Panties, gone

Chapter Thirteen

Camilla’s POV

Eight hours.

Eight miserable, soul-draining hours of waiting.

The office was nearly silent now, save for the sound of the air conditioning and my own breathing. The once-busy corridors had emptied out, the clicking of heels, the chatter of employees, the ringing of phones, all gone. The only sign of life in this entire building was me, sitting here like a complete fool.

I clenched my fists, digging my nails into my palms. Why was I still here? I could’ve left hours ago. Should have. But I hadn’t.

Because he had told me not to.

My stomach tightened at the thought. I hated this. Hated the power he had over me, the way I sat here like some obedient little intern, waiting for a man who probably hadn’t thought about me once since walking out that door.

And for what? For a job?

The pay was good, really good, and I needed it, desperately. But at what cost? I exhaled sharply, pressing my fingers to my temples. God, I was pathetic. My eyes drifted toward his desk, where his chair still sat slightly pushed back. A chill ran through me.

I had seen him. All of him. And I stood there, frozen, like some wide-eyed fool, my pulse hammering so loud I was sure he had heard it. He had looked at me, amused, smug, like he had been enjoying my discomfort.

Like he knew exactly what I had seen.

My face burned at the memory. I should have run out immediately. Should have pretended I hadn’t seen a thing. But no, I had stood there, stammering like an idiot, trying to remind him about some stupid meeting, while his gaze had devoured me whole.

I shook my head, trying to push the thoughts away. 

God, I hated him.

I hated that he was still the same Stephano Maddens from high school, the same arrogant, cocky, insufferable bastard who thought the world revolved around him. The same boy who had made my life hell, who had smirked when I tripped over my own feet, who had laughed when I got flustered trying to answer a question in class.

The same boy who had never looked at me twice.

And now? Now, he was my boss.

And he was worse than ever.

Who the hell screws their mistress in their office?

I gritted my teeth. The audacity of it made my stomach tighten. Right in front of me. Like I wasn’t even there. Like I didn’t matter. And yet, here I was. Still waiting.

I let out a bitter laugh, leaning back in my chair. If he thought I was going to sit here all night, he had another thing coming.

Screw this.

I grabbed my bag and stood up, my legs aching from sitting so long. I had waited long enough. If he had a problem with that, he could shove it.

I had barely made it to the door, when I heard.

“Going somewhere?”

I froze.

My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag, my heart hammering in my ears. Damn it. I should’ve moved faster. Should’ve left before he returned. But no, I had hesitated, and now, now I was caught.

Slowly, I turned, swallowing down the nervous lump in my throat.

“It’s past my work hours,” I said, forcing my voice to sound steadier than I felt. “It’s past eight.”

I expected him to just let me go. He should have.

“Didn’t realize you were the one dictating your work hours now,” he mused, tilting his head slightly. The way he watched me sent a shiver down my spine.

I gritted my teeth. “I just meant- ”

“Let me guess,” he cut me off, taking a step forward, “Elvis never made you work this late?”

I stiffened. He was mocking me.

I exhaled sharply, trying not to let my frustration show. “No, he didn’t.”

“Exactly why he was less than incompetent.”

I clenched my fists.

Elvis had been a good boss - nice and fair. But Stephano? Stephano was something else entirely. His eyes flicked down to my bag. Then, slowly, he stepped closer.

“Sit your ass back down, Camilla.”

I hesitated, my pride flaring for a brief second. I should refuse. I should walk out of here and remind him that he didn’t own me. But my body betrayed me.

I sank back into the chair. Pathetic.

I hated myself for how easily I obeyed.

My skin burned under his gaze as he leaned against his desk, the way his sleeves were rolled up just enough to expose strong forearms. 

My breath hitched.

And then, God help me, my eyes flickered downward.

To his groin.

Why did I do that?

Heat rushed to my cheeks. Why did I look?

I quickly snapped my gaze back up, cursing myself.

It wasn’t as swollen as it had been when I first left.

And that thought? That stupid, ridiculous thought made my stomach tighten.

Had he…?

Had he gone and screwed someone else while I sat here like some trusty, pathetic assistant waiting for his return? My fingers curled into my lap. Why did I even care?

It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.

"You took quite a while."

I shouldn’t have said that. The words had slipped out before I could stop them. Stephano was perched on his desk, one leg stretched out, the other bent at the knee. His tie was gone, discarded somewhere I hadn’t noticed.

"Are you complaining?"

I forced myself to swallow, my throat tight.

"No." 

His smirk was slow, dangerous.

"Good."

The room suddenly felt smaller. Or maybe I just felt trapped.

I shifted in my seat, suddenly aware of how hot my skin felt. The couch beneath me was soft, but I felt stiff, like I was waiting for something I didn’t understand. His eyes hadn’t left me.

Do something. Look anywhere but at him.

I reached for my phone, needing a distraction, something to occupy my hands, anything to escape his gaze. But my fingers fumbled, and before I could stop it, the device slipped from my grasp and hit the floor with a soft thud.

I sucked in a breath. I had to get it. Steeling myself, I leaned forward, stretching to pick it up.

That’s when I felt it.

At first, I felt a solid heat. Then, there was a presence right behind me. My breath faltered. My skirt had ridden up. And my backside, oh God. I had pressed right against something unmistakably hard. Unmistakably him. My breath went shaky. Then, a sound that sent every hair on my body standing.

A groan.

It was a deep and frustrated groan.

Stephano’s groan.

I froze. My fingers clenched around my phone, but I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything except feel the heat of his body so close, too close. I tried to push up, to scramble away, but then, his hands.

Firm. Strong. Sexy.

They grabbed my waist, holding me in place. A shudder shot through me.

"Mr Maddens?" My voice was weak and trembling.

His fingers flexed. Then, before I could fully register what was happening, he moved. Spun me around. Pressed me into the couch. And then, his mouth crashed onto mine. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. His lips were hot, moving against mine.

I should push him away. I should.

But the way his grip tightened, the way he tilted my chin, forcing me to take every ounce of his hunger.

It shattered my thoughts.

I gasped against his lips, my hands pressing against his chest, but instead of pushing, my fingers curled into his shirt, clinging. His groan vibrated against my mouth.

His hands slid lower, gripping my hips. And now, his hands were on me. I should have stopped him. I should have said something, pushed him away, reminded him that this was wrong, that this was insane. But I didn’t.

Because the moment his fingers skimmed up my thigh, dragging my skirt higher, my brain shut down. My breath hitched. 

His touch was slow, intentional, like he was savoring every moment.

I swallowed, gripping the edge of the desk, my nails digging into the polished wood. "This is, this is a bad idea."

He smirked. "Then stop me."

I couldn’t.

Because he was everywhere, his scent, his heat, his fingers teasing over the lace of my panties, his breath fanning against my lips.

I whimpered.

God, why did I do that?

Then his hands were on my blouse. “Why the hell do you wear so many buttons?” I opened my mouth, but before I could even think of a response.

Rip.

I sucked in a breath, staring at the two buttons he had just torn from my blouse, leaving the fabric gaping, exposing the curve of my cleavage and the lace of my bra.

A strangled noise left my throat. “You- ”

But before I could finish, before I could even pull the fabric together, his fingers skimmed lower, down my stomach, down to the hem of my skirt.

I grabbed his wrist, but he didn’t stop.

"Wait- "

Rip.

This time, the tearing sound sent heat shooting straight through me.

My panties. They were gone.

Oh, God.

I felt lightheaded, dizzy from the intensity of it all, from the way his rough fingertips grazed my thigh.

Then his lips hovered over mine, so close, too close.

I whimpered. The sound undid him.

His grip tightened on my waist, his other hand still gripping my blouse.

I should have fought harder.

I should have said something, anything.

But I was drowning in him.

Drowning in the way his lips brushed against mine, stealing my breath before I could even give it to him.

Then,

The phone rang.

Loud. Jarring.

My body went stiff. Stephano cursed, his whole body going rigid. For a moment, he didn’t move. His grip tightened, his breath hot against my skin, like he was on the verge of ignoring it.

Then the phone rang again.

And just like that, he let go.

He let go.

"Get out."

I blinked. My mind was still spinning, my body still trembling.

"What?"

His jaw clenched, his eyes dark.

"Get. Out." It hit me like ice water.

Just moments ago, he had been consuming me, touching me, wanting me. And now, he was throwing me away.

I scrambled upright, hands shaking as I yanked my skirt back down, as I clutched the gaping fabric of my blouse, my breath coming in shallow gasps.

Oh, God.

Heat burned up my neck, my ears, the shame sinking deep into my skin. I was still flustered.

"Move, Camilla," Stephano growled.

My throat tightened.

I forced myself to my feet, nearly tripping in my rush to get away from him. My hands were still clutching at my blouse, my legs shaking as I stumbled toward the door.

The moment I reached for the handle, I hesitated.

I didn’t even know why.

Maybe I wanted to say something. Maybe I wanted him to say something. But he didn’t.

So, I walked out.

I didn’t turn back.

I walked out of his office, back straight, chin up, like I still had an ounce of dignity left to salvage. Then the door slammed behind me.

And it hit me.

I wasn’t wearing any panties.

My stomach plummeted, my breath hitched, and I went completely, utterly, horrifyingly still.

No, no, no.

I squeezed my thighs together, as if that could somehow undo the damage, as if that could somehow make up for the fact that I had just walked out of his office bare. My hands trembled as I yanked at my blouse, trying to pull it lower, only to remember.

The buttons.

Oh, God.

I glanced down. The gaping fabric revealed the curve of my cleavage, my ruined composure, my absolute lack of self-respect.

Stephano had torn them.

Not unbuttoned. Not eased open. Torn.

And I stood there, breathless, watching him do it. I wanted to slap myself. Hell, I wanted to slap him.

But mostly, I wanted to crawl into the nearest hole and never come out. Prostitutes at least put their panties back on afterward.

Me?

I had let a man shred them like a goddamn receipt, and then walked out like that was normal.

A hysterical laugh bubbled up in my throat, but I swallowed it down, my fingers gripping my blouse in a desperate attempt to cover myself.

This was bad. This was beyond bad.

Because I still felt him.

His hands gripping my hips. His mouth, hot and demanding. The way he had looked at me, like I was his next mistake and he was going to make it twice.

And worst of all?

I still wanted more.

I groaned, pressing a hand over my burning face. God help me.