulders in my core, and I begrudgingly admit that part of me definitely likes the idea.

Amy steps back out. “It’s a bit weird. Is it weird?”

I shrug. “Kinda. But I masturbated on his bed earlier, so… maybe not that weird?”

Amy guffaws. “You two are so fucked up.” She stares again at the picture. “This is from your big breakout shoot, isn’t it? How old is this photo?”

“Seven years.”

“Reckon it’s been here all that time?”

Goosebumps rush over my forearms. “We hadn’t met seven years ago.”

Amy tips her head to one side, still staring at the picture.

“Doesn’t mean he didn’t know who you were.

” She rests one hand on her hip. “It’s like a giant vision board.

Manifestation 101. He wanted you in this room, and today, he got it.

Shame he wasn’t here for it.” She glances at me, an amused reprimand in her tone. “You really did him dirty.”

I cup a hand over my eyes, wishing Amy wasn’t enjoying this quite as much as she is. Letting my hand fall, I check the time. Seb will be home any minute. I grab Amy’s hand, insisting we leave, and lead her back to the kitchen.

We only just make it before the clink of the front door unlocking has nerves spiralling through me.

He’s home. Oh, dear Lord. My legs are shaking.

Everything is different now. He’s had me on his bathroom wall for God knows how long and never fucking mentioned it.

I masturbated on his bed, and he has no idea.

Unsteady on my feet, I drop onto a stool at the kitchen island.

It’s okay. He doesn’t know. He never needs to know what I did. Ever .

“Erica?” he calls.

My body boils like I’ve been dipped in molten lava. Guilt and arousal rage through my system; a toxic mix that makes me dizzy. I did a bad thing to a good man.

“In the kitchen,” I screech. Amy pulls a face at the sound and mouths, ‘calm down.’

Fuck, fuck, fuck . If I don’t keep my shit together, he’s going to know something up.

“Is it safe? Nothing boiling over in there?” he calls, and I can hear a hint of amusement in his tone.

I can’t imagine what’s funny. I want to sink through the floor and plunge into the downstairs neighbour’s flat rather than sit here and face him, pretending I didn’t orgasm while looking at a picture of him, hearing his voice, and watching my own fingers slide in and out of my wet pussy.

It was all such a turn on.

Amy is fanning her face, pretending to swoon, struggling to hold in her laughter.

“Don’t say a word,” I whisper.

Seb appears in the doorway, looking like a model from a Tom Ford shoot.

I can’t breathe . He pauses, glances between us, and his gaze fills with suspicion.

For a second, neither of us says anything, and he leans against the doorframe, so sexy that I have to look away before my pussy walks over there herself and attacks his face.

“Ladies,” he greets us, his voice deep.

I’m going to melt.

Amy rises from her seat. “Look at you, doing that sexy door lean.” She pretends to faint, swiping the back of her hand over her forehead. “I did like the tattoos though. Such a shame they washed off.”

“Sorry,” he says with an adorable smirk. “Come here, you.” Pushing off the frame, he paces towards her and gives her a kiss on both cheeks, but she loops her hands about his neck and hugs him fully.

Normally, he’d make eyes at me over her shoulder in gentle mockery of Amy’s enthusiasm, but today he doesn’t look at me. A chill works its way down my spine. Something’s off. The way he’s avoiding eye contact feels deliberate.

After a moment of polite chitchat, Amy excuses herself, grabs her bag and her gigantic faux fur coat, and bustles out.

In her absence, the silence stings. Seb stares at me, and in his gaze I read something unnervingly serious. Why do I feel like I’m choking?

He watches me carefully, as if he’s reading everything on my face. And then, rather than question me on it as he’d normally do, his expression hardens as he breaks eye contact.