Naked Sushi. Jina Bacarr

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СКАЧАТЬ Two

      Damn. I couldn’t see.

      Groping helplessly, I fumbled around, trying to turn off the alarm, my panic mounting. Screeching, raw sounds grated on my ears, sending my passion into a nosedive.

      No. No.

      I pushed the button again, but the noise wouldn’t stop. I pushed another button, then another, but the damn thing kept shrieking like a video game villain gone berserk.

      “What the fuck—” yelled the stud in black sweats, slipping out of me and then pulling up his pants.

      “I can’t turn it off,” I cried out, frantic.

      He pulled his baseball cap down lower. “Sorry I can’t help you, babe. Gotta go.”

      Before I could pull up my jeans, he grabbed the file along with the copies from the exit tray and started for the door.

      “Wait!” I yelled. “I didn’t come yet.”

      “I owe you one,” he said, kissing me on the cheek. Tender-like. That surprised me. Then he saluted me with the tip of his cock—I mean, cap—before he raced out the door. I noticed then his hair looked weird, askew. It didn’t hit me until later he was wearing a dark wig under that cap.

      “You can’t leave me like this,” I moaned, sinking down to my knees with my jeans squashed around my ankles. “You can’t.”

      I squeezed my pubes together, but the unbearable ache in my groin wouldn’t go away. And that noise. I couldn’t stand it. I hit the machine with my fist, expecting it to blow up in my face. I didn’t care if it did.

      To my surprise, the noise stopped.

      The room went deadly quiet. Like a tomb.

      I let out my breath and wiped off the sweat running down my cheeks, my neck. The silence was worse. My passion refusing to die, my ego suffering, my mind telling me I must withdraw, retreat. Forget him.

      I couldn’t.

      I wanted to cry.

      I was caught up in a web of fantasy that had crossed over into my real world, and I didn’t want to escape its spell. I wanted to remain in this sexual wonderland like I was Alice.

      Still groggy, frustrated, I noticed the stud had dropped the original file on his way out but taken the copies with him. Curious, I reached over to grab the sheets of paper spread out on the floor.

      No sooner did I wrap my fingers around the official-looking documents than Ms. Sims, Mr. Briggs’s office manager, burst through the door, yelling, “What the hell are you doing in here?”

      The Wicked Witch of the West.

      In person.

      She glared at me through her glued-on lashes. You’d think she’d never seen nude buttocks before when she saw me scrambling to pick up the papers scattered everywhere. My bare ass was up in the air, my thighs still wet with excitement.

      I didn’t get along with the tall, skinny woman with the perennial Vogue smirk on her lips. Ms. Sims—no one knew her first name—always wore black, including black jet earrings that dangled to her shoulders. I swore under the gaudy fluorescents her skin had a green-gray tinge. She’d never liked me from the day I was hired. I was the only programmer the agency had in their job bank who could write the code they needed, so she was stuck with me. And she knew it.

      “I was working late on that commercial spot—” I began, pulling up my jeans.

      She ignored my explanation. “How long have you been using the copy room for your trysts?”

      “Pardon me?” I asked.

      “I wouldn’t be surprised if you were sleeping with the whole department,” she said, twitching her nose at me like a squirrel. “On company time.”

      “That is so not true, Ms. Sims,” I protested, waving the papers around in a circle. “The guy flirted with me and then kissed me. It went downhill from there.” I didn’t tell her that I came on to him, never dreaming where it would lead: straight to paradise until the machine went wonky.

      “I warned Mr. Briggs this would happen if he hired a female programmer.” “That has nothing to do with it, Ms. Sims,” I said. “I’m a good employee. I’m always here on time, and I work late. I even put the toilet paper on the spool in the girls’ bathroom the way you like it.” Over, not under. Ms. Sims liked to be in control of everything, even where you took a pee.

      She pushed her dangly earrings off her shoulders and then motioned for me to hand her the documents. “Let me see what you were working on.”

      “These papers aren’t mine—” I insisted, handing her the wrinkled sheets of paper.

      “Then whose are they?” She grabbed them out of my hand, nearly tearing them in half.

      “The new video game designer,” I insisted. “I found him in here making copies.”

      “You’re lying. He doesn’t start until next week.” She held the papers flush against her flat chest so I couldn’t see them.

      “What?” I blurted out, disbelieving. My thighs quivered and not in a good way. I’d been played, but by whom?

      “No more excuses, Pepper. I want answers. Now!” she screeched.

      “I—I...” Nothing came out. I swallowed hard and squeezed my butt cheeks together until they burned. Of all the low-down, dirty tricks, this was the worst. The geeky types I work with must have sent the stud here to punk me. Oh, my God, what if they’d set up a hidden camera in here? What if my big moment had already gone viral on the internet? Oh, shit, I was had.

      “Admit it,” Ms. Sims said, prodding me. “You sneaked a man in here and had sex with him while you copied confidential documents.”

      “I did not copy any docs,” I said, trying to convince myself it was just a practical joke. It couldn’t be anything else, could it?

      “Then what were you doing with Mr. Briggs’s—” she cleared her throat “—tax returns. They’re not for your eyes or anyone else’s.”

      I shook my head, not getting it. Why would this prankster make copies of my boss’s classified information? Unless—

      Red and blue lights flashed on and off in my brain like a squad car was chasing me. It all made sense. How the stud was surprised to see me, asking me if I was security, and reaching in his sweats for what I bet was a gun. Then sweet-talking me into letting him kiss me while he felt me up. Checking me for a weapon, I bet. And I unbuttoned my jeans flap to help him. Talk about dumb chick moves. That was the dumbest.

      “That guy was a thief,” I said under my breath. That statement knocked the wind out of me.

      That was only the beginning of my downfall.

      I leaned against the copier and tried to zip up my jeans but couldn’t. Wetness greeted my fingers along with a pungent smell both sweet and musky. Panic filled me.

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