Some Lines Aren't Meant To Be Crossed
MERET
"Harder, Meret. Tell me you want it."
The voice was low, thick with a gravelly friction that vibrated straight through the crown of my head to the small of my back.
"Does your husband have any idea what you dream about while sleeping next to him?"
His thumb dragged across my lower lip, slick with my own breath, before his weight pinned me back against the leather. Broad hands. Merciless grip. The sharp tang of expensive sandalwood and dark whiskey filled every corner of my lungs.
"He has no clue what I'm about to do to you."
I gasped, arching up to meet the punishing rhythm of his hips—
My eyes snapped open.
A cool breeze cut through the bedroom blinds like a harsh, unwelcome glare.
Next to me lay my husband, deeply asleep.
There were no heavy hands. No leather desk.
Just the lingering ache of an unsatisfied pulse between my thighs.
Fuck.
Six months.
Six whole months of waking up tangled in the same sheets, flushed, breathless, and pathetic.
Most married women probably dreamed about romantic vacations or lazy Sunday mornings with their husbands.
I dreamed of my boss, Adrian Beaumont, taking me against the mahogany table in Conference Room B until I forgot my own middle name.
The fantasy was always the same, yet every night Adrian found a new way to ruin me in my sleep.
And the worst part?
In four hours, I'd have to pour him a fresh cup of black coffee, hand him the quarterly forecast, and pretend my knees didn't go weak every time he said my name.
I glanced over at my husband before rolling onto my side.
Driven by the ghost of his voice still echoing in my head, my hand moved of its own accord.
I slid my fingers beneath the waistband of my lace panties, drawn toward the heat throbbing insistently between my thighs.
The moment my fingertips brushed my center, a soft breath escaped me. I was drenched, my body still caught somewhere between dream and reality, my own arousal clinging to my fingertips as I began to stroke myself.
Every slow caress sent a shiver racing up my spine, lifting my hips from the mattress as I squeezed my eyes shut and imagined those hands belonged to Adrian.
My movements grew more desperate, fueled by a longing I couldn't silence. I spread my legs wider, surrendering to the fantasy that had haunted me for months.
The contrast between the warmth of my body and the cool morning air only heightened every sensation.
I bit down hard on my lower lip, swallowing the moan threatening to escape.
Shame on you, Meret.
You're touching yourself while imagining another man... while your husband lies beside you, fast asleep, completely unaware.
My toes curled as a wave of pleasure rippled through my core.
I sucked in a sharp breath and quickly pulled my hand away from my panties.
I should've felt guilty.
Every normal married woman would.
But would I sound like a whore if I admitted I didn't?
With a frustrated sigh, I pushed the covers aside, climbed out of bed, and headed straight for the bathroom to get ready for work.
I know what you're thinking, my dear friend.
Was I sex-starved?
Was I?
For the past three years, or rather, two years and four months, Ethan and I had been happily married.
Our sex life had been...
Well, normal.
I was a loyal wife. I loved my husband. I still did. He was the only man I'd ever wanted.
At least, he had been.
Everything changed six months ago when I started working for Adrian Beaumont.
From the moment I laid eyes on him, I was mesmerized.
There was something about him, something I couldn't explain, that lodged itself in the back of my mind and refused to leave.
Day after day, no matter how hard I tried to suppress it, my imagination betrayed me.
It kept wandering back to him.
To Adrian.
But he was off-limits.
I knew that.
Some lines simply weren't meant to be crossed.
"Good morning, love."
Ethan's voice drifted from the kitchen as I stepped into the living room, fully dressed for work. He stood by the counter, preparing his usual cup of coffee.
"Morning," I replied.
He glanced at me briefly before looking back at the mug in his hand.
"You're dressed already? Aren't you leaving a little too early?"
"I have files to prepare." I pressed my lips together. "There was some work I didn't finish yesterday."
"Okay."
That was it.
No questions. No teasing. Nothing.
"Goodbye," I said, lingering by the door.
"Yeah, bye."
His attention never left the damn coffee.
I waited.
One second.
Two.
Three.
Nothing.
With a quiet sigh, I let myself out of the house.
There were times I wished my husband was a little more affectionate.
That I didn't have to remind him to kiss me goodbye every single morning.
That he'd notice the little things, like the earrings he bought me for our anniversary, the ones I wore today because I thought he'd smile when he saw them.
Instead...
Nothing.
By the time I arrived at Beaumont Global Holdings, I realized I was much too early.
The lobby was eerily quiet. Aside from the security guard at the entrance, I was the only person in the building.
Well...
What had I expected?
I'd shown up an hour before everyone else.
I dropped my handbag on my desk before heading into Adrian Beaumont's office to straighten his workspace.
The quarterly reports were scattered across his desk.
As I reached for one of the files, a faint sound drifted through the silence.
My hand froze.
A shower?
I frowned and turned toward the private bathroom connected to his office.
The sound grew clearer with every cautious step I took.
Then...
Something else.
A low sound filtered through the steady rush of water, too muffled for me to make out.
Curiosity got the better of me.
I edged closer and stopped dead in my tracks.
The bathroom door wasn't completely shut.
It stood slightly ajar.
Through the narrow opening, I caught a glimpse of Adrian Beaumont beneath the spray of the shower.
Naked.
I tore my eyes away.
Only for them to betray me a second later.
They drifted back to him, taking in the breathtaking view of his broad, sculpted back.
But that wasn't what held my attention.
It was what he was doing.
My lips parted.
He was jerking himself off.
Without thinking, I took another slow step closer, tilting my head just enough to catch a glimpse of the hand wrapped around his cock.
"Mmh... Fuck."
The low, husky groan rolled through the bathroom.
Heat coiled deep in my stomach.
My pulse pounded against my ribs as the sound of his voice, combined with the sight before me, sent my thoughts spiraling.
I edged closer, desperate for a better look—
Thunk.
My leg slammed into the bathroom door.
Fuck.
The rhythmic sound of the shower stopped.
Adrian went still.
A second later, the water shut off.
Panic seized me.
I spun on my heel, hurried back into the office, and dropped beneath his desk, my heart hammering violently against my chest.
The last thing I needed was to get caught watching my boss.
Wet footsteps echoed across the hardwood floor.
Holding my breath, I peeked through the narrow space beneath the desk.
His back was to me now, a white towel hanging low around his waist, droplets of water trailing down his broad shoulders.
He slowly scanned the office.
Please...
Please don't find me.
After a long, agonizing moment, he turned and started walking back toward the bathroom.
Relief rushed through me.
I let out the quietest sigh, lowering my head—
"You enjoyed the view, didn't you?"
Every muscle in my body locked.
My breath caught in my throat.
Who was he talking to?
Then he spoke again, his voice calm, certain.
"I can see you, Meret."
Silence.
Then came the command.
"Come out."
