‘What’s this?’ I frown, emerging from the shower to find the clothes I’d brought back in the wardrobe.
‘Second challenge within a challenge. Spend all day commando.’
‘Ha. Won’t be the first time.’ I pick up the blouse and let it sigh over my skin.
‘No. But it’s the first time you’ve done it with no expectation of an orgasm in your near future.’
He’s right. And it does make a difference.
Feeling a gentle draught waft up my skirt and bathe my nether regions is bliss when I’m anticipating a good shag over the desk in due course. When I know nothing like that is likely to happen, it’s torture.
I can’t cross the lobby floor without a barrage of lustful looks – mainly people trying to get a glimpse of the stocking tops that peek from the hem of the miniskirt. My jacket covers the worst indiscretions of my nipples, but I can still feel them, fizzing away against the silk, sending urgent messages to my pussy.
In the bar, a former ‘gentleman friend’ spies me and stops me to chat about inconsequential things. While he talks about his promotion, one of his hands slides down my back and onto my arse, rubbing it.
‘Hey, I’m working,’ I warn him. ‘And not available like that, not today.’
‘But I miss you, Sophie,’ he mourns. ‘And that tiny skirt … don’t you want it?’
‘No. Sorry. But great news about the promotion.’
‘Whoever he is, I’m jealous.’
The man’s voice follows me across the bar and into the kitchens, where I try to escape, only to face the porters licking their chops as they look me up and down.
In the back yard, I find Lloyd smoking a cigarette.
‘Ah,’ he says, smirking. ‘Comfort break?’
‘I need to get away from all the lechery. It’s starting to do my head in.’
‘Well, if you must dress like a whore …’ He stubs out the cigarette, grinning, and reaches out for me.
I hang back, suspicious of his motives.
‘C’mon, Soph. I was just wondering if you’d come out here to relieve some … urges.’
‘Yeah, because I find the food bins are an ideal environment for self-pleasure.’
He catches me, winds me in. ‘Any port in a storm,’ he whispers. His hands are all over me, instantly, under the jacket, feeling their way up my thigh.
‘Lloyd!’
‘I just need to make sure you’re not cheating.’
He drops to a crouch, nudges up my skirt and peers into the darkness. His nose nuzzles my thighs as he takes a deep inhalation.
‘For fuck’s sake, Lloyd! Anyone could come out.’
Half laughing, half mortified, I try to push him away, but he clings to my thighs, keeping his face close to my private parts.
‘God, so wet,’ he says, his words warming my sex. ‘Dripping. And your clit is huge. You really want it. Poor Sophie. But you aren’t going to get it.’
A rustle and a cough come from the direction of the kitchen doors. Someone has seen us and ducked inside again.
‘You bastard,’ I hiss, managing to dislodge him this time.
He loses his balance and falls backwards, onto a stray potato peeling. He stands up and brushes the seat of his good suit trousers, looking wounded. ‘These had better not need dry cleaning,’ he moans. ‘If they do … oh yes. Good idea. I’m definitely going with that one.’