Just One Orgasm!

Emilia stood in the middle of Adrian’s bedroom, staring at the clock on the bedside table.

10:03 p.m.

She frowned.

He had told her he would be back early. Not exactly when, but early. Apparently, Adrian’s definition of early and hers were two completely different things.

She picked up her phone from the bed and checked the screen.

There was nothing from him. No message and no missed call.

She tossed the phone onto the mattress and glanced around the room.

She had already showered. Her hair was still damp, falling heavily around her shoulders. She was wearing one of the simple outfits she’d brought with her, but she’d become restless waiting.

She didn’t know what to do with herself.

Adrian had left her with everything she needed. Food had been delivered earlier. Her textbooks were spread across the coffee table. Her phone was charged.

And yet she was bored.

Her eyes wandered toward the enormous door leading into his walk-in closet.

Emilia smiled. "Why not?"

She walked toward it.

The moment she opened the door, she stopped. The closet was enormous. It wasn’t really a closet. It was an entire room.

Or perhaps several rooms connected together.

The first section looked almost like a private luxury boutique designed specifically for one person. Soft lighting ran along the ceiling, illuminating rows upon rows of clothing.

Suits occupied one entire wall.

Black, charcoal, navy, grey, and midnight blue.

There were dozens of them, each hanging perfectly with enough space between them that none of the fabrics touched.

Emilia stepped inside.

She ran her fingers lightly along one of the jackets. Everything was arranged with almost obsessive precision.

There were formal suits on one side, casual jackets on another, shirts arranged according to color, and trousers grouped separately.

Even the shoes had their own section. There were dress shoes, loafers, sneakers, and boots.

Everything was displayed as though someone had photographed the room for a luxury fashion magazine.

Emilia’s eyes widened. "This is entertaining."

She walked farther inside.

Another section contained watches.

She stopped immediately. The watches were arranged inside a glass cabinets, with each resting on its own stand.

There was gold, silver, platinum, leather straps, and metal bracelets. Some were understated and elegant. Others were unmistakably expensive.

Emilia leaned closer to one of the displays.

She didn’t know enough about watches to identify all of them, but she knew enough to understand that several of them probably cost more than everything she’d owned in her entire life combined.

She shook her head, and continued walking.

There was even a section dedicated to ties and pocket squares, each folded and arranged according to color.

His belts hung neatly from another display. Cufflinks occupied tiny individual compartments. Sunglasses were arranged in illuminated drawers.

Perfumes sat on another shelf.

She recognized some of the bottles immediately. She had seen them in advertisements.

Emilia walked slowly through the room, taking everything in.

Adrian’s wasn’t simply about having expensive things. Everything had a place, and everything had been selected deliberately.

Emilia eventually reached the shirts.

She studied them. There was no random colour, just white, black, grey, cream, and several shades of blue.

Her eyes settled on one particular shirt.

It was a deep blue shirt.

She pulled it from the hanger, and held it against herself.

"Hmm." She hummed.

It was obviously too big for her. That somehow made her smile. She carried it back into the bedroom.

She disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes, changed into the shirt, and rolled the sleeves slightly.

When she returned i to the closet, the shirt fell loosely around her frame.

She looked down at herself.

It smelled just like Adrian.

Emilia smiled. She liked it. She walked toward the mirror and studied herself.

The blue brought out the green in her eyes now that she was wearing the corrective lenses.

She touched her hair. It was still damp, and she needed to dry it. However first, she picked up her phone.

10:17 p.m.

There was still nothing.

Emilia narrowed her eyes. "You’re really going to make me wait?"

She opened their conversation.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.

She thought about sending something simple.

She considered, ’Where are you?’ and then she shook her head against it. It sounded too needy.

She considered, ’Are you coming back?’

Then she took in a soft inhale. That sounded too obvious.

She considered, ’You said you’d be back early.’ she rubbed her eyebrows, as she kicked agaiinst it. It sounded too much like a complaint.

She smiled, then an idea came to her.

She typed. "I could be on your lap right now, while we make out. But I guess texting is okay for now."

She read it twice.

Her lips curved inti a sly smile. "Perfect." She complimented herself, and pressed the send button.

The message went through.

Emilia stared at the screen for a few seconds, waiting for the little indication that he had seen it.

There was. othing.

She rolled her eyes. "Busy man."

She put the phone down. Then she noticed the hair dryer sitting on the bathroom counter. She picked it up, plugged it in, and returned to the bedroom.

The hum of the dryer filled the room.

Emilia stood before the room mirror, lifting sections of her hair as the warm air moved through it.

Her thoughts drifted back to Adrian.

Her phone remained on the bed. She continued drying her hair. Then, her notification sound came through.

Ping.

The notification sound cut through the room.

Emilia’s eyes immediately went toward her phone. Her face brightened. She switched off the dryer.

"Finally."

She walked toward the bed, already smiling. She picked up the phone, and then, her smile disappeared.

There was no name from the sender, and no profile picture. Just a notification of 16 new photos.

Emilia frowned.

She stared at the screen.

For a second, she thought it might be some strange spam message.

Then another notification appeared.

16 images received.

Her brows drew together. She opened the message, and the first photograph appeared. Her heart stopped.

It was her on the screen.

Emilia stared at the screen.

She remembered that day. She had been leaving school. Adrian’s car had been waiting just outside.

She remembered getting inside.

She remembered looking around to make sure nobody was watching. However, the photograph wasn’t taken from inside the car.

It was taken from across the street. Someone had been watching.

Emilia’s fingers went cold.

She swiped.

There was another photograph of Adrian’s car. And another of her stepping out of his car two streets away.

There was another of Adrian opening the door for her. Her stomach dropped when she saw more pictures.

The pictures were all dated from different days, different clothes, different locations, and different angles.

Some photographs were taken from a distance while others were closer.

Emilia’s breathing changed.

Her stomach twisted, and she swiped again.

In those sixteen photographs, there was no mistaking her and Adrian. Sixteen separate pieces of evidence.

Someone had been watching them.

For how long?

Emilia’s hands began trembling. She stared at the screen. The photographs weren’t intimate. Not explicitly.

They didn’t need to be. They showed enough.

They were photographs of Adrian picking her up, Adrian taking her home, Adrian leaving her mother’s apartment with herself walking beside him.

Anyone looking at those photographs wouldn’t need much imagination to understand what they suggested.

Emilia swallowed.

Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear it. She looked toward the bedroom door.

Suddenly, the enormous penthouse didn’t feel luxurious anymore.

It felt exposed. Like someone could be watching from somewhere she couldn’t see. She looked back at the phone.

There was one more message beneath the photographs.

Her thumb hovered over it.

She finally opened it, and a single sentence appeared.

The message read: "I can send this to the school authority, or we can make a deal."

Emilia stared at the words.

She didn’t breathe. For several seconds, she couldn’t move. Her eyes slowly returned to the photographs.

Her heart sank deeper into her stomach.

Someone had been watching them. And whoever it was didn’t just want to frighten her. They wanted something.

She read the message again, and her fingers tightened around the phone.

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