Chapter 2
1011 Words
Ruined Without Touch
I should’ve walked away. But I wasn’t ready either.
I didn’t sleep.
I tried. I lay there in bed, staring at the cracks on my ceiling like they had answers, one hand between my thighs and the other gripping the sheets.
But no matter what I did, nothing worked.
Not the vibrator. Not the cold shower. Not the pathetic moan I let out into the pillow at 3 a.m.
Nothing.
Because it wasn’t just the way his fingers felt.
It was the way he looked at me.
Like I’d broken something in him.
Or maybe unleashed it.
I woke up sticky between my thighs and pissed at myself. Pissed that he touched me like that, ruined me like that, and walked away like it was nothing.
I didn’t even have his number. Didn’t know how to reach him. But his face wouldn’t leave my mind. His voice. That last line:
“You’re not ready… but you will be.”
I replayed it every time I blinked.
Fuck him.
No. Literally—f**k me.
I got up, showered, dressed, and packed my textbooks like I gave a damn about anatomy class. But I knew I’d spend most of the day replaying every second in my head. The way he held my throat. The heat of his breath. The way my body had betrayed me so easily—wet, hungry, shameless.
I’d been touched before. f****d before.
But not like that.
He didn’t just touch me. He studied me. Like he’d already memorized the blueprint and was just confirming the details.
And that scared the hell out of me.
The Ruby Room didn’t open on Sundays, so I had the day off. Normally, I’d catch up on studying, or take my mom to her doctor’s appointments. But she was feeling okay today. She even smiled a little when I brought her tea and a crossword puzzle.
“You’re glowing,” she said, peering over her glasses. “You meet someone?”
I scoffed. “In this economy?”
But I couldn’t stop my cheeks from burning. I blamed the tea.
It was early afternoon when I saw the post.
I was scrolling through job listings—not that I had time for more work, but hope is a stupid habit—when I saw the name.
BrownTech Enterprises — Executive Assistant Position Open (NYC Headquarters).
I blinked.
Brown.
As in Jason f*****g Brown.
The listing didn’t say much. Just that they were seeking someone reliable, sharp, discreet. Salary range: obscene. Benefits: too good to be real.
My fingers hovered over the mouse.
This was crazy.
I wasn’t some office girl. I was a nursing student with a stripper alias and a half-broken laptop. I didn’t own a blazer. I didn’t even know what an executive assistant really did.
But he remembered me. I knew he did.
He touched me like he’d been thinking about it for years. Like I wasn’t a stranger. Like I was his.
And that hard-on? That wasn’t some accident. That wasn’t him losing control.
That was him deciding to show me what I did to him.
I bit my lip and stared at the screen.
What if this was my only shot to see him again?
What if this was how I found out what he was really hiding?
Why he pulled away. Why he acted like he hated women but touched me like he couldn’t breathe without me.
I clicked Apply.
And just like that, the game changed.
I touched myself like he touched me. But it wasn’t enough.
The moment I hit submit on that application, I felt sick.
Excited, too. But mostly sick.
Because if he didn’t remember me, I’d look insane. Desperate. Like a stripper with a crush on a client.
But if he did remember me… what then?
What if I walked into that office and he stared at me with those eyes again? What if he pretended not to know me, just to watch me squirm?
Or worse—what if he bent me over his desk without saying a word?
I pressed my thighs together and exhaled hard.
I had to focus.
Instead, I lay back on my bed and stared at the ceiling again, arm flung over my eyes. My phone buzzed with a text—roommate saying she’d be out all night. Perfect.
I let my hand slide down my stomach, under my shorts. I wasn’t wearing panties. Hadn’t all day. Couldn’t stand the feel of anything tight after last night.
My fingers brushed over my c**t, slow and lazy at first.
I imagined Jason’s voice again. That low growl.
“This p***y is begging for me.”
Fuck.
I pushed two fingers inside, the way he had, curling them like he did. My back arched. But it wasn’t the same. My hand was too soft. Too familiar.
I needed his hand.
Rough, wide-palmed, full of authority.
I moved faster, eyes closed, hips lifting off the mattress. I imagined his mouth on my neck. His teeth. His breath against my ear.
“Say you want me to f**k you.”
“I do,” I whispered into the dark, panting. “I do…”
I came fast and hard, but it felt hollow. Like eating candy when what you needed was meat.
I stared at the ceiling again.
He ruined me.
And I hadn’t even seen his c**k.
I rolled over and screamed into my pillow, not caring who heard.
The next morning, I got the email.
“Thank you for applying, Clara Asbet. You’ve been shortlisted for an interview. Please report to BrownTech Headquarters on Thursday, 10:00 a.m. sharp.”
No mention of Jason. No HR fluff. Just that.
But the minute I saw it, my heart slammed into my ribs.
He remembered me.
There was no way this was a coincidence.
I sat there in my kitchen, holding my phone with trembling hands, still in my oversized T-shirt and bare legs, and grinned like a girl who’d just been dared to touch fire.
Challenge accepted.
- Writer
