Chapter 19: I've got to get a grip

Samantha's POV

The morning at the agency was an absolute circus. Our team was in the middle of launching a major PR campaign for a high-profile client, and my desk was buried under layout mockups, press releases, and half-empty coffee cups. I was staring at my monitor, practically forcing my eyes to read the same line of copy for the fourth time.

Focus, Samantha. Just focus.

"Earth to Sam," Chloe said, rapping her knuckles against the edge of my desk.

I blinked, snapping out of my trance to find her dropping a fresh stack of media briefs next to my keyboard. Since we were both PR experts at the firm, we usually shared the load, but today she was doing all the heavy lifting while I stared blankly at a screen.

Chloe leaned against the partition, crossing her arms as she looked down at me. "Are you actually reading that report, or are you still thinking about what happened last night?"

I let out a heavy sigh, dropping my chin into my palms.

"That's all I've been able to think about," I admitted, my voice hushed so our supervisor three cubicles over wouldn't hear us.

Chloe’s lips twitched into a knowing smirk. "The tattoo, or the insanely hot, emotionally unavailable artist who gave it to you?"

"You know what? I don't give a fuck anymore. I don't care," I snapped, tossing my pen onto the desk with a sudden burst of defiance. I was a professional. I was a grown woman with a killer career. I was not going to let a stoic alpha with mixed signals ruin my work ethic.

Chloe raised an eyebrow, entirely unamused by my little breakthrough. "Ummm... not sure about that one, girl."

"I'm serious," I muttered, pushing back from my desk and standing up to escape her judging eyes. I needed a distraction, any excuse to get moving and snap myself out of this funk. "I'm gonna go get something from the storage unit downstairs. We need the archived client files anyway."

"Take your time," Chloe called out with a little chuckle as I walked away.

The lower-level storage room was located in the basement of the building, a quiet, windowless maze of metal shelves and old cardboard boxes. The fluorescent lights overhead hummed faintly, the cool air down here a welcome relief to my flushed skin.

I was heading toward the back rows of the archives when a strange sound cut through the heavy silence.

A low, ragged gasp. The unmistakable friction of fabric rubbing against fabric.

It was coming from the dark stairwell leading up to the old mezzanine. I froze, my heart leaping into my throat. Quietly, as if pulled by an invisible string, I crept closer to the edge of the stairs and peered into the shadows.

My breath hitched. Two of our colleagues were pressed against the concrete wall, making out intensely.

His hands were buried in her hair, her skirt hitched up around her waist as they devoured each other, completely reckless, completely consumed.

My first instinct was to turn around and sprint back to my desk so I didn't stand there like a total weirdo.

But I couldn't move. My knees felt locked, my vision blurring as the scene in front of me suddenly morphed.

The corporate suit vanished. The concrete wall turned into the brick of the tattoo parlor. Suddenly, it wasn't them anymore. It was me and Rick.

I closed my eyes, the sudden fantasy hitting me so hard it made my head spin. I could see him clearly, his heavy, inked body pinning me down, pushing his rock-hard length right against my lower stomach. I could feel the phantom heat of his mouth slamming onto mine, forcing his tongue deep into my mouth, taking completely over. In my mind, he slid down my body, his strong hands parting my thighs as he dropped to his knees, pressing his warm tongue directly into my mound, lapping at my aching sex until I was entirely unmade.

A sharp, electric spike of pleasure shot straight between my legs.

Without even realizing what I was doing, my hand slipped beneath the hem of my skirt. My fingers trembled as they found the lace of my panties, slipping inside to stroke my swollen clit. The friction was dizzying, a desperate release for the tension I had been trying so hard to deny all morning.

"Oh God... yes, Rick..." I whimpered into the empty room, my hips rolling instinctively against my fingers. "Touch me... taste me..."

A loud, needy moan escaped my lips before I could stop it.

The sound echoed sharply against the concrete walls of the stairwell.

The frantic wet sounds of kissing instantly stopped.

"Is someone there?" the man’s voice barked from the shadows, his tone laced with sudden panic.

The words hit me like a bucket of ice water. I snapped my eyes open, ripping my hand out from under my skirt, my heart hammering violently against my ribs. Shaking, I spun on my heel and practically fled from the archives, my face burning with a mixture of absolute mortification and residual arousal.

I didn't stop until I locked myself inside the safety of a bathroom stall upstairs. I leaned my head against the cold metal door, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath.

"Samantha, what have you become, girl?" I muttered to myself, burying my face in my hands. "I need to get laid... ASAP”